I nodded, not trusting my voice to hold steady if I tried to speak.
“You'll be okay without me?” The question was half-tease, half-prayer, and I could see the real fear underneath it. Fear that I wouldn't miss him, that our friendship had meant more to him than it had to me, that he was just another person leaving while I stayed unchanged and unmoved.
If only he knew. If only I could find the words to explain that okay was the last thing I'd ever be again, that he was taking the best parts of me with him whether he meant to or not.
Instead, I pulled out my notebook and wrote:
Good luck.
Two words. Pathetic against the weight of everything I wanted to say, everything I needed him to know before he disappeared into a life that wouldn't include me.
Nate read the words and smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
“Thanks,” he said. “I'll need it.”
The bus driver called for boarding, and suddenly we were out of time. Out of stolen moments and careful conversations and the luxury of pretending this wasn't happening.
Anna hugged Nate one more time, whispering something in his ear that made him blink hard and nod. Michael shookhis hand. Then it was just me and him, standing in the space between staying and going.
He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his shampoo, could see the flecks of gold in his blue-green eyes. For a heartbeat, I thought he might say something that would change everything. Might confess that he didn't want to go, that Chicago could wait, that what we'd built here was worth more than any dream of artistic success.
Instead, he reached out and squeezed my shoulder, his touch burning through the thin fabric of my shirt.
“Take care of yourself, okay?” he said, voice rough with emotion he was trying to hide. “And maybe work on that whole talking thing. The world deserves to hear what you have to say.”
I wanted to tell him that the only words that mattered were the ones I'd never been brave enough to speak. That I loved him in ways that had no name, that he'd become the center of my world so gradually I hadn't noticed until it was too late to protect myself from the devastation of losing him.
That he was taking my heart with him, and I didn't know how to live without it.
But I just nodded and stepped back, giving him space to walk away.
He boarded the bus with quick, efficient movements, claiming a window seat near the middle where I could see his profile in the artificial light. He settled his camera bag in his lap like a talisman, fingers wrapped around it in a way that reminded me of every evening we'd spent together, him showing me the world through his lens while I fell deeper in love with both his art and the artist.
The bus pulled away with a rumble of diesel and possibility, taking Nate toward a future that sparkled with promise and potential. I stood frozen in the parking lot until the taillightsdisappeared around the bend, until the sound of the engine faded into the general hum of evening traffic.
Anna and Michael drove me home in compassionate silence, understanding that words would only make the wound deeper. When they dropped me off at the end of our driveway, Anna squeezed my hand and promised they'd keep in touch, that I was always welcome at their house even with Nate gone.
I thanked them and walked up the gravel path alone, every step feeling like I was moving underwater.
The house wasdark except for the warm glow spilling from Dad's study, where he'd probably been working through dinner and into the evening like he always did.
I should have gone straight to my room, should have hidden away until I could figure out how to put my face back together, how to pretend that losing Nate was just another part of growing up instead of the end of everything that had made life worth living.
Instead, I found myself knocking on the study door.
“Come in,” Dad called, and I pushed inside to find him surrounded by the usual chaos of lumber mill business and pack correspondence.
He looked up when I entered, taking in my expression. When he saw whatever was written in my face, he set down his pen and gave me his full attention.
“How did it go?” he asked gently.
I opened my mouth to answer, to give him some sanitized version of events that wouldn't worry him or make him think his son was weak. But the words wouldn't come. My throatclosed up like someone had wrapped their hands around it and squeezed, and suddenly I couldn't breathe.
The sound that came out of me wasn't words. It wasn't even really human. It was raw, a broken noise that wolves made when they were dying, when something vital had been torn away and left them bleeding out in the dark.
“Evan.” Dad's voice went sharp with concern, and I saw him start to rise from his chair. “Son?—”
That's when I completely shattered.
