Leonard limped his way to Monica's door, his injured leg trailing behind him like a dead weight. Just as he'd suspected, there they were—the flowers he'd sent, cast aside and wilted in the trash bin next to the door. The bouquet from Jason, though, was nowhere in sight; Monica must have cherished it.
He lifted his hand, each knock a testament to his resolve. When the door swung open, there she was, Monica, standing right in front of him, close enough to touch, yet the distance between them felt insurmountable.
"Monica, can we talk?" he asked, the desperation in his voice palpable.
Monica had been expecting a visit from Mr. Zeller to discuss club business, so she opened the door without a moment's hesitation. But when she saw Leonard standing there, her brow knitted together, and her exp
