“Do you have family in Chicago?”
“No,” I lie because I have no desire to talk about Tara and Jim, or how my teammates feel like family, or how myroommateis so much more than that.
The blonde jumps in, asking Helm something I don’t catch, and the conversation mercifully shifts away from me. Helm makes this whole song-and-dance look easy. He leans in, makes eye contact, asks questions back—the way I used to.
When did this stop being easy?
With Summer, it was never work. That first night, I couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to. Everything just felt… right. Talking to her, listening to her, being near her.
This is the opposite. It’s all wrong.
Time passes. I’m not sure how much. The singer finishes one song and starts another. Helm orders another round. The blonde’s finger hooks into his front pocket, and he’s eating it up.
Autumn turns to me. “You’re quiet.”
She’s eyeing me expectantly, a small grin playing on her lips. Nothing like Summer’s.
Summer.
She’s all I can think about. The way she looked at me that night, hurt and all my fault. The way she didn’t glance back when she walked away from me. The way her breath hitched just before she disappeared up the steps.
Was she crying?
I can’t think about being the cause of her tears. I’ll never forgive myself.
And for what? Four months. I was so scared of those four months ending that I ended them myself.
I pushed her away to protect myself from losing her.
But I’m losing her, anyway. Right now. Sitting in this bar, pretending I can move on when I know damn well I can’t.
“Long week,” I mumble.
She shifts closer. “Do you want to?—”
Her fingers brush against my forearm.
I jerk back so quickly I nearly knock my beer over.
“I—” The words catch in my throat. “No. I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Autumn’s brows pulled together. “Did I do something?—”
“No.” I shake my head. “I just can’t do this.”
I take bills out of my wallet and drop them on the bar. Enough for both our tabs and then some.
“You good?” Helm asks.
“I’m heading back to the hotel.” I don’t meet his eyes. And I don’t wait for his response. I turn, pushing through the crowd toward the exit.
Outside, I lean against the brick wall and catch my breath.
Then I pull out my phone.
Summer’s text is still there. So is my unanswered one.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard. But I don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to fix what I fucked up.
