Page 89 of The Exit Strategy

“Why’s that?”

“Feelings are messy. History makes it complicated.”

“That’s life, Junie. You either learn to thrive in the messor you hide it. We grew up hiding the mess. Is that really what you want for your future?”

Shit. Here I was thinking I was ahead of the curve with our generational trauma. Leave it to Doc McSmartypants to call me out on it.

By the timeI’m alone in my apartment that night, I’m freaking exhausted but thankful for the peace.

I forgot what it’s like to live with Fen—no one goes to sleep until he’s ready, and spoiler, he’s never ready. Thankfully, Nana Mae scolded him, and he retreated to the guest room so I could slip home.

Silence is a double-edged sword, though. I’m instantly reminded of Nolan’s words that have completely rocked what I thought I knew.

The man you’ve been in love with since you were sixteen is thirty feet away.

That’s what Nolan said. Out loud. Like it wasn’t a grenade. Like he hadn’t been sitting on it for years and just casually handed it to me with the weather report.

I close my eyes and replay my day while massaging my hands with lotion. It’s an automatic motion that takes no mental brainpower, for which I’m thankful, and I take my time applying it to my legs before moving to my arms.

When I’m finished, I rub my hands together to use up the remaining lotion, and the ring slides to my second knuckle.

I freeze.

My pulse doesn’t. My pulse is loud and stupid in my ears.

I stare at my hand in the mirror. The ring sits high onthe joint, not hung up as it’s been for weeks. Weeks where I’ve pulled. Tugged. Twisted. Cursed. Begged. They all ended in the same result, which is stuck.

Tonight, with no attempt, no planning, no intention at all, the ring is asking to come off.

I lift my hand to my face, then give an experimental tug.

The fucking thing slides right off just as Nana Mae had said it would.

It’s just the water weight. From the heat…

No struggle. Zero effort. As though it’s been loose for days and I hadn’t been paying enough attention to notice.

I stand here, holding it in my palm, more unsettled than I’ve ever been, staring at the small, cold, circular symbol of love and commitment, and my left hand feels…wrong.

I stare at my bare finger, then back to the ring, then back to my finger again, as though one of them has to volunteer an explanation.

The silence is choking now while I have an internal disagreement with a piece of jewelry.

Just give it back in the morning. We don’t have to have a conversation about it, right? Cole doesn’t really care. Leaving it on his desk will be clean. Efficient. Adult-like, even.

I set the ring on the edge of the sink, turn off the light, and make it exactly four steps before I’m backtracking without allowing my mind to ask a single question.

I simply turn the light back on, slip the ring back on my finger, over my knuckle, and nod. Once. Like the decision was out of my hands.

“It’s easier this way,” I reason to absolutely no one.

Even Cole mentioned this ring keeps Lola away, so really, I’m doing him a giant favor here.

It serves a purpose. It’s temporary. Just for now.

I say it the way I say things I need to believe before I can sleep—the lies we pretend are real to make everything just a little easier.

Just for now.