“I’ll miss you, too,” I tell him. He croaks, his arms hanging limply at his sides. “Damn it, El.” What… Lucky stalks over, shoving my shoulder. “You…you can’t just…” He huffs again, and I have no clue why he’s so put out. “I’m going to call. And you’re going to talk to me.” It sounds like a threat. “Yes,” I say. “And sometimes, we’ll email.” I nod. “But we’re not done,” he says vehemently, stepping into my space. “We’ll never be done. Me and you, we don’t have an ending.” And what do I possibly say to that?
