“To pretend.”
“To pretend what?”
She swallows. Licks her lips. Hesitates. “To pretend that things haven’t changed between us. That it’s still easy, like it used to be.”
A lump forms in my throat, and my chest tightens. I want things to be easier, too. I want pebbles thrown at my window in the middle of the night. I want us to share bowls filled with popcorn while we’re tucked underneath a blanket. I want the closeness we hadbefore.
“I guess I better get some sleep,” she says when the silence becomes too unbearable.
She carefully slides off the bed, and I let her because what else is there to say? How do you respond when your best friend all but confirms that you’ll never be what you once were? That it’s easier to be friends when we’re apart when all I ever wanted was for us to always be together?
“Does it bother you?” I ask, making her stop, desperate to get another real answer before she shuts me back out. “That I’m engaged?”
She looks confused. “You mean, like, do I think you’re too young?”
“No. I mean, yeah. Maybe?” I shake my head because, no, that’s not at all what I mean. “Just in general, I guess.”
She leans with her back against the door. “Honestly, Jules, the only thing that matters to me is that you’re happy. I don’t care about anything else.”
She smiles softly and slips out into the darkened hallway. I almost believe her.
Alex sneaks into my room early the next morning before anyone is awake and asks if I want to go for a ride before she leaves. After a quick text explaining to Brian and Chloe where we’ve gone, I get dressed, put on Alex’s spare helmet, and slide on the bike behind her. When I slip my arms around her midsection, it feels right. Like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
She goes slow through the neighborhood, carefully taking the turns and easing into the drive. But when we reach the country? That’s when she unleashes. I hold her tight, leaning in as close as I can, wishing I could press my cheek against her back so I could feel her warmth against my face.
I watch the sun rise through the trees as she races down the back roads, taking in the way the sky goes from purple and pink to vibrant orange. I pretend we’re flying somewhere new. Somewhere unexplored where no one else can find us. I pretend that we don’t have a plane to catch or a wedding to plan. That it’s just the two of us existing alone in this singular moment. I savor the flash of happiness, knowing that once the ride is over, the spell will be broken.
We drive until the cool morning air turns hot. Until the sun climbs higher in the sky and it’s time for Alex to leave. And when we finally pull up to the front of the house, Brian is waiting. Even as he stands and descends the stairs toward the driveway, we don’t dare move. Alex stays bent over as if waiting for a cue to lay on the gas and speed away, taking me with her.
It’s tempting, but it’s well past breakfast, and Brian is waiting.
I carefully untangle myself and step off the bike. She turns to me, her helmet blocking her face, and I think about lifting the visor, achingto see her eyes one more time before she heads back to London. To thank her for the reminder of what we used to be and for the momentary reprieve.
Instead, I remove my helmet and hand it to her, forcing a smile and debating asking if she’d like to come inside. She latches the helmet to the back of her bike. I remain silent, knowing there’s no point in asking her to stay. She never stays.
As if proving my point, she nods once and takes off down the long driveway without looking back, taking my happiness with her.
Chapter Twenty
Alex
Nothing sounds more glorious than a nap. Too bad I don’t have time for one. My flight leaves later this evening, and Mom and Richard want to take me out to dinner on the way to the airport. Which I’m looking forward to. I just hope I can stay awake long enough to enjoy it.
Slowly, I drag myself upstairs. Mason’s in his room, plucking away at his guitar, and I detour there instead, flopping on his bed with a loud groan.
The music stops, and I motion for him to continue. Maybe his impressive rendition of Metallica’s “One” will keep me from drifting into an easy slumber. But he doesn’t continue. In fact, I can hear him unplug and turn off his amp. “Haven’t you heard of knocking?”
“Door was open. That insinuates an invitation.”
The bed dips as he sits beside me. “How was the party?”
“Fine,” I mumble into his comforter.
“And Brian? Do you like him any better?”
I can feel my lip curl, and I roll over on my back. Mason’s had more opportunities to get to know him, and even though he insists he’s a good guy, I still can’t see the appeal. “Ugh, no. He plays pickleball, for Christ’s sake.”
“What’s wrong with pickleball?”
