“Quinn, what the fuck is this?”
She turns slowly to face me, complete and utter panic on her face. “Colton…”
The silence that follows my name speaks so much louder than anything she could have said. She’s leaving me. Leaving me with nothing but a half-hearted note, and she doesn’t even have the decency to say it.
“I asked a fucking question, Quinn. What is this?”
She looks away, blinking rapidly. “I’m leaving.”
“Yeah, I fucking got that from all the bags,” I say, my voice rising. “What I don’t get is why, when three hours ago we were talking about the next fifty years together.”
She covers her face with both hands, a shudder moving through her body, followed by a deep breath, like she’s steeling herself for this conversation. When she removes herhands, it’s not my Quinn looking back. It’s something fake. Artificial.
“The professors aren’t backing me,” she says with perfect calm. “Dr. Guarino’s still supporting the initiative.”
That halts the rampage I’ve been on. I’m still angry at her, but I see the pain underneath her facade. “But I thought?—”
“Yeah, me too. You know what they say about people who assume, so I guess you can call me an ass.” She lets out a pathetic laugh. I know she’s trying to cut the tension with humor, but I can’t even muster a quirk of my lips. “I’m going to head back to Boston. Try to set up meetings with professors who may be willing to stand against it.”
“And you want to do that without me?” I ask, because that’s what she’s saying. She doesn’t want me with her in this.
“Ineedto do this without you,” she says, glancing down at the paper with her hastily scrawled apology.
“Why?” I ask desperately, stepping toward her. “Why the hell won’t you let me help you?”
“Let’s walk this situation through to its logical conclusion,” Quinn says with absolute calm that makes me want to scream to the ceiling. “You back me, and you make an enemy of the other professors. They turn everyone against you, and with the help of my asshole father, they tank your career. You lose tenure and end up having to leave Boston for another tenure-track position or take adjunct roles and can’t afford to support Gerry. You’re heartbroken over it and come to resent me, and whatever we have falls apart under the weight of that, anyway.”
Anyway.
Fuck fuck fuck.
I thought she was just planning on doing this on her own, but that sentence implies that she means to endeverythingwith us. My stomach twists, the apartment swirling before my eyes as the panic sets in. I’m going to lose her. I just got her, and I’m going to lose her. There are things I could say—pretty words that wouldsoothe her and help her see that my world revolves around her—but they’re trapped behind something lodged in my throat, and I stand there. Mute in my desperation.
She steps closer, placing a soft hand on my forearm that’s anything but comforting. “I don’t want you sacrificing anything for me. You said yourself you didn’t want to take anyone else into consideration so you can do what’s best for your career.”
“That doesn’t apply to you,” I say fiercely, finally finding my voice. I go to close the distance, but she backs up, maintaining the space between us.
“This summer’s been intense. This whole ‘us versus them’ vibe, plus us adding sex to our friendship. Of course it all feels huge. But it’s only been a couple months, and we’re not even technically anything to each other?—”
“That’s bullshit,” I say, but she’s back to avoiding my eyes and keeps talking.
“This doesn’t have to be this big, complicated thing.”
“Yes, it does,” I say. “There’s nothing small or simple in the way I feel about you.”
A small sound, like a trapped sob, escapes her throat. “I know, but I think we need space?—”
“Like hell we do.”
“—to let the dust settle on all the campus drama. You know you won’t be able to stand by, so we can just, you know, put us on hold. Take some distance. It’ll be easier for you if you don’t have to watch it. The chaos will probably die down in a few months. And if you still want to see what we could be, then we can. Not, like—” Her voice breaks on the words, but she clears her throat and pushes on. “I don’t expect you to wait around for me. I mean, that’s a long time to go without getting laid.”
She chuckles, but there’s an edge of panic in her eyes, like she doesn’t realize there could and never will be anyone else for me. The idea of someone else touching me—or someone else touching her, for that matter—is like a knife in my gut.
“I’m not fucking anyone else, and neither are you, Quinn. This thing right here”—I gesture between us—“this is it. For both of us, and you know it. Stop pretending like you don’t.”
She turns away from me, laying a hand over her eyes. This indifference is an act. She loves me as much as I love her, and I’m not letting her go without a fight.
I walk up to her. My movements are slow, leaving time for her to slip away from me if she wants to. But I don’t think that’s what she wants at all. I think she wants me to catch her. To hold her and reassure her and love her.
