I slid the letter under her door anyhow, begging her to meet me after work this morning at the coffee shop on her corner. I figured it would be safe. I didn’t think Emma would walk down this street until she knew it wouldn’t result in a painful run-in with her roommate.

I glance through the window as I walk toward the entrance, and the café is nearly empty, minus one or two students holed up in a booth with their laptops and piles of books. I glance at my watch, which says I’m right on time, then take a deep breath as I walk through the door and prepare for my plan to crash and burn.

“I’ll take a large iced coffee,” I say to the guy behind the counter. He pulls out a cup and writes my order on the side of it, then rings me up on the register. I remove my wallet to pay.

“Add a non-fat soy latte to that,” I hear over my shoulder. I don’t startle, but I definitely breathe. I nod yes to the guy, then hand him my card, paying for both orders.

“Thanks for coming,” I say, turning enough to the side to catch her profile. She’s dressed in a business suit, her hair pinned back in a clip, and the look surprises me a little.

“I have an interview. It’s for an internship at the clinic. You get fifteen minutes,” she says through tight lips.

We both wait for our coffees in awkward silence, then I follow her to a small table near the corner windows. Might as well be on display for everyone that walks by; maybe it will keep her from hitting me again.

“Your chin looks like shit,” she says, blowing on her coffee after removing the lid. I chuckle and run my finger along the rough stitches, then pull the lid from my coffee to take a drink.

“Look, I know you didn’t want to come here this morning, so thank you. Thank you for coming,” I say, setting my cup down and folding my hands together, my elbows resting on the table.

“I didn’t come for you. I came because you said I needed to know about Emma,” she says. Her tone is angry and clipped, but she admitted she came here for Emma, and that’s all I need to hear.

“Right. Emma,” I say, cracking my knuckles and looking at my hands.

“I swear to god, Drew, if you’re here to tell me you made a mistake, and you’re going to break up with her now, I will punch you again—right in those stitches,” she says, pointing one of her perfectly polished nails right at my chin. I don’t doubt her threat for a second, so I lean back in my seat to give me some distance, and inhale to calm myself and make sure I get through to her—about how much she means to Emma, and how much Emma needs her now.

“That Graham guy, the one she went out with a couple nights ago? He hit her, Linds. That douchebag hit her, and I…I don’t know what else, but I know she fought, and it could have been worse,” I say, my nostrils flaring as the anger boils inside. Lindsey holds her gaze on me, her brow lowering just a touch, her lips pursing tighter, and I can tell that she still loves Emma by the way her breathing turns into a charge of fury.

“What is she going to do?” she asks, her eyes not leaving mine.

I breathe in deeply and push my cup a few inches along the table, wiping away the cold, wet ring it leaves behind on the table. “Nothing,” I say. I feel Lindsey lean forward with the urge to speak, so I keep going. “And I guess there isn’t much she can do. He’s that doctor’s son, and it would make things complicated. Honestly, at this point? You probably know more about that part of her life than I do. I told her she should say something to someone, or at least talk to someone…other than me. She’s just…she’s just going to move on, though, I guess. But I think it would help a hell of a lot if you were around to help her.”

I glance up at her, and she’s still rigid, her mouth a firm line as she blinks and eventually looks down at her own drink. She pulls it to her lips, sipping slowly, and I can see there’s part of her that wants to bend, but I also see the shattered trust and hurt, too.

“I know I’m a broken record, but I swear Lindsey—this entire thing—it’s on me. And you were Emma’s only priority. All she wanted was for you to be happy,” I say.

“Then she should have told me the truth. The truth would have made me happy. Knowing my best friend trusted me enough to tell me everything…that’s what would have made me happy,” she says, her voice soft and distant.

“I get that. And I think if Emma could go back, she would. But she couldn’t decide then what would hurt you less. And I didn’t make it easy. I’m just asking for you to be open to the idea of forgiving her. She needs you, Linds. And I think maybe you miss her too,” I say.