Chapter 13 Breathing Room
Macy’s words haunt me for the rest of the night—and well into the morning, if I’m being honest. It’s not like I haven’t thought those same things a million times before.
It’s why I’m here, after all. Why I accepted Foster’s invitation to complete my senior year at Katmere instead of going somewhere—anywhere—else.
It’s not like I don’t already have the equivalent of a much higher degree from my studies with my tutor.
But hearing it from Macy—from someone who just lost the person she was in love with for an eternity, with no hope of getting him back… I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me think. And hurt.
Maybe that’s why I pull out my phone to text Grace good morning, even though I know I’m going to be seeing her in class in a few minutes.
And maybe that’s why I swallow my pride when I walk into class and see her sitting with my brother, her head down and the two of them whispering about who the bloody hell knows what.
The urge to say fuck it and walk right back out the door is strong, really strong, but I force myself not to do that. Force myself to keep walking into the classroom to the first empty desk.
There are several empty desks near Grace and Jaxon, but I’m not quite that masochistic yet. So I camp out in the back row again and wait for class to start.
A couple of minutes pass until, right before the bell rings, Grace pulls out her phone.
She must be looking through her texts because she stiffens all of a sudden and starts looking wildly around the room.
She freezes when her eyes meet mine, but instead of looking away, she holds my gaze for several seconds.
When she finally looks away, it’s only to glance down at her phone again as her thumbs fly across the screen. A moment later, my phone buzzes with a text.
Grace: Good morning
Grace: I’m glad you came to class today
I start to answer that I’m glad, too, but I’m still not sure that’s the case. So I give her the best smile I’m capable of right now—which may or may not resemble a death grimace—before opening my textbook and pretending to read yet another ethics philosopher I’ve already studied.
I keep my mouth shut when Ms. Virago asks questions, and she goes out of her way not to call on me, which seems like a good system all around.
When the bell rings, I’m the first one out the door. I may not be giving up on Grace, but that doesn’t mean I need to watch her and Jaxon hold hands in the hall, either. But I’ve barely made it halfway down the hallway when Grace grabs my arm from behind.
“For a guy who lived in my head for two weeks, you sure seem like you can’t get far enough away from me these days.” She’s smiling, but I can see the hurt in her eyes. It looks eerily similar to the pain I’m afraid is reflected in mine as well.
“Just giving you space,” I answer as nonchalantly as I can.
“I appreciate it, but I feel like you’re putting an entire continent between us.” She still has her hand on my arm, and I can feel the warmth of it burning through my Katmere dress shirt and into my skin below.
I take a step back—away from the warmth of her skin—and ask, “What do you want from me, Grace?”
But the second the words are out of my mouth, I feel awful. She looks stricken, and that’s the last thing I want. I’d never deliberately hurt Grace no matter how much she, and this situation, is hurting me.
I start to apologize, but before I can, she whispers, “I don’t know. I just—” She stops and blows out a shaky breath. “I miss you. I know it’s bullshit; I know I have no right to say it to you. But I miss you.”
And then she turns and runs back down the hall toward her next class—and Jaxon. Always Jaxon.
But before I can get upset, Macy’s words come back to me about eternity. And for the first time, I know—really know—that she’s right. Because yeah, I’m suffering right now and so is Grace.
But I know her inside and out. I know everything about her—what she likes, what she hates, her good points and her bad ones, and wrapped up in all of that is the understanding that I have to hang on as long as it takes.
Because while I don’t know much right now about what’s going to happen or how it’s going to happen, I know that she will remember our time together one day.
I know that she’ll remember what she told me all those weeks ago.
That I am her true north and that as long as she has me, she’ll always find her way.
And if I don’t hang in there and wait for her to realize she loves me again, when she gets her memories back, Grace—my Grace—would kick my ass for giving up on her. And worse, for giving up on us.
So I tuck the hurt and the anger away as I continue down the hall and promise myself that, no matter what, I’ll be here whenever Grace is ready for what comes next.
…