A text message appears on my lock screen. Just two measly words. Grumpy Bear Still beating. A choked noise punches out of me—not quite a sob, not quite a laugh. I trace my thumb over the message, staring until tears blur it out. That asshole. That fucking beautiful asshole. Pressing the phone to my chest, I sink back into the couch. Staring up at the popcorn ceiling, I blink away a second wave of tears. “Just keep your heart beating for me, okay?” “I’m sorry, Zayne,” I whisper into my empty apartment. I’m sorry you weren’t my greatest love.
