Page 165 of On His Mind

“Like what?” I had asked after a moment. I already knew what she meant, I just wanted to hear it from her.

She smiled at me, ruffling my hair. “Important. Not ordinary.” She paused. “Whenever I’m with you, my days are good.”

I pulled her closer and said, “So are mine.” And she had no idea how right she was because without her, my days are no longer good.

The tears come up out of nowhere, a hard shove in the chest, and my eyes are streaming, and the cold turns it to ice on my face. My nose is running, and I’m dragging my sleeve across it like a kid. I put my hand over my mouth to stop the sound from leaving my throat. I can’t sit here under her window and cry. I look up at the dark windows, and the sound comes out anyway. It’s ugly, doesn’t sound like me, and I fucking hate it. I hate that I’m like this.

I catch my breath and think about anything else. It works after a while. The guys are willing to help me get her back, and I think maybe I should let them help because if I keep doing things my way, I’ll just keep fucking everything up.

I stay on the bench until my teeth are chattering hard enough to hurt my jaw, until my fingers stop reporting in, until the streetlight buzzes and stutters and comes back on brighter. I keep thinking she’ll get up for water. I keep thinking a light will come on and I’ll see her shape crossing behind the curtain and that’ll be enough, that’ll be something.

No light comes on.

I’m freezing like I used to as a child.

Then I get up and walk home.

When I get onto Hawthorne, I notice that every light in the house is on. I ease in through the side door, and Stanley’s head pops around the corner of the hallway before the door’s even shut.

“He’s home!”

Three more heads appear behind him. Benson. Blue. Rowan with a blanket around his shoulders.

“Thank God.”

“Okay. That’s good.”

“Finally.”

I stop in the hall and wipe my face with the back of my hand. I know it’s blotchy.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

He holds up my phone.Myphone. “We know you didn’t text her. Did you at least talk to her, wherever you just went?”

I storm towards him. “Give me my fucking phone.”

He tosses it to Benson. Benson catches it, looks at Stanley like he’s tired, and hands it straight to me.

Stanley throws both hands up. “Reeve.”

Benson shrugs.

Then Stanley drops his arms, and something goes out of his face, and he says, “We’re fucked. She’s going to Chicago for Christmas.”

I stand there with my phone in my numb hand, and I don’t believe him. She’s not going there. She hates Chicago.

“Melly said she leaves tomorrow,” Blue says quietly.

“But finals aren’t even done yet.”

“She’s done, man,” Blue says.

Stanley adds, “Last minute decision apparently.”

“The girls are trying to stall her.” Benson’s got his arms crossed. “She’s driving. They’re working on a plan.”

“And given the fact,” Stanley says, and his patience is gone, actually gone, which almost never happens, “that you did not text her, you need to move. Right now. Tonight. Did you talk to her or not?”