Chapter 52
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Despite what a terrible friend I’ve been to Kit, she’s fully here. Even Mia’s pared down her schedule to be around more. I don’t have to chase them down. And somehow that’s enough. More than enough. Being with them doesn’t distract me. It heals me.
Today, Kit dragged us outside again to paint our nails on a picnic blanket in the grass.
The sun thaws me, inch by inch. The wind cools my face, somehow better than any freeway in my Jeep.
Kit must have seen the Dark and Twisty Daily To-Do list I wrote on a Post-it, because she’s been silently assuring I check them off.
Memorize a verse
Touch grass
Sing something
Go for a run
Tell God about it
It helps.
Thank you for them. For not giving up on me. For giving me a place to belong.
Psalm 139:16—“You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.”
We’ve been memorizing Psalm 139 together, bits at a time.
I just hand-lettered that verse to add to the lounge walls.
They’re barely visible now, covered in psalms I’ve written and taped up.
It’s the strangest thing—he keeps whispering.
I thought I’d have to earn it back, prove I was on the straight and narrow.
But he took me back on day one. No hoops to jump through, no radio silence.
He never left. It’s like … he wants me close.
“I miss Haymitch,” I blurt, painting my pinkie toe. “And this is the brightest color of purple I’ve ever seen. I’m officially overcompensating.”
“So don’t,” Mia says. “Miss Haymitch. ’Cause I do too. I can plan a thing tonight.”
“I mean … sure.” Dread and desperation coexist at the thought of seeing … him … again. No, recovery is not going well. I still can’t say his name without going fetal.
Kit screws on the lid of her nail polish. “If you’re ready.”
“It’s a win-win,” Mia says. “If Austin shows, he’s forced to remember how gone he’s always been for Sophie. If he doesn’t, just awkward-free time with the crew.”
I try to smile.
“Walk tonight?” Mia asks. “Or field trip?”
“Your favorite hike?” Kit suggests. “The lake?”
I miss the trees. The crunch of gravel. That forest feeling that everything will be okay. But how could I walk through a forest without thinking of Austin every second? I swallow hard and shove the thought away. “Maybe just a movie?”
“I’ll come up with some options,” Mia says.
“I’ll text Levi,” Kit says.
For hours I decide what to say if he shows.
He doesn’t.
As I finish an afternoon run, Austin materializes halfway across campus.
Must be on his way to an absurdly early dinner, one of many strategies he employs to avoid me at all costs.
Phone number blocked, Flooders claimed, routine rearranged, paths to class adjusted.
I once saw him at the library. One step toward him and he zipped his backpack and slinked away without a trace.
Can I talk to him? Can I make him listen? I just want to tell him I’m sorry. He doesn’t even know I’m sorry.
I’ve been praying and praying, and I just know I’m supposed to wait for Austin to reach out. My hands pulse into fists at my sides. I’m not a sit-and-wait kind of girl, and it’s absolutely murdering me trying to leave him alone, trying to let him heal and come around.
I could shower and put on that black workout dress.
I could cut in front of him so he has to watch me run.
I could try a guerrilla kiss.
I shake my head to convince myself. No to all. No tempting. That’s what did this in the first place.
Write him a letter? He’ll burn it.
Resurrect the hangman game? No idea who was doing the socials.
Convince Levi to get us stuck in an elevator? He’d sooner buy Crocs than betray Austin.
I’m still running, passing student after student until I’m a mere thirty seconds away. He loves these workout shorts, and he won’t think I put them on for him. Maybe just an apologetic-looking hi? A sad smile that invites a conversation?
Psalm 73:25—“Whom have I in heaven but you? I desire you more than anything on earth.”
I drop my head and slow to a walk. The psalm I hand-lettered just before this.
I mean, yes. But I miss him like an amputated limb. How am I supposed to do my whole life without him?
Do you desire me more than anything on earth?
Austin’s ten feet ahead. That curly hair and broad back. Hoodie sleeves pushed up his forearms. I want to wrap my arms around him. I want his eyes on mine. I want him to stand up straight again. I want him to know how sorry I am, how much I love him, how it’ll be different now.
But I want you more.
Or, I’m trying to.
There’s a multiple-choice option flashing ahead that could fix everything in a moment. Every muscle itches to sprint those last ten feet.
But I’m choosing you. You can’t heal what I won’t hand over.
Time for “Need to Not.” I switch the song and scroll down the lyrics to click on the chorus. Convince me, Jordan Davis.
I lift straight hands next to my face like horse blinders and about-face—almost barreling into someone—to sprint back to my suite. Before I make an even bigger mess of my life.
I’m a maniac. Keep me in line. I only need you.
Dysfunctional maybe, but the self-inflicted pain of the gym is becoming a drug. Downside? The off-ness of my workouts are now a constant reminder. I used to talk to God between every rep, often about her, pushing the exhaustion into prayers.
Not anymore. How could I? I defied orders, went AWOL.
I want to snap out of it, be me again, but I don’t know how.
’Cause it’s all gone. Sophie. My drive. My peace.
Football. Her protection. My ability to look in the mirror.
I used to be someone. I showed up. I mattered.
I took care of Sophie. I looked out for my friends.
Now? I just exist. I plod to Saga, to class, to the gym.
And there’s nothing else to me. The rest of me bled through the cracks that day.
A blond ponytail sways across the gym, but I lock my eyes on the machine in front of me. It’s not Sophie. I make sure of that. But my peripheral vision betrays me—she’s walking with a short brunette. I turn on impulse.
It’s her.
My stomach twists like after those spinning rides at the county fair.
She doesn’t know I’m here. I could watch her walk if I wanted. I can’t want, but I still watch. My heart beats I love her. I love her. I love her. It won’t go away. Won’t even lessen. But that doesn’t change anything. My stupid heart knows nothing. It doesn’t get a say anymore.
I’ve only seen her once in two weeks, and this is why. I avoid her with precision for survival, yes, but for her too. I don’t want this gnawing ache for her. I want her to heal, move on, find what she needs. The less she’s reminded of what we had before, the better.
She looks content. A little nervous, picking at her nails. No bouncing, no singing, but Kit’s talking to her like she’s a person and not a charity case. Better than my friends can say for me. The vice of dread around my chest eases. She’s okay.
They continue down the hallway with the multipurpose rooms, toward Kit’s dance studio. The joggers she runs in. A high ponytail I would have tugged on. All I can think is, Clothed with strength and dignity. I squeeze my eyes shut, like that’ll stop the image from burning in.
I need God. I know that. But prayer seems impossible. Like, “Hey, I know you gave me everything I could ever want, but I still took more. Broke everything. Crashed through all your expectations—because I wanted it. Because I could. Anyway, we good?” I shake my head numbly.
My thumbs move before my brain stops them, texting Levi like I’ve learned nothing.
Is Kit teaching Sophie ballet?
Levi
They’ve been planning a class. Why?
Saw them at the gym
Sorry man.
“Yo, can I work in?”
I glance up. “Oh, sorry.” I was hogging the machine. “Yeah, for sure.”
My mutinous eyes pan for Sophie. I wanna follow her, but I know they’ll close the door. What is wrong with me?
“You know them?” That same guy—T1 I think. Doesn’t play intramurals or I’d know him. He nods toward Kit and Sophie.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Know if the blonde is single?”
I don’t answer. Just stare at him.
One look at me, and he jerks back, hands lifted. “Sorry. Got it. Didn’t know.”
I rub a towel aggressively down my face. Like that’ll help.
Just bench press. Then I’m done here.
For my Post-it homework, Kit and I sang “Jesus Paid It All” on the way to her studio.
I drop it to a hum as we pass through the gym.
There’s something about hymns—antique theme songs, handed down like heirlooms. By Jesus lovers, for Jesus lovers.
They’re not flashy, not churchy in a weird way.
They just feel real, and singing them is a reminder that I’ve been adopted into their family. Jesus’s family.
Another chance at family. Teach me what that even looks like.
At the familiar smell of metal and lemon, I realize in a flash—Austin could be here in the gym. Odds are decent actually. My nerves go on alert, preparing for a painful zap. I still jerk to scan the weight room.
Bam.
There he is, in all his weight-lifting glory, bench-pressing a million pounds.
I flinch. Not two hours later, and here we are again.
And now he’s in one of his ratty tees, sleeves crudely torn off, hems fraying.
Help! Help me obey.
It takes everything in me to twist back around, keep my eyes on the door, wait for Kit to unlock it.
I frantically tap my nails together as Kit digs for her key.
He avoids me on purpose. If he caved and wrapped his arms around me, he’d hate me even more in the long term.
I’d lose any remaining chance of him coming back for good.
“Never. Not after what you did. After what you took.”
I am God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for me to do.
And whatever those good things are, they’re my good works, and they’re not with Austin.
Not right now. I roll my shoulders. Like Kit’s class.
We almost have the first one planned out. Just focus on the class.
But as we step through the doorway, the troll tries again. “You’re pathetic. He doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t even miss you. He’s just over it. You’re not good enough, and that’s it.”
Kit steps out of her shoes and unlocks her phone.
How precious are your thoughts about me, Oh God, I recite under my breath. They cannot be numbered. I can’t even count them; they outnumber the grains of sand.
It doesn’t fix anything. Doesn’t even distract me. I kick the door closed—harder than I mean to—and wince, whipping toward Kit. But nothing. Not one flinch. Just tap-tapping on her phone, connecting to the Bluetooth speakers.
I gape. Since when? Has God been healing her right in front of me?
But maybe healing doesn’t make a scene. Maybe it just sneaks in and takes root.
The troll slithers closer. “Austin thinks he’s too good for you, but all of this is his fault. He’s acting like you did this alone, but he was there. You’re here because of him.”
Bitterness burns up my throat. If he’s so mad about it, he should’ve made different choices. He should’ve said no.
But the Taylor Swift song plays in my head, and my anger ebbs. Cheat on me? Never. Austin’s no villain.
Kicking off my sneakers, I catch my reflection in the wall of mirrors: the ponytail he used to tug, the lanky frame he helped me make peace with.
He’d whisper that I looked like a faerie, brush the freckles on my cheeks, wrap his arms around my waist. He called me feisty and brilliant and alive. Perfect.
My lungs struggle to inflate. Remembering hurts.
But where is Mom’s voice? Where is her grimace?
Austin helped cross it out. His voice counted more.
Somehow, it still does, even if he refuses to breathe the same air as me.
I meet my eyes in the reflection. Maybe this was the gift all along.
I thought it was Austin, but maybe it was seeing myself differently.
A text lights up my phone—a new playlist from Janie. The title sends a shock through me: Hymns—Old and New.
How could she know?
I skim down the list. Dozens. Forrest Frank’s I recognize. Kings Kaleidoscope. And so many more.
“Kit…?”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t ever talk to Janie, do you?”
“Austin’s sister? No, I’ve never met her. Why?”
So it’s you. You told her to do that?
Thank you.