I take a few steps backward toward where my car’s parked on the street. “I’ll delete it. Goodnight, Devons.”
“You’re the worst.”
“I know.”
When I pull into my driveway twelve minutes later, my fingers feel as stiff as a corpse’s. I relax my tight grip on the steering wheel and stretch my hands, wishing I could dismiss the pain in my chest as quickly as I can my fingers. Flipping through the pages of that notebook tonight was like falling for Paige all over again.
How in the world will I ever let her go?
If she doesn’t end up with Ian, she’ll end up in California. No matter what, I’m losing her. And even though I want to spend every remaining second of the time we have left by her side, I know from experience just how difficult it will be to say goodbye afterward.
I need to double down on my efforts to put distance between us. I need to—somehow—remove my heart from Paige’s grasp.
Chapter 19
JORDAN
Car horns blare behind me, and I look up to see the traffic light has turned green. I slam on the gas, leaving a yellow light and a line of angry people in my wake.
I’m glad the weekend is finally here, because this has been a long week. Ever since Paige and I went through our notebook last Thursday, I’ve managed to send a major client the wrong video files, put my milk in my pantry, and burn not one but two of my dress shirts while ironing.
Somewhere in the wiring of my brain is a cord specifically for Paige, one I feel is being gnawed on by a rat twenty-four seven. For the sake of this analogy, let’s call the rat Ian. No, Cali. Eitherway, the rodent’s chewing apart my relationship with Paige, and all I can do is watch—and malfunction.
From what Paige has been texting me, things with the Z3 team seem to be going really well. As far as Paige’s relationship with Ian… Well, Paige tells me nothing, but I may or may not have covertly extracted a few pieces of key information from Missy—Ian and Paige are taking it slow, Ian is treating her well, and they haven’t put a label on anything yet.
I turn up the volume of the song playing from my car speakers as I pull into my neighborhood. This is Paige’s song. I’ve listened to it hundreds of times through the years, but tonight, each chord strikes me differently. An ache cuts to my core with every rhythmic tap of the drum, and it takes me right back to the hammock.
In my memories, I’m eighteen again, staring at the girl I love after she tells me how she feels, but no words come out. Instead, I stand there and watch as our relationship twists out of my reach. I can’t help but feel that history is repeating itself.
When I get home, I switch my business clothes for joggers and a T-shirt and am starting to walk to Mom’s house when I spot a familiar car parked in her driveway—Dory, Paige’s blue sedan. I’ve done a decent job of avoiding Paige this week, and so far, the only thing it’s done is make me desperate to see her. Somehow breaking my avoidance streak tonight doesn’t seem like the best idea. Not when my defense system, specifically designed to keep my feelings for Paige under wraps, has been so severely weakened.
I immediately turn around and walk back home, but I halt before crossing my front lawn. I remember telling Mom I would stop by tonight. If I don’t go, Mom and Paige will get suspicious. I always visit Mom at night when I’m home, and if I don’t go, Paige will likely come over to my house to check on me anyway. Then it would be Paige and me, all alone.
At that thought, I circle back and retrace my steps. At least this way, Mom will be a buffer.
I walk through the side door of my mom’s garage and into the kitchen, where a row of my mom’s dresses are laid out on top of the table.
“Mom?” I call.
“In here,” she says, sounding slightly muffled.
I follow her voice into the living room, where I find my mom and Paige on the couch with their eyes fixed on the TV screen and their faces covered in something resembling guacamole.
Mom throws me a wave but keeps watching.
Paige tears her eyes from the screen. “Oots a faysask.”
I call upon my Mad Gab skills to translate this sentence into “It’s a facemask.” One that has apparently dried to restrict mouth movement.
“I can see that,” I say.
She smiles at me with all the charm of someone who recently got Botox. “Want suh?” She lifts a bowl from the coffee table and extends it to me. It looks like they took all the things that make me gag and mixed them into one convenient blob.
I peer inside the bowl long enough to get a good whiff. “Ah.” I draw back. “That’s disgusting.” I guess I won’t have to worry about getting too close to Paige tonight.You keep that look, Paige.
Just then, a timer goes off on Paige’s phone.
“Oh, hank oodness.” My mom pushes pause on the remote and slowly gets off the couch before patting me on the shoulder. “Hey, Jurdan, ha-ee I day.”
