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“I believe you,” I say. “Take a hot shower and go to bed.” I take off the blanket, fold it, and get up. Just as I start towards my bedroom, I look at him.
He’s watching me, and he’s gnawing on his bottom lip, the way he did as a kid when he thought he was going to get into trouble.
I fight the urge to walk back to him and comfort him. To wrap my arms around him, the way I would when we were little. “It’s okay,” I promise him. “We can talk in the morning. Get some sleep.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Lucas
Age 19
She never deserved him. I couldn’t tell Charlie that — not without exposing my own feelings or upsetting him. No one wants to hear that their first girlfriend has a wandering eye. No one wants to know their girlfriend’s expression glazes over every time they speak for more than fifteen seconds straight.
That morning, when I found her in Gilly’s bed…
Gilly was still asleep. Hungover from the night before. But she sensed me in the room and her eyes snapped open. Her face paled because she knew exactly what she’d done.
I hated her. I despised her most of all when I found out she’d taken Charlie’s virginity. It should have been me.
It could’ve been, if I hadn’t ruined everything. If I didn’t punish him every day for how he made me feel. I keep thinking that, even though I can’t be sure. Perhaps I would’ve confessed and he would’ve rejected me, and we’d have gone our separate ways anyway. Perhaps I never would’ve had the courage to tell him the truth about how I felt, but we’d have remained best friends. And I would’ve suffered in silence.
I can’t know.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Now
The next morning, the apartment smells like pancakes. In the kitchen, Lucas flips pancakes with a spatula. He’s got broken egg shells and flour all over the counter, and his pancakes look less circular and more blob-like, but they smell delicious.
“What’s this?” I ask as he passes me a stack on a plate.
“Pancakes,” he answers.
“I see that,” I say, eyes tracking him as he opens the fridge and pulls out a plastic carton of blueberries. “What for?”
He shrugs, passing me the blueberries.
I cover my pancakes with the fruit and some syrup and dig in. Lucas pauses by the frypan to watch my reaction.
“They’re yummy,” I say, then wince. “Did you put salt in this?”
“That’s what the recipe said. It’s meant to enhance the overall flavour. Why, does it —”
“No, it’s fine,” I quickly reply. “I think I just got a chunk. They’re good, Lucas. Thanks.”
He gives me a hesitant smile and returns to flipping more pancakes. There’s a line of concentration on his forehead, and a tuft of hair sticks out from the back of his head. Bed hair.
He finishes cooking and takes a seat on the stool beside me. I let us eat peacefully for a moment before I break the spell.
“I said we’d talk this morning.”
Lucas’s hand holding his fork stills, but he nods.
“I don’t think we should talk about it.”
He turns to me. “Charlie…”
“Not because I want to avoid it,” I hurry to explain. “But what else is there to say? I just want to move past it. I want things to go back to normal.”
