Merry Me

Prologue

NATALIE

Y ou never think you’re going to lose the love of your life because of a Walmart run. But here we were.

“Are you seriously breaking up with me?”

Easton stood in front of me, his six-foot-something frame silhouetted by the warm orange glow of the streetlamp.

He looked every bit the heartthrob the modeling scout had promised he’d become that day in the store—the sharp angles of his jaw, the dark tumble of his hair, those piercing green eyes that had once been solely mine.

And now they stared at me, wide and confused and devastated , like he couldn’t process the words I’d just said.

“Nat.” His voice cracked slightly at the end.

I folded my arms tightly across my chest, digging my nails into my elbows to keep my voice steady. “Yes, Easton. I’m breaking up with you.”

“Why?” He took a step closer, his hands gesturing helplessly. “We’ve been together for four years, Nat. You’re my everything . Why now?”

Because you’re leaving , I thought. Because you’re destined for bigger, shinier things, and I still have senior year to finish.

Because I refuse to be the girl left waiting by the phone while you conquer the world.

Because it hurts too much to imagine you forgetting about me while everyone else falls in love with you.

Because I saw what waiting did to my mom—and I swore I’d never let myself become her.

I already know what it feels like to be left behind by a man who said he loved us.

But I didn’t say any of that.

Instead, I threw up a shield of sarcasm, my oldest defense mechanism.

“Because dating someone famous sounds exhausting. I’m not cut out for red carpets and groupies, Easton.

” I gave a shrug that I hoped looked breezy instead of brittle.

“Besides, we both have things we want…dreams, college, careers. I don’t want to be the reason you stay, and I definitely don’t want someone holding me back either. ”

His brows furrowed. “That’s not—” He cut himself off and shook his head. “You’re not even giving me a chance to prove to you that nothing’s going to change. That I’m not going to change.”

There was a flash of hurt in his eyes, and it dug deep inside me. I hated the way my chest twisted at the sound of his voice…that he was looking at me like I was the one leaving him.

“You think I don’t know what’s coming?” I said a little too sharp, a little too scared. “You’ll go to L.A., or wherever they decide to turn you into the next big thing. And I’ll be stuck at school, trying not to check your Instagram at two a.m.”

“Natalie—”

“No. Look, this—” I gestured between us, “was magic. High school magic. But we both know it doesn’t survive out there.”

He stepped forward, closing the space between us, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him, close enough that I wanted to bury my face in his chest and take it all back.

But I didn’t. I wouldn’t.

“You’d think I’d give this all up just to play pretend?” he asked, quieter now, but still not backing down. “That it would be possible to just walk away and forget you?”

I opened my mouth, but the truth was sitting like a stone in my throat .

His voice softened, and his hands lifted like he wanted to touch me but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to anymore.

“Natalie, I love you. You’re my girl. My soulmate.

People say you can’t meet your forever person when you’re young, but we know that’s not true.

You’re my everything . I don’t care about any of that Hollywood crap. I care about you .”

The cicadas hummed a discordant melody, their persistent song mingling with the low rumble of a passing truck.

The air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the faint, sugary sweetness of melted snow cones from the carnival down the road.

A classic small-town summer night. The kind of night that used to feel like ours.

A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it down. “You think you care about me now,” I finally said, my voice wobbling despite my best efforts. “But give it a year, Easton. Maybe less. You’ll realize you don’t need me. You’ll have everything you ever wanted, and I’ll just…”

“Just what?” His eyes were pleading now, bright and desperate. “You’ll just what, Nat?”

“I’ll just be the girl who held you back.”

He blinked, stunned, and I took the momentary silence to slide past him, turning toward my car. I felt his hand wrap around my wrist, gentle but firm.

“Don’t do this,” he said, his voice a low rasp that almost broke me. “Please, Nat. Don’t walk away from us. I won’t go if that’s what it takes. I’m not going to lose you.”

I pulled my arm free and kept walking, every step heavier than the last. When I reached my car door, I turned back, one hand gripping the frame like it might hold me upright.

“You’re wrong, Easton. No one finds their soulmate in middle school. We’re done.” The words tasted like poison on my tongue. “I hope L.A. knows how lucky it is.”

I turned before he could see the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.

And then I got in the car, closed the door, and drove away. Pretending that I didn’t hear him yelling “ This isn’t over ; w e’ll never be over ,” as he ran after the car.

It was over.

Even if it felt like I was dying as I drove away.

Even if I cried the entire drive home and then for days and weeks after.

He went west the next day—to bright lights and red carpets and dreams so big they barely fit inside movie screens. And I stayed. Quietly. Hollowed out. Pretending I hadn’t just let go of the only real thing I’d ever felt.

People said I’d move on. That I was young, that I’d fall in love again.

But I knew better.

What we had…that kind of love didn’t come around twice.

And I was the one who’d let it go.

I told myself it was for the best. That I needed space to grow, to find myself, to become someone on my own. But watching him become famous, watching the world fall for him while I stayed behind—still aching, still hollow—that was a kind of punishment I hadn’t prepared for.

Because the truth was simple and cruel:

I didn’t think I’d ever find anything like that again.