Page 200 of Love Felt Like This

Because if I do, I’m afraid I’ll tell him every thought that’s consumed my brain for months. I’ll tell him that I miss him, that…that what?

Our situation was inevitable. I barely have time to sleep nowadays, let alone be a girlfriend. He’s been out of the country in different time zones. What were we supposed to do? If I said anything other than This was a good decision, then I would be opening a can of worms that would only hurt both of us further. And he wanted to tap the brakes. He wanted this. It’s unfair of me to ask for more.

But Griffin’s face is like a constant mirage in the background of all my thoughts. His grin under the Birds stage lights. His genuine laughter ringing off the brick buildings and fake concrete sidewalks on the Block. I hadn’t heard that laugh in so long. No interviews can capture the Griffin I know—only Bernie can.

If I listen to this album and it only makes me miss him more, what then? I’ve already made a freaking puppet about him because I missed him so much. I have no clue how Elton Emu will be received when the new season launches, and honestly, I don’t care. That was how I coped.

What if he’s doing fine? What if he’s happy as a clam without me? What if he’s just being nice—being a friend—by inviting me backstage? Heck, it’s probably more for Rob’s benefit anyway. I’m there to tag along, just like we said I would months ago. On my mattress. With his palms sliding over my ankle.

I’m yours.

The words reverberate in my soul, pushing up my throat to choke me.

Yours.

There’s shuffling outside my room and then a sudden knock. The door creaks open, and Nana pokes in her head with a cloud of freshly dyed red hair. She eyes the album on the floor, then me again.

“Have you listened to it?” she asks.

“No.”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid it bites,” I joke, though it’s not really a joke at all.

“Bevvy.”

Seeing him yesterday felt like a section of my soul I’d lost came wandering back. Like I’ve been trying to solve a puzzle and the last piece reappeared months later. Ready to complete. To frame. To admire.

“I can’t,” I whisper.

Nana walks in and shuts the door behind her.

“The concert is tonight,” she says. “Aren’t you going?”

I twist my lips to the side and roll my head across the corner of the mattress.

“I don’t know.”

“Rob will be upset if you don’t,” she says.

“He can still go without me.”

“But he won’t.”

I laugh. “Have you told him that?”

“I won’t let him. We all stick together.”

“Then I guess we aren’t going.”

Nana huffs out an irritated breath and crosses the room. She bends down to reach for the CD but halts inches above. “I can’t bend that far. Help me out, Bevvy.”

“Nana…”

“You’re really gonna let your grandmother break her back?”

“No, but I just…I don’t know if I can listen.”