Tyler
For a moment, we just stared at each other.
Her standing by the door, looking all pretty in her usual crop top, jacket, and high-waisted jeans.
And me sitting at the edge of my bed, gripping my trembling hand like if I let go, the damn thing would completely fall off.
I watched a smile curl onto her lips, and I paused.
Not because I was shocked to see her. But because I couldn’t remember the last time Brooklyn Prescott had stepped into my room.
Probably when we were like twelve or something. Back when she’d barge in without knocking and we’d fight over my hoodies like they belonged to her.
I stood slowly, my eyes never leaving hers.
“Hey,” she greeted softly, that same bright sweetness still in her voice.
“Hi,” I replied, glancing back down at my hand as I continued wrappin
