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His room now a skeleton of a space I once deemed comforting and warm. His room as hollow as the hole growing in my chest.
He lifts the box from the floor and heads for the door. The last box. And the last time we would be in his room. I carry the packing tape and marker, trudging down the hall and blindly following his footsteps.
With each step we take, the world as I know it slips further and further away. No more lunches at school or meetups before or after. No more laughter or teasing. And no more movie nights or walks on the beach or sunsets. Or holding hands, embraces, or lips against mine. No more Gavin. And no more us.
By the time we reach the moving truck, tears flow like rivers down my cheeks. I do my best to make no sounds, but the restraint it requires is fading fast. It feels as if I am intentionally giving the love of my life away. Shoving everything he owns into this truck and saying goodbye forever. Packing him up and shipping him off to who knows where.
Over the last week, we spent every possible moment together. Not a moment wasted. Yes, he had to pack up his life. But he tried to do that after curfew so we could have as much us time as possible. Yet it feels as if we had no time at all. It feels as if every moment we have shared for the last two years is being ripped away and shredded into a million pieces.
As soon as he gets to California, I bet I won’t hear from him often. He will be busy unpacking and adjusting to a new school just before the year ends. It isn’t only a major adjustment for me, but more so for him. Not only is he losing me—losing us—he is also being thrown into a foreign place with zero friends. The only people there to comfort him are his parents. The people upending his life.
He sets the box in the truck, taking the tape and marker from my hands and placing them beside it.
Before I can think of a single word to say, he yanks me close and holds me as if his life depends on it. On me. My sobs come faster and harder. His chest shakes around me with his own turmoil. Anguish and heartache leak from both of us and there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it.
Minutes later, his dad taps on his shoulder and tells him it is time for them to leave.
After a few labored breaths, he pulls back with hesitancy. His eyes swollen and red as he looks into mine. “I love you, baby. Hopefully, I can come back during the summer.” He kisses me and steals my breath, my pulse soaring in my veins.
“I love you, too, Gavin. Call me when you land.”
We exchange one last kiss and embrace, and then he is whisked away. My legs giving out as I collapse to the ground, where I cry for the next three hours. Alone. In the front yard of the boy I love. The boy who just left.
Chapter Thirty
Gavin
Present
When I open the door, I am beyond shocked to see Layla in the hall.
“Hey,” she singsongs, waving a hand at me.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper-yell. “And how did you know where my room is?”
Her bright smile fades as her brows furrow in confusion. “I had a shoot in Miami. Just thought I’d surprise you on my way home. Alyson adjusted my flight for me, so I’m here till tomorrow morning. She told me which room you were in and suggested you might want to grab dinner.”
What. The. Actual. Fuck. Alyson?
She knows Cora and I have been working on mending our relationship. And she also knows I have every intention of moving back to Florida as soon as I can sort out the details. Is this her play on keeping me in California? Sending Layla to my door and having her attempt to swoon me over dinner.
Not that Layla could ever hold my attention in that way.
Now I have got some choice words for Alyson the next time we talk. And they won’t be pleasant. In fact, they will be downright ugly.
“That was nice of her, but I already have plans for the evening,” I tell her as I start closing the door.
Her hand comes up, preventing the door from moving any farther into the frame. “What the hell, Gavin? So, you have plans and now I’m no longer good enough to be around?”
I really wish she would lower her fucking voice. Not only do I not want Cora hearing her, but I also don’t need the people staying in the other rooms to hear her flipping her shit. I give her a pointed look, telling her to quiet down. She huffs and rolls her eyes like she gives two shits what anyone else thinks. After all, Layla is quite the attention whore.
“It’s not that. I have plans with someone else. Plain and simple. Please don’t try to peg me as the bad guy here. If you would’ve called or texted me and told me you were coming, I could have made different plans,” I press, my body heating and becoming more anxious with each passing second I am away from Cora. As it is, I have been at the door far too long for it to be a wrong room situation.
“Why are you being such a dick?”
“Me? You randomly show up and expect me to drop whatever it is I am doing because you’re here. Sorry. Doesn’t work that way.”
She needs to fucking leave.
