“Get over it, you look hot. Jagger’s not going to know what to do with himself when he sees you.”

“I don’t care what Jagger thinks, Janie,” I mumbled.

Both girls laughed, but there was a part of me that was trying so hard to cling to the idea that Jagger and I could never be anything more than friends. As the last six weeks had come and gone, and the pain of being away from him had only grown, I’d fought with what I’d thought I’d known, and what I was slowly coming to terms with. That my family might have been right, that in the last two years my love for Jagger had grown from a love that could only be formed when you’d been friends as long as we had, to something so much more. And it had changed without my ever realizing it.

They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. Whether Jagger was gone or not would probably be determined tonight, because up until now, I’d been the one hiding . . . I’d been the one who was gone. But that hadn’t changed the truth of those words. I was very much aware of what I had left behind in Thatch.

But I’d also had a love that I’d known could withstand anything. Time, separation, death . . .

I just hadn’t known the death would come so soon, or how hard it would be to try to live my life apart from Ben when my world had revolved around him for so long. I knew I couldn’t live my life grieving over him forever. I knew that. Ben wouldn’t want that for me, and if the roles had been reversed, I would want him to be happy. I would want him to love again.

But knowing he would want that for me as well was so much easier to accept than actually allowing it for myself. It’s hard to continue on in life when the person holding your heart can’t.

I stopped walking and stumbled back when Heather yanked on my hand, and I turned around to look at them.

“Uh, where are you going?” Heather pointed to the brightly lit gallery we’d just passed, and my lips parted on a heavy exhalation.

“Oh my God.” I took a few shaky steps toward the windows, my chest tightening as I looked at the drawing Janie had been talking about. It was the one Jagger had been finishing when I’d walked into his studio that morning.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Janie squealed, and grabbed my other hand.

“Jesus Christ, it looks just like you.” Heather stared with open amazement. “You said he was good, but . . . damn.”

“I know,” I breathed.

“Well, are you ready to go in? See if your guy is here?” Heather asked.

I looked at Janie, and she must have seen the panic on my face, because she squeezed my hand once. “It’s okay, Grey. Whatever happens tonight, it’s okay. Just see if he’s here. Talk to him. He’s your closest friend if nothing else; you can’t hide from him forever.”

No. But in that moment, I really wanted to try. Releasing Heather’s hand, I grabbed the delicate chain around my neck, searching for the ring that had been nestled between my br**sts. Holding it tightly in my fist, I stared for a few more seconds at the drawing that had started all of this before slowly walking toward the entrance.

The open gallery wasn’t crowded, but there were definitely a lot more people than I’d been expecting. Then again, I hadn’t really known what to expect. I’d had a dozen different scenarios playing through my mind all day. Janie had just been driving too fast when she saw the drawing and that’s why she thought it was of me . . . so this was all for nothing. The drawing would be the one and only piece of Jagger’s in the gallery, so, again, this would all have been for nothing. The gallery would be too crowded to get in. No one would be here at all. Jagger would be here with someone . . .

My stomach clenched, and my grip on the ring tightened. If he was here at all, and he was with someone . . . I didn’t think I could handle seeing it. And that sick, jealous feeling sitting at the bottom of my stomach made no sense to me. Because again, I reminded myself that I had run from him. That even though he hadn’t tried to get ahold of me since the night I’d left, I hadn’t tried to call him either. And most importantly, my heart still belonged to his best friend.

Janie, Heather, and I had been inside for close to twenty minutes, and I’d been staring at another drawing of me—the one that portrayed all of my grief—for countless minutes without realizing that the other two had left my side. I pressed the ring to my lips as I stared, and a jolt went through my body when I heard a deep voice directly behind me.

“This is the hardest one to look at of you.”

“Jagger,” I breathed. From the corner of my eye, I watched as he stepped up next to me. Close enough so our voices wouldn’t carry, but far enough that I’d have to reach to touch him. Keeping my eyes on the drawing, I shakily asked, “If it’s hard for you, then why is it here? Why do you keep it?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “Probably because of what you said to me that night.”

My brow furrowed, and I turned to look up at him, but his eyes never left the piece in front of us. “What night was it?”

“Night of Ben’s funeral.”

I nodded slowly as I looked back at the canvas. “I came to your house, but I don’t remember what I said.”

“I opened the door, and you said, ‘Make it so that this is a dream. Wake me up, Jagger.’ And I remember thinking that was exactly what I wanted. To wake up. I couldn’t wake us up, but while I drew this that night, I knew I would do anything to keep us moving.”