“Why?”
She just looks at me.
I whisper, “Why?”
“Because… I was drowning, Jamie. And every time I thought I could breathe again, I saw you. Or Miles. Or both of you.” She rubs her arms. “I’m leaving for Paris. I have to sort out my visa, but… my mom said I could stay with her for a while.”
Paris.
It shouldn’t hit as hard as it does, but it feels like the ground’s been pulled out from under me. “You’re actually leaving?”
“I need to.”
The rain starts up again—light, cold, relentless. I drag a hand through my hair, searching for something smart to say, something steady, but all I can manage is, “You could’ve just texted.”
“I know,” she whispers. “I just didn’t want to leave with you thinking I was a coward. Or that I didn’t care.”
“You slept with him,” I say quietly.
She flinches.
“Then you accused us of making a game out of it when the truth of the matter is, I had no idea he had slept with you that day in the dorm, not until after the fact. I was shocked. Surprised even. And you made it seem like it was this preplanned thing we had going on…”
“I know I messed up. I should’ve told you. I should’ve told you everything before it got this bad.” Her eyes shine in the streetlight. “I don’t want to leave thinking you hate me.”
I stare at her. “I could never hate you.”
Her breath catches. She looks up at me, rain glistening on her lashes. I reach out without thinking and brush my thumb over her bottom lip. The tremor that runs through her hits me straight in the chest.
“Do you care about him?” I ask.
She starts to shake her head, but I tilt her chin up. “Tell me the truth, Chloe.”
“Please don’t make me say it.”
“Baby,” I murmur, the word slipping out before I can stop it. “Just tell me.”
Her lips part. “He was nice to me,” she says softly. “And before you—before any of this—I thought maybe he liked me.”
“He does like you.” The words come out low, honest, surprising even me. “Probably more than he wants to admit.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters,” I say. “It matters because we keep lying—to each other, to ourselves—and pretending it doesn’t.”
She frowns. “What are you saying?”
I don’t answer. I just kiss her.
It’s not desperate this time, not even angry. It’s slow. Careful. The kind of kiss that feels like it could fix something if you let it. Her mouth is warm against mine, her hands trembling where they rest on my chest.
When we break apart, she’s breathing unevenly, eyes glazed, lips bruised. “Jamie…”
“You’re staying at your old apartment?”
She nods.
“I’ve got a long night here,” I say, voice rough. “But maybe I can come by after. We can talk.”
