He's waiting for the elevator.
Not pressing the button repeatedly. Not pacing. Just standing there with his hands in his jacket pockets and his back to me and the kind of stillness that tells me he heard me coming and chose not to turn around.
"Alex."
The elevator dings. The doors open. He doesn't step in.
"Alex, please."
"Go back inside, Em."
"Not until you talk to me."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"You left your key on my counter."
"Yeah." He still hasn't turned around. "I did."
"Why?"
He laughs. Short. The kind of laugh that isn't one. "You want me to say it? Out loud? In the hallway?"
"I want you to look at me."
He turns.
His face nearly breaks me. Not because it's angry, I could handle angry. It's open. Completely, horribly open. Every wall Alex has ever built, every
