No one ever changes someone like Jace. Girls don’t fix him. Feelings don’t tame him. All that happens is you convince yourself you’re different right up until you’re standing there with your chest cracked open, wondering how the hell you let it happen.
And the worst part is knowing all of that, still doesn’t stop the missing.
It just makes it hurt more.
I force myself to keep walking, eyes forward, heart tucked back where it belongs. He fades into the background noise of school, another beautiful disaster I was never meant to touch.
But the ache of missing him creeps up on me somewhere between seeing him at the lockers and the lunch bell.
God, I wish Liz was still here. At least then I’d have someone to talk to. Someone who wasn’t wrapped up in someone else’s arms. Someone who still saw me.
The bell rings and my feet carry me to our usual table on autopilot. I spot them before they see me.
Sam’s perched on Reece’s lap, half-laughing, half-swearing at something he’s whispered into her ear. She smacks his chest, smiling even as she tells him to fuck off. He just grins, hands secure around her waist like she belongs there.
Aubrey is tucked under Noah’s arm, her tray barely touched. They’re arguing about song lyrics again—something silly they’ve debated a hundred times. He’s smug. She’s stubborn. They look ridiculously happy.
I pause for a second, feeling that familiar hollow ache in my chest. The one I keep pretending doesn’t exist, telling myself they’ll look up any second and see me standing here. See that I’m still here. Still part of the group.
Then I sit.
No one notices.
No one pauses their conversations. No one asks how my morning was. I unwrap my sandwich slowly, pick at the bread, take a bite I don’t really want. Their voices wash over me. Laughter. Teasing. Reece says something that makes Sam groan and shove him again. Noah murmurs something that makes Aubrey roll her eyes and smile anyway.
It isn’t personal. I know that. They’re just in their own little orbits now. Lovers’ gravity and all that. Strong pull. Tight circles.
So I sit there, quiet and smiling when I’m supposed to, chewing my sandwich and pretending I don’t feel myself drifting further out of frame.
My eyes drift across the table to the empty seat.
Jace’s seat.
God help me, I fucking miss the smirking asshole. The cocky flirt who never kisses anyone because, in his words, “kissing’s for people who want to feel something.”
I miss the way he made me feel seen, even when he was pretending he didn’t.
Even now, despite everything that’s happened, a foolish part of me still hopes he’ll walk through those doors and sit in that chair with a grin and a silly comment about my snack of the day.
But the seat stays empty.
And the silence around it is louder than the whole damn cafeteria.
I can’t finish my sandwich. The bread becomes dry in my mouth, and the noise in my head starts to become overwhelming. I stand up, needing to get out of here before that hollow splits me open completely.
No one looks up. I mutter something about forgetting a project, words more for myself than anyone else, and slip away from the table.
It hurts because there was a time when Tia was making my life miserable. Through it all Sam was there, pulled me in, sat with me on those days I wanted to disappear. She made me feel seen when it mattered the most.
And now I’m walking away from her and Aubrey, alone, trying to remind myself that being loved once doesn’t mean it can’t still hurt to feel left behind.
I walk the halls just to move. To be somewhere else. I head toward the east wing, past the rows of lockers and framed photos of smiling kids in last year’s musical.
I duck past the art room and round the corner when a voice stops me.
“Lola.”
I freeze.
