He leaves, and the bond I thought was feebly stitching back together between us snaps. Again.
I slump against the wall. “Think we’ll ever get through to him?” I expect Hudson to say he can go and fuck himself, but I’m surprised.
“I really hope so.”
My gaze catches his, unprepared to see the same wistfulness staring back at me. “Sometimes I miss what we used to have.”
“Well, there’s only one thing we can do then, isn’t there?” He taps the floor we’re sitting on. “We build something better.”
A lot of the time, I’m sure Hudson is only telling me what I want to hear, but there’s something about his words that feels different this time. Almost like he’s starting to let himself believe them too.
For the first time in … years, maybe? It really feels like healing things might be possible.
Hudson goes back to work, and I grab my phone, determined to start work on myself. I’m going to be the coolest, calmest, most collected boyfriend that Ziggy could ever dream of. Starting now, no more over-the-top Kennedy. No more wanting sleepovers every night. No more craving to see him smile. No more trying to make everything about his life perfect.
I will be chill.
I will be?—
My Internet Explorer takes forever to load, but when it does, it opens to my last search.
And it’s not a search I made.
What is love?
Huh? I scratch my head as I scroll down through the options, noting that a few of them have been opened. This wasn’t an accidental search. It was on purpose.
But it wasn’t me.
I have more than enough experience with love, which is literally my whole problem.
So who was this?
Hudson? Is he falling for Wilde?
Hart? He’d be most likely since I don’t think he’s ever experienced a feeling in his life.
But they both have their own phones. Why would they use mine?
I search my brain, trying to pinpoint a time where I’ve left my phone around them and coming up blank. No one uses my phone, especially out here where the service is blood-boiling slow. We do most of our work in Wayward, but even then, I can’t think of a time when they would have used my phone.
Then it clicks.
The last time in Wayward.
Me on my computer, and a slim, pale hand sliding my phone face down on the table beside me.
Ziggy.
What is love?
Knowing it was him puts so much more weight behind the question. How could he not know? He’s mentioned a family before. If he has one, how doesn’t he know what love is? Even my dysfunctional, negligent one has had its moments. But not all of them do.
That thought trails off as I remember the guardedness in his eyes every time he talks. The way he flinches away from Hudson ever since they met and Hudson threw him into a wall.
Was it hisfamilywho did this to him?
Rage rushes through me so fast and hot that I can’t think straight.
