“If we’re meant to be together, Fletcher, we will be. I promise you that much.”
He grabs my hands, kissing the palm of one of them, before wrapping his arms around me.
His heart is racing.
I can feel the frantic rhythm through his shirt, no matter how hard he tries to steady his breathing.
“Can we,” he takes a deep breath, “can we just lie here and act like what just happened didn’t happen?”
He pulls away, his eyes studying my face.
“I just want one more night of this, of us.”
I give him a small nod.
“I’d like that.”
We both lay down on my blanket, our heads facing toward each other, so if we wanted to, we could turn our heads and look at each other.
We don’t.
We stare at the stars and let our reality sink in.
This time tomorrow, we’ll both be single.
And the initials we carved into the tree, a few feet away from me, will be a thing of the past.
Our past.
forty-seven
Fletcher
Iwoke up in my childhood bed feeling a sense of Déjà vu. I woke up and just stared at my ceiling for hours, letting the world around me happen while I sat still.
Once I get out of this bed, it’s really over. I have to go tell everyone my relationship ended as quickly as it began. I have to deal with all the questions, comments, and concerned looks.
It reminds me of the first time we kissed. Well, not that night specifically, nor the morning after, but the following morning, after Tate told me it was a drunken mistake.
I was in this bed, staring at the ceiling, convincing myself it was time to move one, but that didn’t happen. And every time I thought maybe I could, I realized I couldn’t just forget about that kiss.
I don’t know how I’ll ever move on from Tate after experiencing the type of love I had with her. It took everything in me to move on after a single kiss, but a relationship… no idea.
“Yo, sleepy head.” Chase opens the door to my room and walks in without waiting for approval. “Your nephew is waiting downstairs for you. You’re the only reason we drove down here today, so you better get out of bed.”
Right. I forgot I told Chase I was going to be home for the next twenty-four hours. I really drove down here yesterday because I had a feeling Tate was sitting by her favorite thinking spot, trying to write lyrics. I guess a part of me thought maybe she was trying to figure us out, too, but I fought the thought so I didn’t have to think about the end of us.
I understand why she did it; I do.
That doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking suck, though.
“Can he wait a few more minutes?” I mumble, my eyes glued to the ceiling.
“What’s going on, Fletcher?” He sits at the foot of my bed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you still in bed at one o’clock.”
“Tate broke up with me.”
The words float in the air between us. It’s the first time I’ve said that out loud since it happened, and every nerve in my body aches.
