Page 28 of No Going Back

“Cole! Wait!”

I turn the engine over. Tires screech as I peel out, gravel spitting behind me. I don’t go far, just loop the main roads around the other side of campus until I find the old parking lot under the big oaks. Nobody parks here much because of the bird shit splattered over everything, but right now I couldn’t give less of a fuck. I pull into the darkest, most covered spot, kill the engine, kill the lights, and lock the doors.

I rest my forehead on the steering wheel and laugh, bitter and broken. I guess Remy chose Hannah, chose to stay with her. And the worst part? I have no right to be mad, he was never mine, not really. I just thought, after everything… the looks, the touches, the way he said my name like it meant something… I thought he’d choose me. I thought he’d break up with her. I thought…

A tear slips out. I slap it away fast, angry at myself for even letting it fall. Fuck.

I can’t close my eyes without seeing it: Hannah’s legs locked around his waist, his hips rolling into her, the way her back arched, the way he groaned into her neck like he groaned into mine. I grind my teeth so hard my jaw aches, refusing to let another tear fall.

Stupid fucking Remy. Stupid bastard. How could he do this to me? How could he look me in the eye this afternoon, tell me it was me he wanted, then turn around and bury himself in her the second I left?

There’s no going back from this. No casual “we’re cool, man” conversation. No pretending it didn’t happen. What the hell am I supposed to say? “Oh yeah, no worries, I thought I made it obvious I wanted you, but I guess you changed your mind last minute. Cool. See you at practice.”

My phone rings. Remy. I stare at the screen until it stops, then text him before I can overthink it.

Me: I don’t want to speak to you right now. I’m glad things managed to work out with Hannah.

I’m not glad, not even close, but I’m trying to be polite. Trying to keep the last shred of dignity I have left. I turn my phone off.

I’ll sleep in the truck tonight. Sneak back tomorrow for clothes, then crash with Aunt Val for a while. Until I can get my head straight. Until I can look at him without wanting to punch him or kiss him.

I lean the seat back, stare at the dark ceiling of the cab, and try not to think about how much it hurts. It hurts a lot.

Remy

I stand outside the dorm building, the sun dipping low and turning everything gold-orange, shadows stretching long across the quad. My phone is clutched in my hand like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality, but it’s useless now. The text from Cole stares back at me:

Cole: I don’t want to speak to you right now. I’m glad things managed to work out with Hannah.

I try calling again, third time in the last five minutes. Straight to voicemail. “The number you have reached is unavailable.” He’s turned his phone off. I can picture him doing it, thumb jabbing the power button, jaw tight, eyes hard.

I shove the phone into my pocket so hard it almost rips the seam. My hands are shaking. I run one through my hair, pull hard at the roots until it stings, trying to ground myself. Students are straggling past, laughing, heading to parties or the library, not a single one noticing the guy losing his mind on the sidewalk.

I’m such a fucking idiot. Why did I let Hannah get to me like that? She was crying… about her mom, about the classes piling up, about how everything felt like too much. And I felt guilty. I thought one last time… comforting, giving her the closeness she needed… would make it easier. Rip the band aid slower, let her down easy. But all it did was make everything worse. I should’ve just said it, should’ve sat her down, looked her in the eye, and ended it clean. Instead, I let pity win, let her kiss me, let her pull me to bed, and then I closed my eyes and pictured Cole the whole time. Cole’s hands, mouth, and voice. It was the only way I could stay hard. She felt nothing like him… loose, wet in the wrong way, no grip, no heat that mattered. I went soft inside her.

But that’s not what Cole saw. He saw me buried in her, hips rolling, groaning like I was enjoying it. He doesn’t know I was thinking of him, wishing it was him. That every thrust was for him, every moan was his name in my head. He just saw betrayal and devastation. And I can’t blame him. If the roles were reversed, if I walked in and saw him fucking someone, I’d be gutted too. I didn’t even like those girls staring at him on the field earlier today, didn’t like the pixel girl flirting in the game. The thought of anyone else touching him makes my stomach turn. So yeah, I get it; I get why he ran.

But now it’s getting dark, and Cole’s out there with nothing but his truck. Surely, he won’t sleep in it, he can’t. Would he go to Val? I could call her, ask if she’s seen him… but then she’d panic, treat it like a missing persons case, and start calling hospitals. No, I can’t do that to her.

I don’t want to go back upstairs. I can’t face Hannah right now, can’t look at her crying eyes, can’t hear her ask what’s wrong, can’t pretend everything’s okay when it’s not. So, I just stand here, useless, heart hammering, praying to whatever’s listening that I haven’t fucked up my chance with Cole for good. Because if I have… if he’s done… I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to live with the look I saw on his face when he slammed that door.

I pull my phone out again, pointlessly, but I do it anyway. Staring at the screen, hoping for anything… nothing. I shove it back in my pocket and start walking, aimlessly, trying to outrun the ache in my chest.

10

Cole

I wake up to the soft tap-tap-tap of a bird strutting across the roof of my truck like it owns the place. My eyes crack open, sun just starting to rise, sky a pale pink-grey, early enough that the campus is still half-asleep. I must’ve finally passed out sometime after the tears dried and the anger burned itself out. My neck is stiff as hell from the awkward angle against the headrest, and my back aches from the seat not reclining far enough. It got real fucking cold overnight, thank God for the old winter coat I keep shoved behind the passenger seat, I wrapped myself in it like a burrito around 2 a.m. when the chill really sank in. Still, I never want to sleep in this truck again. I miss my bed. I miss the way the mattress dips when Remy climbs over me. I miss… I cut that thought off hard.

I feel rough. Mouth dry, head pounding, eyes gritty from crying, for the first time in ages, like a fucking idiot. I sit up slowly and rub my face with both hands. First things first: food. Then I’ll wait for lectures to start, sneak back into the dorm, push my dresser against the door, and just… lie in bed.

I turn the engine over. The truck rumbles to life, loud in the stillness. I reverse out of the spot, glancing up, bird shit splattered across the windshield in fresh white streaks. I don’t even care enough to wipe it off yet.

Five minutes later I pull into the drive-through of the little diner off campus, the one with the greasy bacon-egg-and-cheese on a toasted roll. I order one of those, add extra bacon because fuck it, and a small black coffee. Just enough to keep me going until I can crash.

I park in the far corner of the lot, away from the trickle of early-morning people grabbing breakfast or drive-throughs on their way to class or work. The windows are fogged from my breathing; I crack one open and let the cool morning air mix with the smell of grease and coffee. I unwrap the sandwich, cheese oozing, and take my first bite. I groan out loud, beautiful. Salty, crispy bacon, soft egg, melted cheese, toasted roll soaked just enough in butter. It’s stupid how much better the world feels with food in my mouth.

I turn my phone on while I chew. The screen lights up with notifications, missed calls from Remy going right through until 2:14 a.m. No texts back to my message, he didn’t reply or explain. Just called, over and over. I swipe them all away, don’t open the call log or listen to the voicemails. I load YouTube instead, click on one of my go-to distraction videos… some guy rebuilding old muscle cars in his garage, low voice narrating, engine sounds rumbling through the speakers. Familiar, mindless, and perfect.