Maybe I should push past it and take a chance; maybe, just maybe, someone can want me back enough to put up with me, even if my exandmy parents had no trouble washing their hands of me.
With a groan, I push myself up off of the bench and keep walking to burn off some energy, tossing my cup into a recycling receptacle and ignoring my racing heart as I press on.
Yeah, I definitely had some kind of energy drink. Holy shit.
With every step I take, I tick off mental boxes for what I’m gonna have to do and what I’ll say.
First off, I need to apologize to Dean for freaking out. Maybe grovel a little and get on my knees, and not in the way we’re used to.
Then I need to ask for forgiveness and see if he’s willing to take a chance on me. I might not have the best memory, but I distinctly remember him saying something about how he’s refusing to get serious with someone until he’s settled. I’ll have to ask him to give up that conviction.
My gut clenches with guilt as I try not to spiral.
The worst thing he could do is say no.
Our conversation needs to beprivate, so I can’t exactly find my way back to his place to talk about our big feelingsin front of his dad. I’ll have to make Dean come to where I am.
I slow my steps and look for a landmark to help him find me.
Ooh, there’s a bridge here, and an information placard.
This is the Broken Bridge, but unless I've started hallucinating,none of the hordes of people crossing it are falling into the lake. I should look up why it’s called the Broken Bridge at some point—this placealsoseems to be some kind of tourist attraction, given how there are so many people that my phone data is barely working, but tourism wasn’t part of my Chinese course.
Besides, I didn’t think I’d even come here in the first place, let alone with Dean.
Right. Dean.
I pull my phone out to text him, hoping he hasn’t already written my sorry ass off.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
DEAN
Dad and I sit across from each other at the dining table, his hands linked together by rigid fingers.
I'm not going to be the one to speak up, so I stay silent.
Dad also stays silent.
I pour two cups of water from the boiler on the table and pass him one.
Dad takes a sip and clears his throat.
My heart skips.
“So,” Dad starts, “remind me how you and Nick met?”
Cutting my drink of water short, I swallow it, along with my nerves. “He took a Chinese class and needed a tutor.” Maybe I can still deny everything to keep the peace. “Then we became friends.”
“Look, kid. I’m not blind—there’s no way the air mattress stayed inflated for four days. I thought about putting the pump in the room, but it’s bulky, and then you guys never asked to use it, and yeah…”
Oh, god. There’s no putting the cat back in the bag.
“And also…I saw you holding hands with your best friend from high school more than once.”
Fuck. I run a hand through my hair, and by some miracle, I manage to stay focused on Dad. His expression is unreadable. He doesn’tlookmad. Maybe disappointed? But it’s tooneutral.
“I’m sorry,” I say automatically.
