Crashing Hearts (Pine Valley College #2)

16. Bones

CHAPTER 16

BONES

“ Y ou are in a suspiciously good mood.”

“Huh?” Blinking, I drag my gaze from my phone and the morning text and picture from yesterday to see Alek next to me. He came to drop Evan off, and we happened to run into each other when my phone buzzed. I’ll admit I grabbed it fast, my heart racing for some reason I don’t quite understand myself.

“You’re not glaring,” Alek points out as I pocket my phone without responding.

“That means I’m in a good mood?” I arch a brow.

“For you? Yes.” His grin is cruel as he nudges me. “Is it a certain racer?”

“Shut the fuck up right now,” I snap. “It’s just a nice day.”

We both turn to look at the dull, cloudy sky and the spitting rain, and Alek eyes me as if to call me a liar. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Why did you call him anyway?” I mutter.

“I had my own boy to take care of. Besides, you kept telling me to. Don’t you remember?” My frown makes him chuckle, and he clears his throat before making his voice higher. “Fine, if I’m so annoying, call Sky. He’ll come and play with me. Call him, I dare you.”

“I didn’t say that.” I look away as he nudges me again.

“You’re funny when you’re drunk, although I don’t see you drink that often. Is everything okay?” he asks, concern in his voice.

“Fine, everything is fine,” I respond automatically as I push away. “I better get to class.”

“I’ll see Sky at work. Want me to tell him anything for you? Pass a note? Declare your undying love—” He grunts as I ram my knee into his balls before turning away in a genuinely good mood as he curses.

I head toward the building where my first seminar is, and I’m halfway down the winding path when a man pops up in front of me. My first thought is to swing—mainly because if you invade someone’s personal space like that, you deserve to be hit—but I dial it back, knowing my anger management coach would have some interesting things to say about that.

I don’t hate everyone per se, just most people, especially those who talk to me or grin at me like a psychopath after jumping out like a clown in a serial killer film.

“What?” I snarl.

“Bones, right?” the guy asks, a cap pulled low to obscure most of his face. He’s wearing what looks like a delivery driver’s outfit, and he has a helmet clutched in one hand. “You look exactly like he said you would, which makes my life easier. Here.” He thrusts a bag at me, and with a salute, he walks away.

What in the ever-loving fuck?

Cautiously opening the bag, I peer inside, only to sigh. There’s a lunch box with a sticky note on the top, and I don’t even have to guess who it’s from.

Shutting the bag, I pull my phone out and type out a message, unblocking him quickly to send it.

Bones: You know I’m capable of getting my own lunch, right?

Skylar: But why should you when I can? Have a good day at school, study hard.

Skylar: I like taking care of you.

I stare at the message, rereading it for what feels like a hundred times before putting my phone away and heading to my seminar, bag in hand.

I do eat the lunch, but only because I end up helping someone go over their notes longer than I expected, and by the time I have a break, I wouldn’t have time to leave for food.

It’s nice, and I hate that he knows what I like.

Scrunching the bag, I go to throw it away before I hesitate and reach inside, pluck out the note, and then throw the rest away. Shoving the note in my wallet, I head back to class for another busy afternoon.

I don’t even realize I’m smiling until someone points it out.

I guess I should be thankful I almost forgot the date. I went all day without remembering. It was only when I got home and was listening to the news that it clicked.

It’s the sixteenth.

I knew it was coming, I was dreading it, but I forgot since I was so busy. I guess that’s a blessing and a curse, but now as I sit at home, alone in the dark, staring at the calendar, all I can think about is that I wish I hadn’t noticed at all.

What is it about grief that does that to a person?

I miss them all the time, but on this date, it’s so bad, I feel like I can’t breathe, and the memories come flooding back. I can usually shield myself from the pain, but today is the worst day of the year.

The calendar stands beside a glass bottle of expensive whiskey. I know I shouldn’t drink it because it won’t help. It might numb me and make me forget for a little while, but it will all still be there when I wake up.

Besides, one embarrassing, drunken mess per week is my limit.

I stare at the bottle, wishing it could help take this away.

Turning away from it before I give in, I head to my bookshelf and tug out the small, cheap book of maps from the array of expensive ones surrounding it, then I open the pages, letting them flutter until the picture falls out.

Gripping the cheap photo booth image, I sit heavily on the sofa, my eyes tracing his face like I have done a thousand times in real life and in images. He doesn’t change or age, but I do. I no longer look like the bare-skinned, smiling kid in this picture. I’m covered in ink and scars now, and I’m angry and cold.

He would hate who I have become.

My shoulders hunch and my eyes burn with tears I refuse to let fall. I have cried enough to last a lifetime, and I promised myself I never would again, not after that night, but staring at this picture when we were so happy . . .

It fucking destroys me.

Why can’t I have that?

What did I do to deserve to lose the one good thing in my life that made me happy? I was sad and lonely before him, and then he came in like a fucking ball of sunshine.

He wasn’t perfect. He was stubborn and youthful and stupid sometimes, but he made me smile for the first time ever. He saw all of me and made me laugh. He held me when I admitted how much I hated my life and my father. He loved me when I didn’t even love myself.

Why did he do that?

Why did he give me a glimpse of happiness then leave me?

“Why?” I whisper.

It’s been three years, so deep down, I know the worst has happened.

He’s dead. I can feel it. He never would have left me alone otherwise, not when we had our entire future planned out together.

It’s not knowing for certain, though, that’s the worst. There’s always this lingering doubt, and I check every face. It’s like my life is just passing me by and I’m still waiting at that bus stop for him to show up so we could leave together.

But he never showed.

I waited all night, and he never came.

At first I was mad and hurt, but when he didn’t answer his phone, I became worried. No matter how angry we were at each other, he always answered. I went to his house, but his stuff was still there, half packed in a bag on his bed, like he was ready to leave with me.

He was planning to. I know it.

The police investigated at my instistance, but it was soon dropped. They just assumed he ran away, but I knew differently. His family life was as bad as mine, and he wanted out just as badly. We had that, and then he was gone. Something happened to him, and I’m starting to think I’ll never find out what.

Dropping the photo, I flip through the book, seeing his handwriting alongside mine—notes on countries we wanted to visit, the best time of year, and bus schedules. Every inch was planned out.

I press my head to the cover of the book, and a tear finally falls.

Three years ago today, I stood at a bus stop, ready to run away with the love of my life.

Three years ago today, my heart broke for the final time.

Three years ago today, I lost everything that made me happy.

Three years of living without a heart and the constant what-ifs about what happened.

Standing, I toss the book down and head to the bottle. Fuck it. Tonight is a night for drinking, but as I grab the whiskey, Sky’s voice fills my head for some reason.

I like looking after you.

Why am I thinking of him now?

He doesn’t even remind me of Aro. They are polar opposites, but here I am, thinking about Sky when I should be thinking of Pat. I can’t seem to care, however, as I reach for my phone like I’m reaching for a lifeline.

I need Sky.

I don’t want to be alone anymore.

“Baby?” he answers, worry in his voice.

“I need you.”