These years, I’ve watched her grow. Experience challenges. Fall in love with new dreams. I hated doing it from the sidelines, but at least I was in her orbit somehow.
Maybe now I realize I’ve been selfish and should have given it back. I don’t know.
My eyes lift to hers, and they’re looking at me as if I’m hurting her.
“Dave…”
She shakes her head, puts a hand up. “Do not Dave me. Or Sutton baby.”
“Can I explain?”
Sutton laughs. “The same way you explained what happened in high school?”
“You said it didn’t matter anymore.”
“Izzy was right.” She shakes her head, disappointed. What does she have to do with this? From what I know, they haven’t spoken in years. “Were you lying the night you told me you love me? Were we only ever some type of game to you?”
“This—we,” I correct and emphasize the word, “aren’t a game. You aren’t some prize that I’m trying to win.”
Sutton stands from my bed. “I need a minute to breathe.”
FIFTY
COOPER
She pacestoward my bathroom before spinning around, grabbing a sweatshirt littered on the floor and her sneakers. Out my bedroom door, I hear her quickly sprinting down the stairs.
“Sutton. Stop.” I chase after her blindly, hopping from one foot then the other putting my shoes back on. I miss a step and slide down the last four stairs.
All of my roommates are in the living room. They’re all lounging on the couch playing video games. Dawson thumb points at the front door over his shoulder.
I curse under my breath.
Sutton’s car wasn’t in our driveway or parked on the street when we got back. Peach skies turning gray with an oncoming spring shower. It was sprinkling then, pouring now.
The sidewalk is barely visible through the droplets pounding the pavement.
I turn my head left and right to determine which direction she went. I can’t see her, but I trust my gut and run in the direction of her apartment.
Drenched, I pick up my pace, pushing my exhausted body—physically and mentally.
I shouldn’t have let her leave.
I shouldn’t have kept secrets.
I shouldn’t have loved her from afar. This mess would be a lot easier to clean—or avoidable,my inner voice is sarcastic today—if I hadn’t lied to protect her.
A car drives by, hitting a puddle and spraying me with water.
My sweats are heavy. Head and heart heavier.
I make it to her apartment complex and huddle under the awning of the main doors. Reaching into my pockets, there’s nothing. In my haste, I didn’t grab my phone, student ID, or keys. Earlier this month Sutton fibbed, said she lost her key fob, and the University made her another, which is now on my key ring.
I pound on the glass. Someone will have to hear me or walk by.
My prayers are answered several minutes later when none other than Elliot walks out of the elevator.
“Cooper?” She opens the door to the lobby.
