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Poe nods, again all casually. “Yeah, he’s usually here by now.”
God I love my friends.
I love them to pieces.
Callie, who’s totally oblivious — which I can’t help but repeat in my head and regret a million times a day — shrugs. “Oh, he’s not here today. He’s not going to be here this week.”
“What?”
My voice is so high and squeaky that I shock even myself and the fork that I’m holding clatters down on the tray.
Callie watches me with a frown. “Wyn, are you okay?”
Seriously, Wyn? Seriously?
I’m such a big idiot.
“Yes,” I tell her in a much calmer voice as I pick up the fork with a slightly trembling hand. “Sorry, that came out way louder than I thought. I just… Yeah, I’m okay.”
I’m saved from giving any sort of explanation because Poe and Salem come to my rescue again. Poe looks at me worriedly before pouting in her usual way at Callie. “Well, why not? Now what am I gonna do for eye candy?”
Salem rolls her eyes. “Who’s going to do our soccer practice today then?”
Callie now sufficiently distracted, replies, “Oh, he’s helping at Bardstown High this week. Their new coach pulled his knee and they have a big home game this Friday so they’ve asked him to pitch in. He’s going to be over there this whole week.”
This whole week.
This entire week.
I won’t get to see him. I won’t get to talk to him.
I won’t get to… touch him.
Not that I was going to. Not here. Not where people could see, but still.
He won’t be here for a whole week.
I’m not sure why it’s hitting me so badly. So much so that I have to clench my teeth, fist my hands in my lap, swallow repeatedly to gulp down my oncoming tears.
I mean, he will be back in a week.
He’s not gone gone. This is temporary.
But the thing is that everything about us is temporary. This whole relationship — if you could even call it that — is temporary.
It’s here now but it will be gone one day.
He’ll either crush me like the sharp thorn he is or I’ll scatter on my own like the petals of a flower.
So I have very little time to live.
Very little time to be his.
And so the rest of the day passes in a fog. A depressing gray fog.
Even so, I tell myself that I’m overreacting. That things are still okay. So what if I don’t get to see him today and for the rest of the week?
I can survive a week. I’m not that desperate or pathetic.
Until the last bell rings and I somehow see him in the courtyard as we come out of the front door.
That’s when I realize that I am that pathetic. I am that desperate.
Because just the sight of him, in his usual dark sweater and blue jeans, jumpstarts my heart. It jumpstarts my lungs too. As if I’m breathing for the first time ever since I set foot in St. Mary’s this morning with all the hopes of seeing him.
And before I can think of the consequences and all the reasons why I shouldn’t, I take a step toward him.
He looks up at that very second as if he was watching the door, waiting for me to come out after the last bell.
And all the despair, the stupid concern about the correct protocol, vanishes.
Because his eyes, those navy blue eyes, glitter with possessiveness.
Ownership even.
He takes a step toward me then, his fists clenched, his chest shifting with a long breath, and a smile blooms on my lips.
But then it dies.
Because his progress is halted by something.
A red nailed, delicate hand that wrote him that note.
Helen.
The woman he loves.
She puts a hand on his chest and stops him from taking another step. Which is when I notice that he’s not alone. He’s standing with a group of teachers, Helen included, as they all chat and laugh about something.
Not to mention, I’m not alone either, am I?
I’ve got my friends around me — Callie is standing right next to me in fact. The courtyard is full of teachers and students.
Of course we’re not alone.
For a second I forgot that.
And Helen’s here and she’s saying something to him with a smile. The only thing is that he’s not paying attention to her. His eyes are glued to mine and that cut jaw of his clenches.
But I look away.
I can’t keep staring at him like this. Like my heart is breaking. Especially when he’s staring back, and if I don’t rein it in, he’s going to know the secret that I’m taking to my grave with me.
Even though he doesn’t want me to hide anymore, this is the one thing I can’t tell him.
Plus there’s Helen and Callie and all the other people who can’t be a witness to this.
So I try to focus on what my friends are talking about. But it proves to be a struggle because I keep going back to him and every time I do, he’s staring back.
