“I thought you were going to stay the night.”
“Things are super busy. I need to get back.”
“Did I miss something?” He leans in the doorway, his damp hair hanging by his eyes. “I was kidding about moving in…”
And that damn bruise.
Okay, well him guessing isn’t helping. Maybe only making things worse.
“I didn’t want to leave when you were out, but I have something…” I know I have a giant to-do list, but I’m blanking at the moment.
What if I had a call that he was hurt at practice? What if next time he’s at a game and in a fight, he doesn’t get back up?
I stuff everything into my overnight bag.
“I was going to ask if you wanted to go out for lunch and help me pick out a Christmas tree. Never had one set up herebefore. Thought it could be fun to decorate. Maybe you could head back in a few hours instead? I’d like to spend the afternoon together.”
When I look up, I don’t have it in me to meet his eyes. Instead, I focus on his feet, then slowly, I bring my gaze up to his chest. “I should head back now. Still not feeling well…”
“Izzy.”
I slip my bag over my shoulder and pull on a fake smile, one I’m all too used to wearing. Anything to make everyone around me comfortable. Anything to let myself slip away without any more conflict.
So why the hell does this feel so fucking terrible?
Because I love him.
Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, then sighs. I know before he even says anything that he’s hurting. I bet he never spoke up to anyone about it, either.
“You should take some Advil before it gets too bad. I’ll text when I’m home.” I scan his room, trying to find any piece of myself I’ve left behind. My hair ties, my hairbrush, the lace underwear he peeled off me last night and tossed beside the nightstand. I swear I’m forgetting something, somewhere.
“Want me to drive you back? Forecast says it’ll snow.”
He moves out of the way, then follows as I make my way to the door.
“No, car’s fine.”
This all felt too normal, too real, and I can’t…
“Izzy, we can deal with whatever’s bothering you. We can figure it out. If I said something wrong, I’m sorry. But please stay.”
Except I know how this goes. I love someone, and they leave. Doesn’t matter if he’s traded, hurt. Fake or not, we started with a plan and things have blurred. One way or another, he’ll be leaving me.
I’ve just been lying to myself that it wouldn’t matter.
It takes everything I have to calmly mask that panic coursing through my body as I step out into the hallway to the elevator. Which is a horrible mistake because Jack fills his doorway, his palms open, his eyes pleading.
The elevator button glows under my finger, and I can’t make myself press it.
Behind me, Jack remains still. No crooked grin. No easy charm to hide behind. Just him, stripped bare and hurting, and it’s my fault.
I press the button anyway.
My phone buzzes on the counter.
The chip reader is dying.
There’s a line crawling around the back of the store. Someone knocked over the Christmas tree tower of books I spent hours making last night after running away from Jack. The wrapping station is almost empty. I need to order more wrapping paper. My throat is sore. My nose is starting to run.
