“He didn’tsay.”
“And you didn’t ask? Whatever ‘I’m a musician, I’ll do what I want’ breakfast cereal you all eat isn’t charming. It isn’t normal.” The burning behind my eyes doesn’t turn to tears. It lingers like coals that refuse tocool.
I run across the pool deck and into the house. Haley calls out to me, but I pass her without a word and pull out my phone to check for missed calls ormessages.
Nothing.
Three nights ago, he slept in mybed.
The next day, we flirted at the dinnertable.
I fucking boughtcandles.
It’s nottrue.
It’snot.
It’s—
I stalk into my room and pull up at the sight of the object lying on myduvet.
The guitar I bought Tyler. Twenty-four frets, inlaidrosewood.
I stare at it numbly as if it’s going to speak, but maybe it alreadydid.
“Annie...” Haley’s voice comes from thedoorway.
I can barely make her out through my blurryvision.
“Goaway.”
“Weshould—“
“Go.Away!”
I shut the door and grab the guitar, sliding my back down the side of the bed until my ass hits thefloor.
I wrap a hand around the neck and squeeze. The strings bite into myskin.
“Forgiveme.”
“Someday.”
“When?”
“When you never leaveme.”
I shut my eyes so hard my teethhurt.
After three years of ups and downs, of inside jokes and bitter standoffs and dreaming of things I never thought would happen, everything‘s starting falling into place. My life is making beautiful, twisted sense for the firsttime.
“I like you. Alot.”
“I like you a lot too,Six.”
The last few days with him scroll through my mind, a movie of promises and confessions and trust and openness. Of wanting and finallyhaving.
After so long, I havehim.