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COOPER
In the last two weeks I’ve thrown myself into taking control of my future. I’m not letting Tatum’s help to get my life on track go to waste. Day and night I study for finals, meet with my advisor, and work on my business plan for the surf school. In my downtime, I call my parents on FaceTime while they’re away at another retreat and tell them about my plans for the future. Their proud expressions and praise for doing the work feels good, but something’s missing.Someone.
More than anything, I want to tell Tatum about these plans I have for my life because I wouldn’t be here without her. It kills me that I’ve barely seen her in almost a month other than our trip to L.A. and getting my notebook from her dorm. It’s a scary taste of what my life would be like if I’d never known her and it fucking blows.
My eyes burn from how shitty my sleep’s been. Dropping my pen on the desk in my room, I sigh and press my fingers against them. I groan as the pressure relieves some of the ache. I know I look like hell with bags beneath my eyes. My back’s stiff from hunching over the desk all afternoon once my morning class ended. I’ve been alone in here, not feeling like interacting with anyone on campus.
Staying away from Tatum is torture. Jackson isn’t talking to me, either. I get the silent treatment and dirty looks when we’re in our dorm together. He wears his ear pods, giving off the universaldon’t talk to mevibe. I’ve resorted to texting him, but he ignores my messages to hang out even though I’m doing what he fucking made me agree to.
He’s never been this angry at me for so long. We rarely fight. It’s always been easy to get along. I don’t know how I’m going to fix our friendship when he won’t even acknowledge me, let alone listen to anything I have to say.
Jackson made me stay away from Tatum, and I have. Maybe he said something to her, because she hasn’t texted or messaged me online despite friend zoning me. I keep hoping when a notification lights up my phone screen it’ll be her, then my stomach sinks when it isn’t. When I check her Instagram—and her stories from a new account I made so she wouldn’t know it was me watching them—I see her trying new things, meeting new people, and immersing herself in everything college life has to offer.
A sharp pain lances through my chest because I’m not the one giving her new firsts anymore.
The phone sits at my elbow beside my sheet of statistics problems. Temptation to check for the seventh time today tugs at me.
Except for the notes I still leave her, I’ve changed when I go to the student union, the library, and which ways I take to get to my classes. The notes are my way of keeping our connection alive. She’s been in my life since my family moved to South Bay and I can’t lose her completely over this.
Everything reminds me of her. My haven at the beach where I surf with Jackson and the guys makes me think of the times she joined us there, of our shared shifts at the Tiki Taco Shack. Songs that come on at the gym make me think of how she has a playlist for every situation. When I study, it’s her voice in my head while I review notes.
All of it makes me want to talk to her. To tell her about my day and hear how hers went. I miss those moments we’ve shared. I miss just being with her. Fuck, I missher.
Instead of doing that so I don’t break another promise to Jackson, I write it all down on the sticky notes. Some I leave at her dorm, enduring the curious whispers from the girls on her floor that watch when I show up at times I know she won’t be there to leave them. The others that are too personal, too full of my love for her go in the collection I’m building of heart-shaped mini confessions. I have so many I have to hide them from Jackson when he’s in our dorm. I’ve taken a page from Tate and keep them between the pages of a blank notebook I hide under my bed.
Pushing away from the desk, I work out the kinks in my body. The room is oppressively quiet, the silence crushing in on me.
I can’t keep this up. Something’s got to give. The last two weeks made me realize I’ll go insane isolating myself.
This isn’t the guy I want to be. This isn’t the guy worthy of Tatum.
First, I have to get my best friend to look me in the eye again. I know where he’ll be tonight. No more ignoring me. We’re getting past this.
* * *
This is my first time out since the music festival. One of the Kappa Sig guys is in my statistics class and wouldn’t take no for an answer to his invite to the party at Hollis House tonight. I’m glad I caved, feeling like I need a night to chill out after I got a great grade back on my last test.
I spot Jackson at the air hockey table behind the couch in the living room when I get there. He meets my eyes and mouthsshit. My eyes narrow in determination and I push through the crowd to the kitchen to get a beer first. I make my way through the party, nodding to people that say hi. Jackson doesn’t budge when I lean against the wall beside him.
“What’s up?”
He glances at me, a muscle in his cheek jumping before he shrugs. He’s not stalking off. It’s a start. Some Kappa Sig guys start up a game of air hockey and we end up watching until I decide to go for it.
“I’ve been trying to talk to you, but you’ve been blowing me off.”
Jackson waves a hand, brows pinched. He gestures with his beer to the sliding glass door. “Damn it. If we’re doing this, let’s go out there. I can’t hear shit over the music in here.”
Popping off the wall, I follow him outside. The small deck is empty. Most people circle around the hot tub in the corner of the yard. He braces against the railing, pinning me with an unhappy look.
I sigh. “Are you going to try to hit me again? I just need to know if I should be prepared.”
His lips twitch and humor bleeds into his expression for a moment. “Depends on whatever dumb shit comes out of your mouth.”
“Fair.” I squeeze my nape. The music from inside is muffled by the glass, the heavy bass thumping through the house. “So, for starters, I’m sorry this all went down. I never meant to lie to you or break the promise I made. The thing is, I’ve always really liked her. I didn’t want to risk our friendship. But I did it all because love can’t be controlled.”
“Love?” Jackson scoffs and shakes his head, leaning his weight on the deck railing. He works his jaw. “You—the biggest player out there—”
I square off with him, lifting my chin. “I said what I said, man. I love Tatum. I never lied to you about that. All I’ve ever wanted is to make her happy, whether that means I’m with her or not. I’d never hurt her.”
