“Why can’t you consider, even for a second, that you might like me, too?” “Because I don’t, Camden. Not like that.” “Indie,” I exhale, pulling my hands from her face and clutching hers to my heart. “I’m wide open on the table, bleeding all over the bloody place. Stop holding back and feel this.” My heart pounds beneath her touch, drumming away with anxiety. With desperation. With hope. “Feel me,” I croak, my shaky voice revealing how anguished I am.
