“Caitlin,” Gemma said gently.
“It’s the reason why this scene is so tough for me to nail. I want to honor and empower other survivors that might be watching.”
“I’m glad she had you to turn to.” Gemma placed a hand on Caitlin’s forearm. “The situation sounds awful, but what you did for her was incredible. Keep your head up—in the scene, I mean. Don’t let your face fall. Most importantly, don’t let Kate look ashamed.”
Caitlin nodded, picturing how the scene would unfold. “Thanks for that. I’m glad you stopped by, no matter the reason.”
“Happy to help.”
They didn’t move from their spots on the couch. It seemed neither wanted the night to end.
“Do you want your sweatshirt back?” Caitlin asked, trying to keep Gemma there a bit longer.
“No, you keep it. It looks better on you.” Gemma’s fingers uncoiled from her arm, and Caitlin felt the sudden absence of warmth. “I am surprised you got the smell out of it, though.”
Caitlin remembered that night like it was yesterday. They had gone to their first college Greek Life party for incoming freshmen and drank more than either of them ever had up until that point.
Back in their dorm room, they had fallen into sloppy, drunken sex, and Gemma’s crewneck—the one currently on Caitlin—had been tossed onto the floor. They had laughed through messy kisses, and Caitlin remembered it feeling wildand perfect. The next morning, however, Caitlin had woken up and vomited directly onto the sweatshirt.
“I had to wash it like ten times.” Caitlin laughed. “This sweatshirt could tell a lot of stories.”
Caitlin had practically lived in that crewneck throughout college and could recall dozens of times Gemma had ripped it off her in the heat of passion.
Years of silence had passed since the breakup, and the crewneck became a forgotten memory buried in the back of her drawer. But the moment she put the familiar fabric back on, the feeling was instantaneous, the soft embrace of a home she thought she’d lost.
“It definitely could,” Gemma agreed.
“I genuinely never stopped thinking about you, Gemma.” Caitlin had committed to total honesty.
When she saw the flicker in Gemma’s eyes, Caitlin slowly crossed the small space and intertwined their fingers together. Gemma hadn’t pulled away, causing her chest to tighten. It felt shockingly normal to be with Gemma again, to touch and breathe the same air.
“I should probably go,” Gemma softly spoke, starting to stand up and pull away.
“Stay.” Caitlin held on fiercely before Gemma could walk away.
Gemma hesitated, then, without a sound, led Caitlin toward the bedroom. They slid under the sheets together, Caitlin keeping a respectful distance in the king-sized bed. She didn’t want to push Gemma’s boundaries. Caitlin lay on her back, feeling Gemma shift until her body pressed against Caitlin’s side.
She turned toward Gemma, delicately draping her arm over Gemma’s waist, holding her from behind. “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” Gemma whispered into the dark, snuggling backinto Caitlin.
Caitlin couldn’t fathom how they ended up there, but for the first time since she was nineteen, she felt like everything would be okay. Letting out a sigh of contentment, Caitlin drifted to sleep with Gemma in her arms.
THE NEXT MORNING, CAITLIN WOKEfeeling like she hadn’t slept that deeply in ages. But when she opened her eyes, the space beside her was empty. Had she dreamt that Gemma had stayed over?
As Caitlin set her feet onto the floor to start the day, she noticed a piece of monogrammed hotel paper on her nightstand.
You’re going to crush it today. I’ll see you at work, mi capitana. – G
Caitlinpressed the note to her heart. It may have been a simple gesture, but it felt monumental. It was the first note she’d received from Gemma since college, and she clung to it like a beacon.
With Gemma, Caitlin had always turned to handwritten notes when speaking her feelings out loud had felt impossible. In high school, paper had given her courage when her voice had faltered, letting her say the things she couldn’t trust herself to say face-to-face. Seeing the carefree scrawl of Gemma’s words again now gave Caitlin a whisper of hope that she might yet be forgiven.
Caitlin knew better than anyone the power that letters could wield, both healing and cutting deep. She remembered the letter she had written to Gemma ten years ago, hasty and reckless—and the destruction it had left in its wake.
TWENTY-FOUR
Fall Semester, Sophomore Year of College
