“Seriously?” Anger sparks inside of me. “He was in the dorms the entire time?”
Evelyn shakes her head. “I think so. Hudson says he’s fine.”
“I don’t understand.” I grab my glass of eggnog and eye the vegetable frittata I’d ordered. “I don’t even know what to do. I’m so frustrated with him.”
Across from me, Evelyn cuts into her cranberry bar with cream cheese icing. “I’d be furious with Hudson if he disappeared for a full day.” She shakes her head again. “It’s just so unlike Nolan.”
It’s unlike the version of Nolan I know, too, but it’s exactly like the version Katie had painted him.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I dragged you guys into this and I’m sorry I’m such a downer.”
“No. Don’t be. This is what friends are for.”
An hour later while on my way to class my phone buzzes with a call from Nolan. My heart feels like it’s lodged in my throat, impossible to breathe or swallow as I come to a stop. I wait until my phone stops ringing before I continue walking.
Nolan: I am so unbelievably sorry. Can we talk? Please? I know I don’t deserve it, but I just need to apologize.
Me: Where were you?
Nolan: We went bar hopping until they all closed, then ended up at a house party where I got wasted. Lenny called a cab that brought us back to the dorms and he paid a freshman to help get me up to his room. I woke up there sometime yesterday and passed out on his bathroom floor until Grey and Hudson found me this morning.
His honesty doesn’t ease the fear that this will become a constant. That a bad game or future loss or bad grade could lead to something just as stupid, reckless, and selfish. I can’t think of a response that doesn’t end in something I know I’ll regret, so I pocket my phone and head to class.
It’s impossible to hear anything the professor says, just as it was for my public speaking class this morning where I had to tell Professor Hawkins that I wasn’t prepared to give my speech and took another hit against my grade.
I blankly stare at my professor while trying to discern what happened between Thanksgiving and the following day when Nolan came home distant and defensive, then left the following morning without a word and remained gone.
When I leave class ninety minutes later, I have four more texts from Nolan.
By the time I get home, I have two more.
I turn my phone off to keep myself from reading them or replying and go upstairs to my room. While Nolan was missing, I’d slept on his side of the bed, finding the scarcest of comforts in the scent of his cologne. Even when I clung to anger to avoid the fear he might be hurt, and I told Katie that if he was okay, I didn’t want him living with us, I laid on his side of the bed.
This afternoon, I lie on my side of the bed. The myriad of emotions that have built like a volcano over the past couple of days erupt, and I cry big, ugly tears that have me gasping and howling, and my nose running.
I’m still sobbing when my mattress dips with the weight of someone else. I know it’s him even before he wraps his arms around me and rolls me to face him. Everything about him is so familiar, from his scent to his warmth. Nolan tucks me under his chin and holds me while I cry, releasing all the fear, rejection, and anger I’ve felt over the past couple of days.
As much as I don’t want him here—don’t want to see him—I need to. Having him here allows that tiny gap of doubt that remained unbelieving he was truly okay to finally close.
I cry, and cry, and cry until I have nothing left and my eyes are gritty and dry.
“I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.” I feel the sincerity of his words. I know he’s sorry, just as I’d known that April had been sorry last year when our friendship broke from her indiscretions.
My cheeks feel tight and sticky, and my lips are tacky as my breaths slow. I roll to my back and stare at my darkened ceiling. I’ve always struggled with the winter months because it gets dark too early, but tonight, I appreciate the anonymity it provides.
“I’m not sure how I feel right now,” I tell him, my nose stuffy from crying. “I’m not ready to talk to you.”
“I listened to your message.”
I left dozens, but I know which one he’s referring to. I’d left it shortly after I’d awoken after my migraine had finally passed and Nolan still wasn’t home, forcing me to relive Saturday night all over again. I had spoken with anger and betrayal heavy in my heart as I told him I was done and didn’t want to see or speak to him again.
I regretted leaving the message as soon as I’d hung up, fear consuming my thoughts as I imagined the worst of worst-case scenarios.
I don’t try and explain the roller coaster of emotions I’d been an unsuspecting and willing passenger for. I also don’t apologize.
“I hate that I hurt you. You didn’t deserve any of this. I want to make this better. I want to be the guy you deserve and want to be with. But I also want to give you the time and space you asked for.” His hand wraps around mine. “When you’re ready to talk, let me know. Anytime. Day or night, and I’ll be here.”
Fresh tears stream from the outer corners of my eyes. I hate that I’m forgetting why I’m mad at him already. Like a rainbow, I’m mesmerized by him and have already forgotten the storm endured. “You broke a part of my trust this weekend,” I tell him. “A really big part.”