Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
“That’s still code. You’re not in the way. We’re doing a project together,” I said lamely.
“I’ll turn it in as is.”
“And then what?”
“It’s over.” His voice cracked, and tears pooled in his eyes.
My brain fought hard to make sense of the wild turn of events. I’d been inside him fifteen minutes ago. Now he wanted out?
“Why? You don’t want that. I don’t want that. Why?”
“Because I’m always the one who clings a little too hard and asks a little too much, and I’m not going to do it this time. When you tell the world who you are, there should be no guilt, no sorrow, no shame. And there shouldn’t be a guy on the side with a camera and a microphone hoping thousands of viewers will vote for us. You have to want it for yourself.”
I pursed my lips and swallowed hard. “I do.”
“We’re at different places, Evan. I can’t pretend anymore. I told you that I kept the project small on purpose. If you’d been anyone else, I wouldn’t have bothered, but I liked you too much right from the start. So I decided to wait for you to tell me you wanted out. But you didn’t. And every day this thing inside me has grown. It didn’t happen out of the blue. It was little by little. The way you put pink licorice in my pockets and leave your shoes on my floor. The twenty silly texts you send me when you’re bored in class. The way you stop to talk to my grandmother no matter how big of hurry you’re in. You’re the best person I know, Ev. And it’s a big problem for me because I don’t just like you now. I love you.”
I opened my mouth in shock. “You love…Then stay.”
“I can’t. You have to be free to think without me in the way. No regrets.” He pushed his hands through his hair and stepped away. “I should go and—”
“Please don’t,” I whispered. “Please. I’m trying not to mess up, and I’m doing it anyway. But just—give me a chance.”
Mitch pulled me against him and buried his face in my neck. His tears wet the collar of my T-shirt and once again, I was at a loss. I wanted to console him, but my heart felt oddly fragile, like it was cracking into pieces faster than I could put them back together. I held on for as long as he let me. But when he kissed my cheek and pushed away, I had no choice. I let go.
When I woke up in the ICU five years ago with a bunch of broken bones and a seriously fucked up future, I hadn’t thought anything worse could happen. Then they told me Graham died in the crash. And the real clincher—it appeared he wanted to end his life that night. It took me much longer to recover from the mental anguish than the broken bones. If there’d been a way to trade the cloak of darkness that pulled me under for months after for another round of shattered limbs, I’d have taken that option any day.
After years of therapy, I finally turned a corner. I was in a good place. I had a supportive family, great friends, and in a few months, I’d be a college graduate. But I’d never felt worse. And given my past, that was saying something.
I walked around in a daze for twenty-four hours after Mitch left, going through the motions and trying to figure out what I was supposed to do next. It was my move, right? I was on my own. If I wanted to make my own video, I could. If I wanted to make a few phone calls instead, that was okay too. Or I could forget the whole thing and go back to the way I was before Mitch came along.
No. I couldn’t. I wasn’t the same person. I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t broken all over again. The difference was, I could fix it myself if I was brave.
By day two, I began to suspect I’d left all my bravado on the field. I felt weak and unsure, and so unbelievably sad that it hurt to move. I lay on the sofa with a bag of potato chips on my stomach, watching sports highlights on mute. I had no idea what time it was, but it had to be closing in on midnight. I should sleep or something, I mused as the front door clicked open.
Low masculine voices broke the silence. Fuck. It would take more energy than I had to turn off the television and fake sleep. It wouldn’t work anyway. Derek had a thing about crumbs. He’d wake me up just to get the potato chips out of my hands. I sat up and set the bag on the coffee table just as Derek and Gabe walked into the room.