Hope

I stand in front of Keith’s door, heart pounding so loud I’m certain it echoes down the hallway. For a full minute, I just stare at the wood grain, biting the inside of my cheek, trying to convince myself to raise my hand and knock. It’s been a day since I’ve seen him—twenty-four hours of silence, of cold distance, of regretting every word I never said.

I ball my hand into a fist and knock twice before I can talk myself out of it.

Nothing.

I shift from foot to foot. Maybe he’s not here. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe he doesn’t want to see me. Hell, why...