Chapter fourteen
Sawyer
Cutting wind and a constant drizzle cause a chill to seep all the way into my bones as I trudge back to my dorm.
I holed up in the library all day, once again playing catch-up.
I caught up on all my reading, finished an essay on public library user experience and design that isn’t due for another two weeks, and made a decent dent in the forty-page research project on information access and deliverability, my one and only assignment for Information Systems.
What I didn’t do was log into the class portal for Marketing and Entrepreneurship. Nor did I reply to the email Mercer sent out canceling class for the week.
Every time I think about Ty, a wave of panic threatens to wash over me and pull me under. The layers of hurt ache more with each passing day, despite how hard I’ve worked to keep my head above water.
Shivering and silently chiding myself for forgetting my coat, I pull my sleeves over my thumbs. I’m wearing one of Ty’s old hoodies, but the worn, oversized fabric does little to protect me from this weather.
My phone vibrates in the front pouch, but I ignore it.
Just like I have all day.
A stray tear escapes, rolling down my cheek and warming my skin. I dash it away with my sleeve, sniffling.
When the sidewalk forks, I hesitate.
If I go left, I’ll end up at Atty and Ty’s building. Ty has been home from the hospital for two days, according to my brother.
A quiet but persistent yearning urges me that direction.
The need to check on him. To see him with my own eyes and ensure he’s okay.
I resist, though it takes a lot of effort.
I’m disgusted with myself, honestly.
It shouldn’t be this hard to stay away.
My foot slips on a patch of wet leaves as I swing a right toward my residence hall. With a gasp, I catch myself from falling. Then I quicken my pace, desperate to get back to my room.
I don’t make a habit of walking alone when it’s this dark.
For the last few weeks, if I wasn’t working, then I spent my evenings either at Mercer’s condo or at the orchard.
My nose tingles, tears threatening again as longing assaults me just like it does every time I think of them.
What I wouldn’t give to be sliding into the driver’s seat of my car. To be winding down the road that leads to the orchard. Eagerly rushing up the path to the house. Mentally tampingdown the butterflies that always riot after I knock on the pale yellow door of Noah’s farmhouse.
Noah would greet me, hold me.
He’d run a bath for me and warm me from the inside out.
He’d promise we’d figure this out together and that everything would be okay.
Sniffling again, I pick up my pace further.
He would lie, shield me from the fallout of the messes I’ve made. Make everything feel better for a little while.
Teeth gritted, I shake my head. I can’t think like that. Can’t allow thoughts of what I want and what might momentarily ease my guilt infiltrate my mind. I have to be strong and remain committed to staying away.
Because if I go to Noah, there’s a good chance Mercer will be there.
