How does she know?
I scan the calculations. It’s all there. Only how could she see it? She’d need to know the whole story, and even August doesn’t know the whole story. How could she figure this out? Who the hell is she even?
But more importantly, she’s going to tell him. She’s going to tell him, and he’s never going to look at me the same again. He’s going to hate me, and all that sweetness, that openness, everything I’m craving… He’ll withdraw.
The last man he ever had a fling with is going to crush his trust, and his last days are going to be miserable.
Maybe I can fix this. Maybe if I let him down gently, then go see her, tell her to call it off, explain my reasoning…
That’s what I’ll do. I’ll give August time to get home, then I’ll call him.
I’ll end it.
Over the phone.
I’ll just tell him, you and me, we could never work. We’re a mathematical impossibility.
But I’ll always adore you.
And it was nice to know you.
And he’ll never, never understand just how wonderful it was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
GOOD AUGUST
ENDURES A TALK
They all got out of the van at Amber’s place, and even though both she and I begged Jon to go in, he refused. I said I’d go for a drink even, just so I could call a cab and ditch him there, but he wasn’t having it. He’s determined that we stick together and have our talk, alone, so despite what I told August, I eventually agree to let him drive me home.
He must be taking this very seriously because he’s been quiet for most of the trip. That’s fine by me. I’m tired, my stomach’s tied in knots about August, and this is not how I want to spend the early hours of the day.
Eventually, he asks, “Is it serious?”
His eyes eviscerate me when I laugh.
Not serious.
Also very serious.
“I only just met him.”
“That’s good.” He has a confidence when he says it, as though August’s the only thing standing between us rekindling what we had. But that fire’s long dead. Dead and gone before I ever realised and got sick enough to leave him. “It’s a bit weird, you know?”
“It’s very weird,” I admit.
“So tell him it’s off.” His words are a command.
“No.”
He huffs out a scoff, exactly like a thwarted child. “You don’t even like him that much.”
“No, you misunderstand me. I like him. Jon, I adore him.” He drags the wheel to the left so angrily the momentum thrusts me against the door, and I have to slam a hand down on the dash to steady myself. “Drive properly or let me out.”
“Why would you say that to me?” he shouts.
“You wanted to have this out, so let’s have this out. Jon, I will always love you as a friend. What you and I had… it was… a thing. A real thing. And then it ended. And not a lot of people can walk away from that with a friendship.”
