“Not at all, but I can’t stay with you. Everything I use for my nightly skincare routine is at the house, and I can’t skip it. I’ve finally got my acne somewhat under control.” Sophia touches her chin, rubbing her index finger back and forth across a spot. “Come on, let’s make the bed for you.”
Sophia goes to her closet and throws the doors open, pulling a stack of neatly folded sheets out from the top shelf. I take it from her, and we both start to make Isla’s old bed. My fingers tremble at the knowledge I’m going to be in the bed my sister last slept in, and it takes everything inside of me not to burst into tears again.
“I’ll finish this.” I grab the folded flat sheet and hold it to my chest. “You’ve already done so much for me, Sophia. Just by letting me stay here tonight.”
“Are you sure? Well, it’s no problem.” Sophia glances at her phone. “I’m so sorry, but I need to get home. I have to study for the French exam as well, plus … my skincare regimen.”
“Of course. I totally understand. See you tomorrow?” A gasp escapes me when Sophia pulls me in for a quick, tight hug, letting me go before I can return the embrace.
“See you tomorrow.” She takes a step back, offers me a quick wave, and then she’s gone.
Leaving me alone in the room.
Once I lock the door, I finish making the bed, letting the tears flow freely down my cheeks as I tuck the sheets tight beneath the corners. I grab the blanket draped across the foot of Sophia’s bed and use it as a comforter, pulling it over my body. I bury my face in Isla’s pillow and cry and cry. Big, heaving sobs rack my body, and when I finally fall asleep, it’s deep. Dark. I dream of Isla. Falling.
Always falling.
CHAPTER NINE
I’m in the dining hall earlier than usual, eating my breakfast alone, thinking. I figured I would be an emotional wreck from spending the night in my sister’s bed, but I woke up feeling refreshed despite the nightmares. Maybe being in the space Isla used to occupy every day inspired me, or maybe sleeping in a room by myself behind a locked door finally allowed me to catch up on deep sleep. Either way, I’m ready to tackle the day.
It’s blessedly quiet in here, with hardly any students eating this early. I don’t want to run into anyone who’ll ruin my day before it’s even begun. Just as I start to congratulate myself for discovering a brand-new life hack (eat early, avoid assholes), a certain someone spots me right away and heads in my direction with determined steps.
Connor Wells.
Nerves flutter at the intense expression on his face, and I brace myself for his approach. He drops his tray onto the table right next to mine before he pulls out the chair andsettles in. I hide my shock under indifference, not so much as turning my head in his direction. The scent of his cologne wafts toward me, and I inhale as subtly as possible so he doesn’t figure out I’m a complete freak who might grow addicted to his smell.
Ugh, I’m ridiculous.
Seriously, though, he is the last person I believed I’d start my day with, and I’m going to run with it.
“You figured out the secret,” is how he greets me before he grabs a fruit-filled pastry on his plate and sinks his teeth into it.
“What’s that?” My appetite vanishes at his question—and from having him so close. He leaves me breathless. Confused. Last time I saw him, he was a mixture of rude and flirtatious—heavy on the rude. I don’t like how unsettled he makes me every time I’m in his presence. He’s no one special.
“Eating in the dining hall early before all the arseholes come in.” His words echo my own thoughts so closely that I can’t help the laugh that escapes me.
He smiles, the sight of it making my head spin. I remind myself I can’t read into this interaction. He’ll probably treat me like shit the next time we’re together, which I’m thinking is his usual mode of operation.
“The arseholes, huh?” I laugh, shaking my head as I tear my croissant to shreds.
“I think you Americans pronounce itassholes.” His tone is flat, like he’s trying to imitate me. “But yes. Beat them to the dining hall and you get to enjoy your breakfast in peace, stress-free.”
“Do they stress you out? Your former friends?” I send hima look, shoving a few torn pieces of pastry in my mouth.
“Everyone stresses me out.” He scowls as he scans the mostly empty dining hall.
“Even me?”
“Especially you.” He directs that scowl straight at me before his gaze drops to my plate. “What did that croissant ever do to you?”
I’m about to make some flippant remark when he grabs hold of my hand, shaking it a little to get me to release the torn pastry. His fingers smooth over mine. When he presses his big palm against my smaller one, I can’t contain a quiet gasp.
He drops my hand like it’s on fire, returning his attention to his breakfast. I reach for the steadying warmth of my coffee. “Are you enjoying your time at Wickham so far?”
I nearly choke on the bitter sip I just took. “Enjoying?” I manage to sputter after I swallow.
His smile returns. “Bad choice of words?”
