“Do you remember how we used to play hide and seek whenever Mom and Dad were out of the house?” I surprise myself by asking. Tate sits back in his chair, caught off guard. “I remember. You two could never find me.” “That’s because you were small and could hide in places we couldn’t reach.” His lips curve up, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of the little boy I used to play with. A dull ache throbs in my chest. “When did we stop being friends?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
