Page 9 of No Going Back

“So,” she continues, “my mom is stable for now. She’s smiling, the meds seem to be helping, and her nurse is happy for me to resume the rest of the first semester. She’ll call if I need to come back.”

I stop pacing. “You’re coming back?”

“Mhmm! Yep! Isn’t it great?”

I laugh, but it sounds hollow even to me. “Yeah… yeah, absolutely.”

She laughs, sarcastic this time. “Well, I thought you’d be more excited, babe.”

Truth is… so did I. But now I’m wondering why I didn’t call her back the second I saw the missed calls. Why her voice is starting to grate a little. Why I didn’t stay hard for her. I love her, don’t I? Do I?

I try to sound confident. “Yeah, of course I am. Sorry, still waking up.” I even fake a yawn, like I’m still tangled in sheets.

Then I hear Cole’s door creak open, followed by his groggy morning yawn, rough and familiar. It doesn’t annoy me the way it usually does when he’s half-asleep and grumpy. The bathroom door closes a second later.

Hannah’s voice cuts through my spiralling thoughts. “Anyway, I’ll be back on Thursday, okay?”

“That’s great, Han.”

“Can I stay at yours for a few nights?”

I swallow. “I’ll ask Cole.”

She laughs like I’m being ridiculous. “He won’t mind.”

“Well… you know, it’s his parents’ death anniversary coming up, so… he’s a bit emotional.”

He’s not emotional. Cole’s one of the strongest people I know, he keeps his shit locked down tight. I’ve seen him cry exactly twice in fifteen years, and both times he hid it fast. But for some reason, I just threw that out like an excuse to keep her out of the dorm. Which is fucking weird.

“Cole? Cole is emotional?” she repeats, sceptical.

I shrug, even though she can’t see it, and make a vague sound.

“Well, I’ll figure something out,” she says. “Anyway, gotta go. Love you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“Say it properly.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, throat tight. “I… love you… too.”

She blows kisses down the line and hangs up. Fuck.

I quickly yank on some jeans from the floor, same ones from yesterday, whatever, and grab the first t-shirt hanging over my chair without even glancing at it. It’s soft, worn-in, smells faintly like laundry detergent and something else familiar. I don’t think twice. I walk out into the living area slowly, trying to play it casual, like my brain isn’t still short-circuiting from that phone call and the way my body just… betrayed me.

Cole’s already slouched on the couch in nothing but low-slung grey sweats, a bowl of cereal balanced on his abs, crunching with his mouth closed like a civilized person for once. The TV’s on and he’s halfway through a laugh at something on screen. He lifts his spoon in a lazy wave without turning his head fully.

I clear my throat. “Morning.”

Cole finally looks over properly, spoon pausing mid-air. His eyes flick down, then back up. “Uh… you wearing my top?”

My eyes go wide. Shit. I look down, yep, it’s his faded black football tee, the one with the tiny rip at the hem from that one brutal tackle in sophomore year.

“Oh, uh… it was just hung over my chair?”

He nods slowly, chewing. “Okay.”

“Do you want me to change?”