Page 168

I can’t deal with Alester and Dalton at the same time.

So I choose neither.

I go home. The hallway outside my apartment feels too quiet after campus. No whispers. No looks. Just the hum of the building and the faint smell of someone cooking something with too much garlic.

For a second, I lean my head against my door before unlocking it. “Okay,” I mutter. “You’re fine.”

I open the door. There’s a box on the table. It’s not big. Just… deliberate. Clean packaging. No note on top. No sender written anywhere obvious.

I close the door slowly behind me. For a moment, I just stand there and look at it.

Then I laugh under my breath. “Of course.”

I don’t need a card. I don’t need a name. I know.

I walk over and touch the edge of the box like it might disappear if I blink.

I pull the ribbon loose. My hands are still a little shaky, though I can’t tell if that’s from the morning or from seeing his name on my phone or from everything sitting under my skin waiting to be dealt with.

Inside is⁠—

Not something flashy. Not expensive-looking in an obvious way.

Just… thoughtful.

A soft, oversized sweater. The kind you can actually live in. Neutral color. Something I would pick myself if I had the energy to care about clothes right now.

Under it, a smaller box. I open that too.

Prenatal vitamins.

I stare at them. Then I laugh again, but this time it comes out softer.

“Unbelievable.”

Of course he did that. Of course he didn’t send flowers or something useless. Of course he sent something practical. Something that says I’m paying attention without saying anything else.

There’s a folded piece of paper at the bottom.

I hesitate. Then I pick it up and open it.

It’s not long. Just his handwriting.

Eat something.

Take these.

Text me if you feel worse.

No apology. No mention of last night. No mention of what he said.

Just that.

I sit down slowly on the edge of the chair. For a few seconds, I just hold the paper in my hand. Then I drop it onto the table like it’s suddenly too much.

“He’s unbelievable,” I say out loud to an empty room.

I kick my shoes off halfway to the kitchen, pour myself water I don’t really want, stare at it like it’s going to tell me what to do next.