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It’s convenient and inconvenient, having someone know you so well. I’m surprised she can’t readI’m keeping secrets from you toostamped across my forehead.
“I’m…shocked.”
She nods, wrapping her arms around her waist. “Yeah. Me too.”
I exhale, then glance around her messy room. It’s still more settled than mine. “I’d better go unpack. I don’t even have sheets on my bed yet.”
“That’s disgusting, Holden,” Cassia tells me. “I’m not staying over unless you do.”
“Cool. All the incentive I need.” I step forward and kiss her. Her hands fist the front of my t-shirt, holding me in place. I wish I could stay here forever. Just keep kissing her and not have to think about all the messy shit I need to sort out.
But the longer I stay in here, the more safe sex comments Sydney will probably make when I leave.
Reluctantly, I pull back far enough to see her. Tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “I love you, flower.”
She smiles. “I love you too.”
I kiss her one last time, then head for the door.
I didn’t think it was possible to feel worse than I did when I arrived.
Turns out, it is.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
CASSIA
I’m changing into my pajamas when my mom calls. I hobble over to the door with one leg in the cotton shorts and one leg out, carefully closing my bedroom door. Sydney is in the kitchen, making cookies out of the dough we bought at the store earlier.
Placing them on the sheet and putting them in the oven, basically. We used to make homemade ones when we were younger, and they always turned out terrible.
She’s probably out there wondering why I shut my door.
But I haven’t told Sydney my parents are getting divorced.
Haven’t told anyone, except Holden.
According to my mother, the list of people who know are me, my grandmother, and whoever the ambiguous work colleagues my dad talks to about his personal life are.
“Hi, Mom,” I answer, leaning down to pull the other side of my shorts up.
“Hi, sweetheart. I just wanted to call and check in. How’s everything going?”
“Uh, good. It’s nice to be back.”
“The apartment is nice?”
“Yeah, it’s great.”
Only half-unpacked, but nice. It’s my mess in Pembrooke, just transplanted to a new location.
Proof running escapes nothing, maybe.
There’s a prolonged pause as we both deliberate what else to say.
“How are you?” I ask.
“Oh, I’m fine.” Her answer is quick.Tooquick.
