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I should’ve trusted my instincts. I had known Jack was out of my league. And the moment he didn’t have me to comfort him, he’d sought someone else. A beautiful, curvy Irish woman with auburn hair and bright eyes, no doubt. I could picture them perfectly—matched better than Jack and I ever could be—fucking in the bathroom of a seedy pub.
“Stop,” I begged my own mind, willing the images to vanish.
The doors would be opening soon. I wanted to stay in that little box forever, refusing to accept my reality. Nonetheless, I forced myself to stand. There was no point in hiding from the world—it’d already fucked me.
It was just a few blocks to my apartment, but my legs protested. With every step I took away from Jack, I trod on my own heart. Faye Walsh had been right. Men like Jack didn’t know how to love. I had fooled myself into thinking he did. I was blinded by his looks and words, by how he made me feel—confident, sexy, worshiped.
It had all been a lie.
I’d been so lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t remember walking home. Trancelike, I stood in front of my bed. The yellow quilt my grandma made two years before she passed, the framed photo of Jack and I leaning against his bike, my schoolbooks—it was too familiar. Like nothing had changed.
Everything has changed.
My sobs came out broken and hollow like I was being strangled. I reached for my neck with trembling hands. When my fingers met the golden handcuffs resting between my collarbones, I ripped off the choker and threw it into the corner by my closet. The rational part of my brain attempted to calm itself, but the panic was crippling.
You stupid girl.
You were never going to be enough for him.
He’s a player. He played you.
“Stop!”
I was kneeling on all fours on the bed, head bowed and dripping sweat. My heart raced, but it was slowing now. I focused on my breathing, channeling the yoga I hadn’t practiced in months. Inhale for eight seconds, hold, exhale for eight seconds, hold.
After a few minutes, I kicked off my shoes and jeans, crawling toward the pillows. I was exhausted. I hadn’t slept all night, opting to sit cross-legged beside Jack, worried he wouldn’t wake up due to his injuries. Flashbacks of Nate’s body had plagued my mind as I monitored Jack’s pulse.
I just had to take this one step, one breath, at a time. The deepest connection I’d ever had with a human being had just been severed, but the world wasn’t ending. I’d feel better once I got some rest. Sleep now, life later.
* * * *
So. Many. People.
After staying cooped up in bed for two days, I was sluggish. There was too much noise, everyone speaking at once. The atmosphere was energetic, and I was a fish out of water.
For Ella, I reminded myself.
My little sister had arrived at my apartment bright and early this morning. I set an alarm so that I had time to shower, hide the dark circles and chug a gallon of coffee. I ignored the notifications on my phone—eight missed calls from Eoghan, three from Mick and one from Shannon—and managed to get through breakfast without succumbing to hysteria.
On the taxi ride to NYU’s campus, a wave of guilt hit me. I sent Shannon a text to make sure she and the baby were okay. She replied immediately, asking if I’d heard from Jack. My grip on the phone tightened and I blackened the screen, swallowing my discomfort.
Ella and I crossed the campus toward orientation. She spoke a mile a minute, her blonde hair tied up in space buns. Coupled with her denim dress, mustard-yellow Chloé backpack and a fresh pair of sneakers, she was every bit the quirky college freshman. My smile was genuine, if only for my sister’s benefit.
I refused to make my sorrow obvious. Ella had seen me at my worst after Nate died. My family had breathed a sigh of relief last November when they discovered I’d recovered from depression. I’d given them three years of hell. I didn’t want to worry them again.
Not that I was sinking back into a depressive state. This was heartbreak. A heartbreak I’d never experienced before, but at least Jack was alive. He’d chosen another woman over me, while Nate had chosen death. Still, the pain was similar—anger, betrayal, devastation, loss. I’d never given much thought to ‘the one’ until I had met Jack but if it did exist, he was it. I couldn’t see myself moving on in any way.
One step at a time, Em.
“Em!” Ella shrieked, running through a crowd of teenagers. She was decked out in NYU swag—hat, flag, tote bag—and carried a powdered donut like a ring. “For the sugar fiend.”
“Thanks.” I chuckled, taking the donut from her finger. The powder fell onto my jeans, leaving a trace that I stared at a little too long.
“You okay?” Ella gave me a curious look, her brown eyes shimmering in the sunlight. The courtyard was beautiful, even with all the commotion. It was a tiny oasis in the concrete jungle.
I smiled, but it didn’t lift my cheeks. “Totally.”
“Fine, don’t tell me. Can we get dinner? I’m craving pizza.”
