38 five weeks
By Monday morning, it's officially been five weeks since Jackson told me to get in line.
Five weeks since everything between us imploded.
Which should probably feel long enough for me to stop thinking about him every five seconds, except apparently my brain didn't get that memo.
The campus looks different now than it did back then. Most of the leaves are gone, the air cold enough to sting my face on the walk to psych, everyone already talking about Thanksgiving break like salvation is approaching.
Jackson got back from Kentucky sometime after midnight.
I know because I woke up for maybe three seconds when the dorm door opened quietly in the dark.
No lights.
No talking.
Just the sound of his duffel bag hitting the floor softly before everything went quiet again.
Then this morning his bed was already empty before I even woke up properly.
Practice.
Classes.
Whatever.
We almost saw each other for the first time in days.
Almost.
The weird almost-ness of it follows me all the way into lecture.
Nola notices immediately.
Not that I'm upset.
The opposite, actually.
She narrows her eyes the second I sit down beside her. "Why do you look less miserable today?"
"I love how that's your version of hello."
"You texted him."
I pause halfway through opening my laptop.
Peyton drops into the seat behind us at the exact wrong moment. "OH? The divorced couple texted?"
"We were never dating," I mutter automatically.
"That has never stopped either of you from acting divorced."
Honestly?
Fair enough.
Nola's impossible to take seriously right now because she's glowing like somebody trapped her inside a Hallmark movie. Yasmine apparently liking her back has turned her into an entirely different person.
Her phone buzzes.
She immediately grabs it.
Peyton leans forward. "Wife?"
Nola gasps softly. "She used two heart emojis."
"That's basically a marriage certificate."
"I know."
I laugh before I can stop myself.
An actual laugh.
Nola catches it immediately. "There she is."
"Don't make it weird."
"You seem lighter."
And that's the problem, honestly.
Because she's right.
Not because texting Jackson magically fixed everything.
It didn't.
Nothing is fixed.
I still hear his voice in my head every five minutes.
I think I'm in love with her.
My stomach twists instantly just remembering it.
Hearing that phone call changed everything whether I wanted it to or not.
Because before, I could convince myself Jackson didn't care enough for any of this to matter.
Now I know he does.
And somehow that makes everything worse.
Or maybe harder is the better word.
Because I'm still hurt.
Still angry.
Still confused.
But now every interaction with him feels different underneath it all.
Last night's texts didn't fix anything.
They just reminded me what normal with him feels like.
And apparently that's enough to completely ruin my emotional stability.
Nola watches me for another second before sighing dramatically. "You need to actually talk to him."
"I do talk to him."
"Emotionally loaded late-night text messages do not count as communication."
Peyton points at her immediately. "Correct. You two communicate like divorced parents sharing custody."
I throw a pen at her without looking back.
The lecture starts around us, but I barely absorb any of it.
My brain keeps drifting.
Jackson sitting alone on that bus after the loss.
Jackson admitting he felt like shit.
Jackson smiling at his phone when I texted him.
Jackson saying he loved me while he thought I was asleep two feet away.
The worst part is he still has absolutely no idea I heard any of it.
And every day I don't tell him makes things feel stranger.
By the time lunch rolls around, I've replayed the phone call in my head at least thirty times.
-
Later that night, I'm sprawled across Peyton's dorm floor while Peyton argues passionately about why one of her classmates should legally be banned from speaking in public.
Nola's only half-listening because Yasmine keeps texting her.
It's honestly nauseating.
"You're smiling at your phone again," Peyton says accusingly.
"I can't help it."
"You absolutely can."
I lean back against the side of Nola's bed, half-listening to them argue while my thumb hovers uselessly over my phone screen.
Jackson's contact is still open from last night.
Peyton notices immediately. "Oh my God. You're thinking about Bennett again."
"I'm literally always thinking about Bennett," I say before I can stop myself.
The room goes silent.
Nola blinks.
Peyton slowly lowers her drink. "Well. That felt medically significant."
I groan and drop my head back against the mattress. "Kill me."
"No," Peyton says immediately. "Keep going."
I stare at the ceiling for a long second before finally mumbling, "I think I need to tell him I heard the phone call."
The energy in the room shifts slightly after that.
Softer, more careful.
Nola reaches over and squeezes my arm once. "You probably should."
"I know."
Because the truth is, everything changed the second I heard him say it.
And pretending otherwise isn't working anymore.
Peyton studies me carefully for once without joking. "Are you gonna do it?"
I look down at my phone again.
At Jackson Bennett's name sitting there on the screen.
Tomorrow's Tuesday.
One more day of this weird in-between version of us.
One more day of pretending I didn't hear the most important thing he's ever said.
"No," I say automatically. Then quieter, "Yeah."
Because deep down, I already know.