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I already can’t breathe without her.
It’s not too late to turn around and beg her to take me back.
I did beg her.
I shift my foot to the gas and drive away.
As much as I hate the idea of the Halifax name elevating my career, I’d deal with it had Laurel asked me to stay. If she… I ease off the gas before I get pulled over for speeding in a residential zone, thirty miles over the limit. The proper, crawling speed leaves me with no outlet, and my emotions set my body on fire, the kind that burns in my throat and demands potent spirits.
No. Anything but that. I go through the basic kung fu forms in my head, breathing slowly as though I’m on thekwoonfloor. It helps, a little, but Laurel’s laughter won’t stop ringing in my ears.
So you’re okay with this?
Of course I am.
I thought she was pretending, but Laurel kept acting…nice? No, not nice, but I don’t know what it was. I expected sighing, anger, silence, disappointment, something along those lines, but she exhibited none of those feelings. Instead…
Us is over, and yes, I’m fine.
After we ran from the fan mobs, after we played until our fingers hurt, after we shared a kiss that was literally spicy and many others, after she spent the night at my place, watching me sleep after I got my skull bashed, she’s fine? How is that possible?
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel as mad blood rushes into my head.
How can Laurel be okay after us spending an entire summer together?
Bright, solemn clarity floods my mind. She’s okay because to her I’m still nothing but a dumb guitarist. She might’ve liked me better than the others, but she never said she loved me.
No, she did. At the beach house.
I think I may be in love with you.
Ah, but it wasn’tI love you.Thinkindicates uncertainty. Same as themay bepart. May be. Maybe.
Tell me to stay.
Don’t ruin it, Jace.
I’m meant to be a mediocre loner. It’s true. It’s fine. Whatever. Who needs love?
My phone buzzes. I’ve been avoiding most people these past two weeks, but I couldn’t hide behind needing quiet to recover any longer and turned on my phone. At the next red light, I check the notifications. This last one is a text from Juliette asking if I could come over as soon as possible. And an address. Her new address of the house where she’ll raise her family with Shane. Oddly, I’m curious to see it. I respond that I’ll be there in ten and send the address to the Maps app. Scowling at Shane will probably help take my mind off the grinder my heart and brain are going through right now.
Their new place is in Arlington Heights, only a few blocks down the road from the Viper Nest, the massive, multimillion-dollar house that rivals that of the Halifaxes. Juliette’s new place hides behind another gate and a curving driveway through a thicket of thin trees. It makes me feel like I live in a slum by comparison. Taking in their dark blue, sprawling rambler with cameras on every corner, I realize that Juliette is the only reason I stayed in my childhood home. Had I moved, it would have broken her heart. She spent a long time dealing with grief over her mother, and I couldn’t add to it, but now…
I park on a pad of new concrete and silence the engine. Juliette is no longer my neighbor. She’s not grieving anymore, and she has Shane to support her should something challenging happen. Their white door with a fancy bunch of decorative greens hanging on a golden hook makes me reconsider that villa in Malta I teased Laurel about. I have money, and living abroad might help me regain balance.
The idea sounds too much like hiding, though, and that’s not me. I never hide from my problems. Time to go in.
I step inside and walk through a small entryway, then come into a large, bright room with awhite, fluffy rug that will not last three seconds once their baby starts crawling and a sectional that calls my name the moment my eyes land on it.
“Turn left,” Shane says from somewhere outside the living room.
I follow his voice, pass through an arched hallway with windows looking out onto the side yard, and enter the kitchen. Everything is brand new here, black stainless steel and the whole parade, but the size of the kitchen reminds me of Juliette’s place—small and cozy. They even have an herb garden in one of the windows, just like at Gabe’s house.
“Good morning.” I take a seat next to Shane at their breakfast nook and help myself to a cranberry scone from a box in the middle of the counter.
Shane mutters, “Morning,” and Juliette says nothing.
Mouth full of tart cranberries and buttery crumbs, I pick apart the interesting mood. Shane sips from a tumbler that must have some kind of his favorite protein goo and shoots me sideways glances. Juliette refuses to look at me altogether.
