After our run, we’d swung by the supermarket for dog food to drop at the pound. The place is a dump—old, underfunded, and run by jerks who wouldn’t let me in without Sam. Every week, we bring what we can. It’s not much, but it’s something. We could have more food if I let Sam pay, but I can’t. I need to do this on my own.
It eats at me that I can’t do more. The major ignores my emails, and I can’t afford the abandoned place I found—the one that would’ve been perfect for the shelter I dream about. A place for strays to eat, heal, play and find families. But I’m almosttwenty-two, barely scraping by in college, at risk of failing the year. Who cares what I want?
Especially with Mr. Turner breathing down my neck. Yesterday he emailed me to schedule an interview. Last time I asked him why I’d failed his exam, he told me to take the kindergarten-pink polish off my nails before demanding something “serious.” And now he wants to talk to me? I hate that man. I hate the way his words stick in my brain.
I almost ignored his email—until I remembered my mom’s message. She said if I keep my grades up, she’ll let me talk to Asher on my birthday. That’s why I can’t walk away. I need a degree, a job, stability. I need to bring him home to me.
Sam cracks open a can of orange soda as we head toward White & Cream. Steven’s made tarts for a quinceañera, plus some leftover shortbread cookies filled with cocoa and orange marmalade for us.
“I think we should sign up for next year’s marathon,” Sam says. “We’re doing great.”
I nod, smiling. “I think so too.”
We high-five and keep walking, weaving through summer crowds. At a kiosk, something bright red catches my eye—a little Lightning McQueen car. I dart forward, grab the box, and hand over one of my last twenty-dollar bills before anyone else can touch it. Clutching the toy to my chest, I rejoin Sam.
He notices it and his eyes flick from me to the box ten times before he finally asks, “What happened between you two?”
I blink. “Between me and who?”
“Between you and Vincent.”
My stomach twists. I’ve never told him. Not even Maggie knowseverything.That secret is Vincent’s and mine. We’ll take it to the grave with us.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you and him.”
I shrug. “It’s complicated.”
It’s not. I just don’t want to reopen that door. Even though I think about it every time we look at each other. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe if we talked, I’d stop replaying it. But instead, I called him two weeks ago—before I called my own boyfriend. It was just a reflex. Wrong, but just a reflex.
Since then? We talk every day. I hate phone calls, but I need to hear his voice. We see each other almost every night at Speedy’s Pizza and we end up cleaning side by side like nothing’s changed. And it kills me. Vincent’s always been the first person I think of when I wake up and the last when I close my eyes. But he can’t be my first choice anymore. Not now that I’m with Steve.
“I’m fine when I’m with Steve,” I mutter.
Sam raises a brow. “You said you’refinewith him?”
“Of course. I love him.”
And I do. He’s special and he needs me. I can’t abandon him—not for the ghost of something Vincent and I buried years ago.
Sam tosses his empty can into a bin. “I know you love him. But are youin love?”
I sigh. “Why are we even talking about this?”
He shrugs, grinning. “Because minding my own business is boring. And Vincent never tells me shit.”
I laugh, and he laughs too, both of us shaking it off. “How’s living together going?” I ask.
His grin falters and he rakes a hand through his hair, suddenly careful. “You should ask him about it.”
The pit in my stomach grows. I knew it. I’ve seen Vincent’s relapses. Something’s wrong.
I drop onto the first bench I see, pressing my hands together. Sam sits beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “I’ll keep an eye on him, Nova. I won’t let anything bad happen. Even if I have to throw myself into a storm, I promise.”
He smirks. “Maybe I’ll wear a Valentino tux while I do it, so I can look sexy for Maggie. Do you think she’ll finally notice me if I save your best friend in designer clothes?”
I giggle. He really is hopeless. But if anyone could love Maggie right, it’s him. I just hope she lets him try.
