My mouth runs dry, and I force a swallow, keeping my head held high. “Already did.”
“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long couple of days. I’m going to go check on your mother. And you should get some rest. You’ve got a drive in the morning.”
He closes the door, and I collapse on my bed, lying on my stomach and burying my cheek against my flat pillow as I stare at the wall.
My phone dings from my nightstand, I stretch to reach it.
ENEMY DEAREST: Please call me, Sher. I leave tomorrow. I need to see you.
August’s been texting for days, saying he has to tell me something big and he wants to tell me in person, but I’ve been ignoring him because I know how it’ll go. He’ll reel me back in and it’ll make everything ten times harder than it already is. I’ve already told him what I needed to tell him. And I’ve already said goodbye. The sooner he accepts our fate, the sooner we can both try to move on—whatever that’ll look like.
ENEMY DEAREST: I miss you.
With tears in my eyes, I write him back.
This will be the last time.
ME: I miss you too. But I can’t.
Chapter Thirty-Five
August
* * *
Class starts in four minutes.
I take a seat in the back corner of the lecture hall that smells like white board markers and overzealous body spray and crack my laptop open. It’s strange, actually attending class. Taking notes. Doing real homework. But it’s a much-needed distraction because if I don’t busy myself with school, I obsess over Sheridan.
It’s been two weeks since I saw her … kissed her … told her I loved her.
Two weeks since she said goodbye.
Every night, I check her social media accounts in hopes she posts something, anything. But it’s still the same old pictures from last year. It kills me not knowing what she’s up to. How she’s adjusting to dorm life. If she’s gone to any parties … or if she’s talking to any guys.
I wish I could tell her that I changed my major—from business to software architecture—because of her. For the first time in my life, I actually want to do something worth a damn. I don’t want to learn how to make rich corporations richer—I want to make a difference in people’s lives. I’ve got an idea for a software program that would make running safer for runners, specifically an app that senses if the user has been hit or taken a fall. It’d immediately send out a call to 9-1-1 as well as ping their exact location.
I thought about telling her via text anyway, in an attempt to get the conversation going. But the last thing she sent me was, “I miss you too. But I can’t.”
Every text I’ve sent to her since has gone unanswered.
My professor takes the podium below, connecting his laptop to the giant screen. A girl with wavy blonde hair and full lips slips through the door just as the lights go out. My stomach flips for a second … but it isn’t her.
It wouldn’t be.
Couldn’t be.
My mind has always played cruel tricks, but lately it’s been fucking brutal.
The girl finds the last empty seat next to me, and within seconds I’m engulfed in a cloud of raspberry body spray.
Digging around in her bag, she accidentally elbows me.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she leans in, whispering. “I can’t find a freaking pen.”
Reaching down, I grab a spare out of my bag and hand it to her, keeping my attention focused on the lecture. Forty minutes later, the lights come on and everyone’s packing up.
“Here you go.” The blonde hands me my pen back—along with a slip of paper.
I unfold the note—her name and number.
When I look up, she’s already gone.
Heading out, I crumple the sheet and toss it in the trash.
Not interested.
I’m not the man I used to be, not even close.
All I am … is hers.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Sheridan
* * *
“I’m so sorry—I can’t go tonight.” I wipe the cherry-red lipstick from my face and sweep my hair into a low ponytail, staring at my reflection in the mirror, only to find the saddest girl in the world staring back.
“What? How come?” My friend, Stacia, says from the other end of my phone. “I’m literally on my way to pick you up right now.”
I don’t know what I was thinking when I said I’d go with her to a party at Bexler.
Actually, I’m lying. I know exactly what I was thinking: that somewhere on a campus, amongst fifteen thousand students, I might catch a glimpse of August. The scenario I’d imagined went something like this … I’d spot him from across the streety maybe. He wouldn’t notice me because he wouldn’t looking for me. Maybe he’d be on his phone, making plans for the weekend. Or maybe he’d be sitting on a bus stop bench, finishing a quick homework assignment, lost in his own world.