Toward the end, I drowned myself in essays, research papers, and exams, pretending the workload could smother everything else. The memory of his hands on me. The warmth of his breath against my skin. The look in his eyes right before he kissed me.
It almost worked.
However, being in the same classroom with Isaac three times a week, pretending like nothing had happened between us, pretending like his gaze didn’t still linger on me every time I spoke…
That was torture in its purest form.
I’d catch him looking at me sometimes when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. Just a flicker of his gaze, lingering too long before he forced himself back to the discussion he was supposed to be leading with the entire class. Other days, it was the opposite. I’d catch myself watchinghim. Watching the way he moved through the room with his quiet confidence, the way his voice shifted when he read passages aloud, the faintest edge of something darker buried beneath every word.
Our class discussions had settled into their old rhythm. Kind of. Circling themes of fate and morality, of gods and men. But every time we debated in class and his voice rose to challenge mine or his mouth curved when I said something that surprised him, it felt like more than simple academics. It felt like he was daring me to remember what we’d promised not to touch again.
I keep replaying that night in my head. Not the bridge or the moment in the shadows of the trees, but of me in his lap inside his car, when he told me he’d earn my trust. The feel of his arms around me. The way it felt to finally stop shaking in his lap. I miss the warmth of him, the steady weight of his hand at the back of my neck. The quiet way he said my name like it was something worth protecting.
When my final grades came, I stared at the “A” next toWorld Literature IIfor a long time before noticing a new email. It was from Professor Kendall.
He’d asked me to stop by his office at the end of the day.
I didn’t go. I didn’t respond.
He was right when he told me that not dropping his class was the smart choice. But showing up in his office the same day grades were finalized? That would’ve seemed just as suspicious, if not more so.
We’ve waited this long.
I wasn’t about to let two months of self-control go to waste just because I missed him. I wasn’t going to do the one thing I swore to myself I wouldn’t and risk his career, especially considering Professor Grant made it pretty clear he already suspected something.
But the semester is finally over now.
And now, after two months of restraint, of pretending to be just another student in his class, I’m done waiting.
It’s Christmas Eve, and Bodie and Erin are over so we can have our Friendsmas and exchange gifts. I got Bodie a shirt witha cat riding a slice of pizza over a rainbow and Erin a Friday the 13th backpack. We’re all sitting around on the sofa in the guesthouse while I flip through the illustrated edition ofRobin Hoodthat Erin just gave me.
“This is awesome, Erin,” I tell her before tearing my gaze away from the book to give her a big smile. “Thank you.”
“My turn! My turn!”
I gently set my new book on the coffee table before turning to Bodie. “Should I be scared?”
“I mean, it’s not as wicked as a cat surfing a rainbow on a slice of pizza,” he says as he tugs on the hem of his new shirt that he just had to put on right away. “But I think I did pretty good.”
He leans over and takes a badly wrapped package in iridescent purple paper out of his bag and hands it to me over Erin’s lap. I take it from him and unwrap it with curiosity. The box doesn’t give away what’s inside, so I open it and pull it out, immediately feeling a stinging sensation behind my eyes as I look down at the nutcracker in my hands. This one has a sparkly silver suit with rainbows painted on his legs and hat, and he’s holding a Pride flag.
“Thanks, Bode,” I tell him, blinking several times before looking over at him. “I love it.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal when he knows damn well it is. He’s been my best friend since we were kids, and I know he remembers finding me one day after my mom passed and I had swiped the first of many nutcrackers to keep in my room.
“I’d like to think your mom would approve.”
“I’m sure she’d love it too,” I say with a smile.
“Yeah, the nutcracker too.”
I know he wasn’tjusttalking about the nutcracker. While I haven’t told my dad the reason my girlfriend kicked me out because I’m worried how he’d react, I think I would’ve felt morecomfortable telling my mom the truth. Her love always felt a lot more unconditional than my father’s.
I nod. “I think you’re right.”
When there’s a knock at the door of the guesthouse, I set the nutcracker on the coffee table among scraps of wrapping paper before standing and walking over to answer the door. I’m surprised to see my dad on the other side.
“Sorry to interrupt Friendsmas,” he says as he invites himself inside. “I saw Erin’s car in the driveaway and thought I’d come say merry Christmas.”
