I know I need to talk to Gage. I need to put the final nail in the coffin of this summer fling, but thinking about it causes a pressure in my chest so intense that tears leak out of my eyes.
Not surprisingly, Gage hasn’t left my side all night. He’s sitting so close he’s practically on my lap, and his arm is wrapped tightly around my shoulder. His nearness doesn’t help me find the courage for what I have to do. It makes me want to snuggle closer, burrow my head into his neck, and stay there for the rest of my life.
I’m sure he realizes I’m not acting like myself, so when I tell him I’m going to turn in early, he doesn’t hesitate to stand up with me.
He walks me back toward my cabin on a path through the woods, and he’s quiet. The night is all too quiet, and the quiet is what finally breaks me.
I stop in my tracks, causing Gage’s hip to bump into mine.
“Gage,” I start, my voice cracking. He must see something of what I’m about to say in my eyes, because his face goes ashen, panic flashing across it.
“Look,” I press on quickly, not stopping to think out my words or how to say them. “I don’t think we need to delay the inevitable. Camp’s done. You’re heading to school in a week—”
“In Austin,” he interrupts.
“—and I’m heading back to my parents’ house—”
“Also in Austin.”
“—and it’s … we said from the beginning what this was, we said it. It’s a situationship—”
“No, Olivia.” I pick up the agony in his voice, the desperation.
“—and the situation is changing, and so it doesn’t make sense anymore.”
“Don’t do this,” he pleads. His blue eyes look like the ocean in the fading light, dark and stormy.
“We said a summer fling. Well, summer’s over. The fling is over.”
He grabs my shoulders and holds me in front of him, the strength of his grip making me gasp. We’re facing each other. He ducks his head to look me in the eye, forcing me to look into his, swirling with pain.
“This thing between us”—he moves one hand off my shoulder to motion to himself and then to me—“was never going to be ‘just a fling’ and you know it.” He lets me go, swiping across his face with one of his sleeves. It comes away wet, but the tears are still dripping down his cheeks. “You know it,” he repeats, as if daring me to contradict him.
I do know it. I played with fire. I knew I shouldn’t have done it, but I did it anyway. And I got burned.
I hate that I took Gage down with me, but he’ll move on to someone better suited for him. He’ll be okay.
I stifle a sob, emotion clogging my throat so I can hardly breathe. I try to gulp in oxygen as I throw up my hands and shout, “I don’t know what you want me to say. This was always the plan!”
He grabs my hand and intertwines our fingers. He rests his forehead against mine, the warm flush of his skin lulling me into temporary defeat. I should push him away, but selfishly I’m soaking up as much of him as I can before it’s too late.
“I love you,” he says desperately, frantically. His eyes are closed, and he inhales a ragged breath, his tone softening. “I love you, Olivia,” he repeats. “This isn’t how we end. It can’t be.”
I drop his hand and step back, breaking our contact. My foot lands on a stick that cracks as loud as dynamite when it snaps in half. It feels right, sounds right. It’s the same sound as my heart breaking.
“I’m sorry.” I moan and turn away, trying to get ahead of the tears. I start running. I know Nina’s still at the fire circle, so I aim for my cabin. I burst through the door in time to collapse on the bed and sob myself to sleep.
I wake only a few hours later, the night still dark as ink outside. In a frenzied mania, I throw all my things in my duffel bag, careful not to wake Nina.
I type out a vague email to Linda about needing to leave early. By sunrise, I’m passing through the gates of Camp Prairie Star and on my way home.
As I near Austin city limits, my phone pings. It’s a text from Gage. I pull to the side of the road to read it.
Gage:
Babe, please can we talk?
I summon the meager emotional strength I have left and block his number. Then, I pull back onto the highway and keep driving.
