ONE MONTH AFTER
I WALKED into my apartment after a few drinks with my new coworkers and sighed at the state of the place. I’d moved here a week ago, and there were still boxes covering the floor, needing to be unpacked.
I hadn’t had the energy to put anything away. Don’t get me wrong, my team was phenomenal, but when I got home, all I wanted to do was call Jax and tell him about my day. I wanted to tell him about my officemate, who liked to listen to ’80s rap, and that I was starting to learn the songs, or describe how awesome my office was, with a small window that looked over the park where I’d found the perfect sweets shop. They made the best chocolate croissants that always made me think of him.
Since I couldn’t do any of that, I crashed on the couch and flicked through Netflix while living off takeout. Not my finest moments. When I was feeling desperate, I scrolled through his Instagram feed, looking for glimpses of him. Turned out I had masochistic tendencies because every post hurt.
Mia’s voice came through our video call a mile a minute. She was excited because she was already first in her class. Like I ever doubted her.
She was happy, and my shoulders relaxed as relief washed through me. She’d never opened up about what had happened between her, Alex, and River, but her smiles hadn’t reached her eyes in months. Before I left for my new job, I could hear her crying at night, but she’d always deny it in the morning.
Misery may love company, but I was happy my friend was breaking through it. Which was more than I could say about myself. It had been two months, and the ache wasn’t dissipating. I just wanted to call him even more. Late at night, when I couldn’t sleep, I let myself think about how things could’ve turned out differently had I been a little braver.
I pictured myself flying out to surprise him at one of his games. How his broad smile would take over his face and his dimples would be on full display. I let myself imagine the warmth of his arms and tried to remember his woodsy smell.
It was becoming a special form of self-torture.
JAX
River crashed down on our couch beside me. “Just fucking call her, man.”
I groaned. “You know I can’t do that.” Putting my elbows on my knees, I held my head in my hands.
“No, I know you won’t do that.”
It was hypocritical of him to call me out like this—he and Alex were barely talking to each other.
“You’re one to talk,” I snapped. “Why don’t you just call your girl?”
He knew exactly who I was talking about. I was so involved with what was happening between Sid and me that I’d completely missed what was happening between Alex, River, and Mia.
He deadpanned, “Because she didn’t choose me, asshole.” His voice came out hard, and his body stiffened.
I smiled. “Are you sure about that?”
River glared at me. Good. At least he’d stop trying to give me advice.
