Chapter 38
TROY
I've been staring at the ceiling for two hours when I finally decide: fuck this.
Fuck moping. Fuck feeling sorry for myself. Fuck caring so much about someone who clearly doesn't want me around.
“Ethan!” I shout, rolling off my bed and yanking my door open. “You busy tonight?”
There's a pause, then the sound of his door creaking. His head pops out, hair sticking up like he's been napping. “Uh, no? Why?”
“We're going out.” I clap my hands together, forcing a grin so wide it almost hurts. “Time to remind this campus who we are.”
Ethan's eyes widen, then a slow smile spreads across his face. “Seriously? Fuck yes! I've been waiting for you to snap out of it.”
“Snap out of what?”
“The whole...” he waves a hand vaguely, “lovesick routine.”
I scoff, leaning against the wall. “Lovesick? Me? Please.”
“You've been moping around the house for days, dude.”
“I don't mope,” I say, moving past him toward the bathroom. “I strategically retreat to regroup.”
“Whatever you say.”
I flip him off over my shoulder, but there's no heat in it. Inside the bathroom, I grip the edge of the sink and stare at my reflection. I look like shit. Dark circles, stubble getting out of control, hair a mess. I look like somebody I don't recognize.
“Well, this won't do,” I mutter to myself.
I shower, shave, spend more time than I'd admit on my hair. By the time I emerge, I look more like myself. Or the version I want to be tonight, anyway.
Back in my room, I grab my phone and open Instagram, thumbing through messages I've been ignoring. There it is—Brianna's chat. I scroll back up through our history, and suddenly I get it.
Brianna
Thinking about you... You coming to the Alpha party tomorrow night?
Followed by my thumbs-up emoji. And the fire reaction to her story from a couple days earlier. Shit.
This is what Delilah saw. This is what set her off.
And okay, maybe it looks bad. But I wasn't leading Brianna on—at least, not on purpose. I react to stories without thinking. I send generic emojis when I don't know what else to say. It doesn't mean anything.
But I can see how it might have looked to Delilah. Especially after everything with her mom and her trust issues.
For a second, my thumb hovers over the call button. Maybe I should explain...
No. Fuck that. She made it clear where we stand. She pushed and pushed until I finally stepped back. That's what she wanted, right?
I block Brianna without thinking too much about it. Not because I owe Delilah anything, but just because it's cleaner that way. One less complication.
Then I pull up my contacts, searching for people who might know what's happening tonight. I send out half a dozen messages, receive twice as many replies. Perfect.
“Ethan!” I call, grabbing a fresh shirt from my drawer. “Miller's having people over, then Omega Sig. Heard Volleyball team might be there too.”
“Hell yeah!” His voice carries from the next room. “Let me change!”
Downstairs, I find Freddie and Alfie setting up the TV for movie night. Tara and Alex are in the kitchen, making popcorn and something that smells suspiciously like actual baked goods.
“You guys are so domestic it hurts,” I say, grabbing a beer from the fridge.
Tara turns, flour on her cheek, and tilts her head. “Where are you going?”
“Out. With Eth.” I take a long swig, avoiding her eyes. “Don't wait up.”
“Are you sure that's a good idea?”
“Why wouldn't it be?” I ask, innocently.
She gives me The Look—the one she learned from mom that makes me feel about two inches tall. “Troy.”
“Tara,” I mimic her tone.
“I talked to Alex,” she says, lowering her voice. “Who talked to Freddie. Who talked to you.”
Great. The friendship telephone game.
“And?” I shrug, leaning against the counter. “I told Freddie I'm fine.”
“You don't look fine,” she says, wiping her hands on a towel. “You look like you're about to do something stupid.”
I press a hand to my chest in mock offense. “Me? Never.”
She sighs, folding her arms. “Look, I know you and Delilah had a fight—”
“It wasn't a fight,” I cut in, sharper than I meant to. “It was her doing what she does best—pushing people away. And me finally letting her.”
The words taste bitter in my mouth. I'd let her in—further than I've let anyone in years. And this is what happens. I fucking knew it.
I was right all these years. Keeping things casual, keeping people at arm's length. You can't get abandoned if you never let anyone close enough to matter. I'd been so careful, so fucking careful, until Delilah. I actually thought she was different. That we were different.
The worst part isn't even that she pushed me away. It's that she did it so easily, like I wasn't worth fighting for. Like what we had wasn't worth the risk. One moment of insecurity and she was gone, door shut, walls up, just like that.
It's like watching my dad walk out all over again, except this time I'm not nine years old. I should have known better. Should have protected myself better.
Tara's expression softens. “Troy—”
“Nope.” I hold up a hand. “Not doing this. Not tonight.”
Alfie appears in the doorway, expression unreadable as always. “Everything okay?”
“Perfect,” I say, with my best bullshit grin. “Just telling Tara not to wait up for us. Eth and I are on the prowl tonight.”
“The prowl,” Alfie repeats, deadpan. “Really.”
“Yep. Time to get back out there. Find some beautiful, uncomplicated girl who hasn't memorized all my flaws yet.”
Tara and Alfie exchange a look that makes me want to put my fist through the wall.
“Don't,” I warn.
“Don't what?”
“Look at each other like that. Like you know something I don't.”
Tara reaches for me, but I step back. “We're just worried about you.”
“Well, don't be,” I say, forcing cheerfulness into my voice. “I'm great. Better than ever. Delilah did me a favor, really. Reminded me who I am.”
“And who's that?” Alfie asks.
“The guy who doesn't need anyone.” I finish my beer, setting the bottle down with a little too much force. “The guy who has fun. Who doesn't get hung up on complicated girls who clearly want nothing to do with him.”
“Troy,” Tara says, her voice painfully gentle. “You don't have to pretend with us.”
Something in me snaps—not anger, exactly, but a bone-deep exhaustion. Because the truth is, I do have to pretend. If I stop pretending, even for a second, I'll have to face how much this actually hurts. How much I miss her. How much I wanted things to be different.
And I can't do that. Not tonight.
“I'm not pretending,” I say, and it comes out hollow. “This is who I am, Tar. Who I've always been. Delilah was the detour, not... this.”
Before she can respond, Ethan bounds down the stairs, grinning in a way that reminds me of the old days. Before Paige. Before everything got so fucking complicated.
“Ready to break some hearts?” he asks, entirely too excited.
I throw an arm around his shoulders, grateful for the interruption. “Born ready, brother.”
As we head for the door, I catch Tara watching me with that same worried expression. I blow her a kiss, playing it up.
“Don't worry about us,” I call. “We know what we're doing.”
Her response follows me out into the night: “That's exactly what worries me.”
Outside, the air is cold and sharp, sobering. Ethan's chattering about who might be at Miller's, plans for the night, but I'm only half-listening.
The truth is, I have no idea what I'm doing. Going backward doesn't feel right. Moving forward feels impossible. So I'm just... here. In limbo. Pretending I know how to be the old Troy again.
But as we walk toward the lights and noise of campus, one thought keeps circling in my head:
The old Troy never felt like this—like he was missing a vital organ. Like someone had carved out a Delilah-shaped hole in his chest and left him to figure out how to breathe around it.
The old Troy never cared enough to hurt this much.
The party's doing what parties do—giving me just enough noise and chaos to drown out the shit in my head. For about five minutes at a time.
I'm at the kitchen counter, flirting with a girl from my Fluid Dynamics class—Katie? Kathy?—who's been laughing at everything I say for the past twenty minutes. She's beautiful. Long blonde hair. Great smile. Smart, too.
And I feel absolutely nothing.
“So then Professor Yates just completely lost it,” she's saying, leaning in closer than necessary. “Like, full meltdown over a derivative.”
I laugh automatically, nodding like I'm invested. “That sounds exactly like him.”
Her fingers brush against my arm, lingering. “I missed you in the study group last week.”
“Yeah, I was...” I trail off, not even sure how to finish that sentence. Busy having my heart carved out by a girl who can't decide if she wants me or not? “Caught up with the Future Innovators project.”
“You got into that? I thought that was for nerds or super smart people.”
I shrug. She twirls her hair, smiling up at me. “How's that going?”
“Fine.” I take a long swig of my beer. “Actually, I think we're nearly finished with it.”
“Really? Is it loud in here?” Her eyes light up in a way that would have had me suggesting we find somewhere quieter a few months ago. “I feel like its super loud in here.”
It's an opening. A clear invitation. Old Troy would've already had his arm around her waist, asking if she wanted to get some air.
Instead, I'm looking past her at the front door, where—
Fuck.
Paige just walked in. With some guy—tall, bearded, older-looking. Her hand is tucked in her back pocket.
I scan the room desperately for Ethan, hoping he's in the bathroom or out back. No luck. He's across the room, frozen mid-conversation, staring at Paige like he's seen a ghost.
Our eyes meet for a split second, and the raw pain on his face hits me like a punch to the gut.
“I need to—” I gesture vaguely, already stepping away from Kaitlyn/Katherine/whoever. “Sorry. Friend emergency.”
I'm across the room in seconds, grabbing Ethan's arm. He's gone completely rigid, knuckles white around his cup.