We told ourselves we wouldn’t be that couple hanging on just to hang on. After high school, we didn’t break up, but we accepted we’d probably find more to life.
Except all we ever did was drift back to one another. We called each other with big news. Sent silly texts almost daily. When she had car trouble, I drove up to her university campus.
“What happened?” Isolde asks.
“Wrong time, wrong place. Got shot.”
I’m not expecting the twisted look on Isolde’s face. The tenderness. “I’m sorry.”
“One of Marissa’s drug runners,” I say, knowing she’ll understand how my life is a patchwork of Marissa. I decided to shred the fucking tapestry in the only way I knew how—by gunfire.
She steps closer. “I’m really sorry, Tris.”
It’s a connection I wish we didn’t have. The understanding of grief.
“I loved her,” I admit, realizing a half-second later how the truth might make her uncomfortable.
Her blue eyes shine up at me, soft and sad. But it’s all on my behalf. She leans her forehead against my chest, a move she’s doing more and more. It never fails to make me smile.
As I’m running my hand down her back, another truthhits me. Saying I loved Mariah out loud is now more fact than feeling. It’s a statement from long ago.
“Hey, Iz.” The words come of their own free will. I’m sure I’ll spend nights thinking about how ill-timed they are, how I can’t talk about loving an ex-girlfriend and then say what I’m about to. Any self-preservation is long gone, because something hits me so hard and so fast I can’t stop it. “What if we moved in together?”
CHAPTER 23
Isolde
“You want to officially move into my flat?”
His brow furrows. “No.”
My own brow furrows. “But you want to live together?”
“Yes.”
“Just not in my flat?”
“What in the hell is happening?”Sammie’s ghost asks, leaning up against a wall full of baby photos.
I like Tristan’s family. I like his dad, who’s shy and soft-spoken. His aunts laugh all the time.
I know all the strange looks I’ve received are because Tristan brought me. I’ve tried hard not to retreat into my shy self. To be as personable as I can because I want to make a good impression.
“They totally love you,”Sammie’s ghost says. And then she adds,“This guy totally loves you.”
My fingers curl around the beer bottle in my hand. My cheeks are red from the amount of people in the house. Not because of what Sammie’s ghost just whispered.
Love.
The thought floats through me. It swirls down into my belly, where it meets a mixture of excitement and dread. Because that can’t possibly be the case.
Tristan can get anyone he wants. He’s a total catch. We’re sleeping together because of convenience.
Sammie’s ghost lets out an aggrieved sigh.
“Why do you want to live together?” I blurt, something delicate in my chest vibrating. It’s got to be an economical thing. Rent in NYC is a bitch.
Tris stares at me. “You know why.”
