Chapter 29
29
BEVERLY, 1999
17 years old
The sun was out, marking the first real warm day of March. The heat clung to my skin as I leaned against Tiffany’s car, sipping my soda. The parking lot was packed, the air thick with the scent of soap, wet pavement, and whatever cheap cologne the boys washing the cars had doused themselves in before their shift.
I rolled my shoulders, letting my head tilt back just enough to feel the sun sink into me. It felt good—like a thawing, like my bones had been frozen for months, and now, finally, they were starting to warm again.
It had been four months since Mom’s diagnosis.
Four months since Blake had shut me out.
Four months since I had let myself break.
I was done breaking. I had spent the last month moving. If I wasn’t at school, I was at dance. If I wasn’t at dance, I was at work. If I wasn’t at work, I was helping Mom, sitting beside her during doctor’s appointments, watching the way Dad’s jaw clenched every time the specialists spoke in cautious, measured tones.
It wasn’t cancer. But it was something.
Multiple sclerosis.
A slow, creeping illness, unpredictable and unfair. Some days, she was fine—her smile steady, her hands firm as she brushed my hair back. Other days, she struggled to button her coat, her fingers refusing to cooperate, her legs weaker than they should have been.
It could get worse, or it could stay the same.
There was no way to know.
So I moved. I kept my hands busy, my body busy. Anything to keep from thinking too much.
Tiffany let out a sigh beside me, twisting her brown hair into a bun. “God, it feels like we’ve been waiting forever ,” she groaned. “They’re milking this for tips.”
I snorted, taking another sip of my soda. “You’re the one who insisted we come here.”
“Because my car desperately needed it.” She adjusted her pink sunglasses, squinting toward the group of boys hosing down the next car over. “And because I deserve some male attention after my two-month-long dating drought.”
I rolled my eyes. “Please, you’re incapable of being single for longer than a week.”
Tiffany gasped, clutching her chest. “I am offended, Beverly.”
I laughed. “You should be. It’s true.”
Tiffany didn’t argue. She just huffed, her eyes flicking toward something over my shoulder. “Heads up. You’ve got an admirer.”
I frowned, glancing behind me. A guy was walking toward us, hands in his pockets, a lazy smile pulling at his lips.
He was tall, dark-haired, well-dressed in a casual, effortless way, and something about him tugged at my memory.
Then it clicked. He came to the movies almost every weekend. Usually with his friends, sometimes with a date. He was one of those guys who liked to lean against the counter, flash a wide grin, and charm his way into free extra butter on his popcorn.
What was his name?
Ryan? No.
Riley? No, that was my coworker.
Reese? Maybe.
“Well, this is a surprise.”
I wiped my hand on my shorts as he stopped a few feet away.
“Beverly, right?” he said, his voice smooth, confident.
He was good-looking. Objectively attractive.
Actually, he had the kind of face girls swooned over.
But I felt absolutely nothing.
Nothing in my chest, nothing in my stomach.
It was almost disappointing.
Still, I forced a polite smile. “Hey.”
Tiffany made a quiet, approving sound beside me.
“I knew I recognized you.” His smile widened just slightly. “You work at the movies, right?”
I nodded.
“You always look like you hate being there.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. “I do.”
He studied me, shifting his weight. “Well, for what it’s worth, you make standing in line bearable.”
Tiffany shot me a look behind his back, her brows raising in a silent flirt back, you idiot.
I ignored her.
The boy—Rowan? Rudy? Something with an R—leaned in slightly. “You look even better in daylight.”
Tiffany made a dramatic swooning noise.
I blinked.
I should have been flattered. Should have been excited, or at the very least, mildly interested. But all I felt was…tired.
All I could think was how I didn’t care.
Because I already knew how this would go.
Because he wasn’t Blake.
I swallowed the thought, forcing myself to be normal, to be a girl standing in the sun, talking to a cute boy.
“You should let me take you out sometime,” he said.
Tiffany’s eyes practically screamed say yes!
I shifted uncomfortably, plastering on a smile I didn’t quite feel. “That’s sweet.”
Ryan’s/Reese’s grin didn’t waver. “And?”
Tiffany was suddenly at my side again. Without warning, she kicked my foot—lightly enough to make it seem like an accident.
I sighed, my fingers tapping against my cup. “I don’t know.”
His eyes flickered with amusement. “Alright. Think about it.” Then he winked and walked off.
Tiffany smacked my arm. “What the hell was that?”
“What?”
“He was hot, Bev! He just asked you out. And you…you—” She gestured wildly. “You shrugged him off?”
I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t shrug.”
“You may as well have.”
I groaned, rubbing my forehead. “Tiff.”
“No, don’t ‘Tiff’ me,” she cut in, crossing her arms. “It’s been four months, Beverly. Four. Months. You have to move on.”
“I know…”
“Then act like it.”
“It’s not that simple.”
Tiffany’s gaze softened, but her voice remained firm. “Blake doesn’t deserve this much space in your head. He shouldn’t be the reason you’re putting your life on pause. You’ve been holding back, all for someone who’s never even asked you to.”
“Tiff—”
“And, by the way,” she said, crossing her arms, “if he did care? If he wanted you? He’d be here.”
I swallowed hard.
He wasn’t here.
He wasn’t anywhere .
I barely saw him at work anymore.
Apparently, he had begged Greg not to schedule us together, to make sure we never had the same shifts. I hadn’t believed it at first. But then days turned into weeks, and I realized I had gone an entire month without even brushing past him in the break room.
She sighed softly, nudging my arm. “Go out with him.”
I swallowed again.
I didn’t want to say yes. But I didn’t want to say no, either.
Because Tiffany was right.
Because Blake was never going to choose me.
I forced a breath through my nose, my chest tight.
Before I could think too hard about it, I called out, “Hey?—”
He glanced back, eyebrows lifting.
I forced another polite smile. “Okay.”
That was all I said.
But his grin widened, slow and pleased. “Yeah?”
I nodded, ignoring the way my stomach churned. “Yeah.”
He took a few steps back toward me, his eyes still bright with amusement. “You sure?”
No. Not really. But I said, “I think so.”
“Alright, then.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and held it out. “Give me your number?”
I hesitated for half a second before taking it. My fingers moved, typing in the digits, and when I handed it back, he glanced at the screen, then back at me.
“I’ll text you,” he said.
I nodded again, trying to match his easy smile.
He flashed me a grin, winked at Tiffany, and walked off, leaving behind the scent of cheap cologne and a gnawing sense of regret that I didn’t quite understand.
Tiffany practically squealed, grabbing my arm. “Oh my God, finally!”
I exhaled slowly, rubbing my forehead.
I should have felt something, anything —excitement, nerves, anticipation. But all I felt was that same tightness in my chest.
I knew the truth: I could let a dozen boys flirt with me, could let them touch my hand, kiss my lips, whisper my name.
But they would never be him.