“Eventuallybeing the key word. Remember the recital? When we had to do that waltz in front of all the parents?”
I groan. “How could I forget? I was so nervous I forgot the entire routine halfway through.”
“I wasn’t sure what to do when you just stood there.” She’s giggling now, and I can picture her curled up on the couch in her suite, eyes bright with laughter.
“You were perfect, whispering the steps to me. But I still managed to spin you the wrong way. Poor Jake Henderson.”
She laughs. “That was my fault. I totally didn’t mean to knock into him like that. I wanted to crawl under the stage and hide. I was so embarrassed.”
“I couldn’t tell,” I say softly. “You got up, helped him find his glasses, and we finished the dance. You were always braver than me.”
There’s a moment of quiet, and when she speaks again, her voice is gentler. “We made a good team, though, didn’t we? Even when we were disasters.”
The words hit me right in the chest because yes, we did make a good team. We always have. In school projects, family gatherings, even navigating the awkwardness of growing up. She’s been my constant, my other half, and I’ve been too much of a coward to tell her that somewhere along the way, friendship stopped being enough.
“Yeah,” I manage. “We did.”
“I’m so lucky to have you, Micah. Really. You’re the best.”
She doesn’t say it, but the word “friend” is implied. Her words should comfort me, but instead, they feel like a door slamming shut. I stare up at the ceiling, throat tight.
“You, too, Cricket.”
“I should let you get some sleep.”
“Right.”
“Thank you again for tonight. For everything. Sweet dreams, okay?”
“Sweet dreams,” I echo.
The line goes quiet, and I hold the phone against my earfor a few seconds longer, listening to the silence where her voice used to be. Then I set it on the nightstand and stare at the ceiling.
The guilt is eating me alive. River is a genuinely good guy who cares about Cricket and treats her well. And here I am, lying in the dark, replaying every moment of tonight. The way she felt in my arms when we danced. The sound of her laugh. The way she looked at me when she confided in me about her fears, like I was the most important person in her world.
But I’m not. I’m her best friend. Her safe harbor. And River… River is the one she chose to take that leap with, to try something new and scary and beautiful.
I should be happy for her. I am happy for her. She deserves someone who will cherish her, and River will do that. But it hurts to step back and watch, to smile and be supportive when all I want to do is tell her that I’m in love with her.
I turn onto my side and punch my pillow, trying to get comfortable. Tomorrow, I fly back to reality, where Cricket and River will continue building something together and I’ll continue being the supportive friend who pretends his heart doesn’t shatter a little more each time she mentions his name.
The worst part is that she’s happy. Really, genuinely happy in a way I haven’t seen in years. How can I even think about disrupting that? How selfish would I have to be to risk her first real relationship just because I finally worked up the courage to acknowledge my own feelings?
I can’t. I won’t. Cricket deserves better than that, and so does River.
But as I finally drift off to sleep, it’s her laughter I hear echoing in my head and the memory of her hand in mine as we danced.
CHAPTER 30
Cricket Jenkins
Sunday, December 6
I wakeup to my phone chiming, alerting me that a text has come through. I groan and roll over, not wanting to wake up just yet. The hotel sheets are silky against my skin, far more luxurious than my cotton ones at home, and I burrow deeper into their cool embrace. I was having a wonderful dream. Micah and I were in the Christmas display, and I’d had the courage to press my lips to his. The world was suspended in time as his lips moved over mine, soft and warm and tasting faintly of peppermint.
But I’m awake now, and my dream has dissolved like sugar on my tongue, leaving only a bittersweet ache in my chest. I grab my phone from the nightstand, squinting against the bright screen in the dimly lit room. It’s River texting.
I think it’s time to break up.
