The Days Between

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Then

Kathryn

On Andrew’s twenty-first birthday, Kathryn awoke to find his bedding pushed aside, an indent on his vacant pillow. It was the first of their birthdays since they’d met, and while drifting off the night before, Kathryn had imagined when morning came, she’d wake him with a deep kiss. Or slither beneath the blankets and surprise him in a more creative fashion. They’d make love; then she’d cook breakfast and he’d jaunt off to school with a smile on his face.

Instead, an empty bed. So much for wild birthday sex.

Andrew emerged from the bathroom, a toothbrush dangling from his mouth, and Kathryn propped herself up, raking her fingers through her hair. “Happy birthday, babe.”

“Happy midterms day,” Andrew said through a mouthful of foam.

“I know. But please, please promise you’ll come home at a normal time tonight,” she begged.

Andrew ducked into the bathroom, and Kathryn heard him spit, then the rush of the tap. He popped back into the room. “What’s ‘normal,’ Kat? I have midterms for all five of my classes this week, and my internship.”

She leaned into her pillow. “Seven? Jason and the rest of the guys said they wanted to get pizza before we go out.”

Andrew tugged a hoodie over his head and grunted.

“They’re your friends,” she snapped.

“Fine,” he groaned. “I can’t do pizza, but I’ll be home by eight; then we’ll hit the bars.” He leaned in for a kiss, mint on his breath, then slung his bag over his shoulder.

That evening Kathryn globbed a cucumber mask onto her face, then shaved her legs and pumiced her feet. She stepped into a lacy lingerie set, then styled her hair into long waves. When she zipped the formfitting red dress she’d tucked in the back of her closet, she smoothed her hands over the fabric before the mirror. This would certainly get his attention.

It was 8:32.

Kathryn ignored Nick’s double take when she padded into the living room, shaking a bottle of nail polish. He took a slow swig of his beer while Kathryn dropped onto the couch. They let a Friends rerun cover their silence as she layered three coats of glossy red polish onto her nails.

The bouncy tune that accompanied the final credits marked the time: 9:00.

“He’ll be here,” Nick muttered.

Kathryn huffed a breath and sat back against the couch cushions.

At nine thirty, the door swung open, and Andrew dropped his bag to the floor beside the doorframe. Kathryn’s stomach dropped at his shadowed expression. “I got a fucking D on my statistics midterm,” Andrew lamented as he marched to the kitchen. “I haven’t gotten a D on anything in my fucking life. My dad is going to kill me.” The refrigerator door slammed, followed by the hiss of a bottle being opened and the clank of the cap on the counter. “I had to beg the professor to let me retake it. I’ll have to work around my internship hours, and this time I need to study hard.”

Kathryn crossed her arms, and Nick tilted his head, eyeing her warily. Andrew reappeared, carrying his mood into the living room.

“You can’t study tonight,” Kathryn said. “It’s your birthday.”

“Fine.” Andrew waved a hand in surrender. “Fuck it. I need a drink. Let’s go.”

The three of them piled into Kathryn’s car. None of them spoke, a current of electricity vibrating in the confined space. At the bar, a half dozen of their friends cheered when they arrived, and Kathryn perched on a barstool. The room teemed with people, and Nick and Kathryn nursed their beers while Andrew’s friends’ fists pounded the sticky table as he tossed back the rounds of birthday shots they ordered. A crack of pool balls cut through the suffocating chatter. Kathryn squirmed in her too-tight dress. After a few hours, she touched Andrew’s shoulder. “It’s getting late; we should head home.”

“If I’m going to skip studying to drink, I’m going to make it worth it.” His voice had an edge to it, making the back of her neck prickle. “You’re the one who wanted to come out in the first place.”

“I’m tired. And you have midterms tomorrow.”

“I realize I have midterms, Kathryn,” Andrew snapped, his tone full of liquor and venom.

She told herself his reaction stemmed from the liquor. And he’d had a bad day. Not that it was an excuse. “Andrew ...” Her voice trembled.

Kathryn shuffled back, and Andrew took one step closer. “Let me celebrate my failures and get fucked up in peace. It’ll be my birthday present. Go home. I don’t care.” His words silenced the chatter of the group, and a staticky energy bounced between them.

The red dress burned like a rash. She was foolish. Desperate.

Nick’s fingers slipped around Kathryn’s arm. She blinked away the burn of tears, white-hot mortification rising in her chest. She yanked her arm from Nick and bolted for the door, desperate to escape the neon signs and tinny country music.

Outside, the street was deserted. Silent. The door swung open, and Nick followed her out onto the sidewalk. She walked away. “Kat,” he called, his footsteps quickening. “Wait up.”

Kathryn marched on without a word. When she climbed into her car, Nick rapped on the window. She unlocked the door, and he ducked into the passenger seat. Kathryn turned the key, and the engine roared to life. “I want to go home. Let him bum a ride or get a taxi. Or walk. I don’t care.”

They didn’t speak as she drove, and when she killed the engine, their silence settled. They stared ahead out the windshield under the yellow glow of a streetlamp. Nick broke the quiet. “He was drunk. And pissed about school. He didn’t realize what he was saying.”

“We shouldn’t have come out. I knew he wasn’t in the mood.” Kathryn hung her head. “Things have been different lately. When he’s stressed—I don’t know, it’s like he goes inside himself, like I’m not even here.”

“He’s crazy about you, Kat.” Bitterness floated just above the surface of Nick’s soft words.

Kathryn recalled the Andrew she’d known in the summer, the way their love eclipsed everything else, and her throat clenched. Her tears broke free, and now she let them, hot as they flowed down her face.

Nick squared his shoulders. “You know what?” His voice was suddenly forceful. “Fuck that. Fuck him. You should be upset. I’ve seen him do this before, snap at people when he’s drunk.”

Kathryn had known only a happy, tipsy version of Andrew. What did Nick know that she didn’t?

“He’s a spoiled brat who has never met a consequence in his life, and what he said to you was fucking disrespectful, and I should’ve punched him in the face.”

“Nick—”

“He has no right to humiliate you in front of other people.” Nick straightened, anger flaring from his intense stare. “He’s had everything handed to him. And he doesn’t realize how lucky he is. He has you .”

His words landed between them, and Kathryn was too tired to pretend she didn’t know what Nick meant. Andrew was the first man she’d ever loved, and she did love him. Truly. Madly. Intensely.

And she had been certain he loved her, too. But his words from the bar rang in her ear with a fresh wave of hurt. And this man beside her, the one who had followed her from the bar when her boyfriend had not, the one who had turned his head to regard her beneath the canopy of stars in his bedroom, who held a glimpse of a life she’d never considered ... These boys were giving her whiplash.

She yanked her keys from the ignition.

In their apartment Nick flicked on the light, and Kathryn slumped onto the couch. He sat beside her. “I should go to bed,” she said, but didn’t move. She couldn’t bring herself to stare at the walls alone.

“You can come to my room,” Nick offered in the same husky tone he’d used the night they’d organized his bookshelves. His anger had abated, leaving her mind to churn with bits of what he’d said, the fire in his eyes when he’d defended her, and the way he’d watched her at the bar, his leather jacket hugging his arms when he lifted his beer to his lips.

The minute stretched. “I don’t want to be alone,” she admitted.

In his deep eyes, she saw the desire he’d concealed until she was ready to let him in. She stood and walked into Nick’s bedroom. He followed. She slipped her shoes off and sat on the end of his bed, the mattress sinking when he settled beside her. Nick didn’t speak, didn’t object when she leaned over to kiss him, his full lips parting to make room for her, or when she shed the red dress, revealing her lingerie. A sharp gasp from Nick, then he caressed her skin, his palm brushing the lace, and drew her mouth to his.

They shifted on his bed, his body hovering over hers. When she opened her eyes, he asked a wordless question. She didn’t have time to examine her life, had no desire to weigh her dreams against potential heartbreak. For the first time she gave in to indulgence, to what she craved, with no regard for anything else. She nodded, and in Nick’s eyes something flashed. Relief, maybe. And longing, the same she’d seen every time he looked at her, before he tore her lingerie off and pressed into her in one swift, controlled movement. Unlike Andrew, who had always been gentle, Nick was powerful and assertive, and it awoke something in her, something she craved in the moment. His skin smelled of leather when she kissed the middle of his chest. Nick gripped her wrist and squeezed. “Too hard?” he panted into her ear.

“No,” she gasped back, then pleaded, “Harder.” He squeezed her wrist until it almost burst with pain, but in a strange, delicious way, and she unwound, clasping Nick’s hair in her fist as he followed her lead. He collapsed beside her. Kathryn’s adrenaline dissipated, a flame blown out.

She felt ... sick. What the fuck had she done? What if Andrew had walked in on them? Was that what she wanted, to hurt him as deeply as he’d hurt her?

Nick leaned in to kiss her cheek, then settled on his side. Kathryn was still, frozen, until his breathing came in soft snores.

A flutter of noise at the front door, Andrew’s key being forced into the lock. She heard the metallic clink of keys on pavement and a muttered fuck from the other side of the door.

Blinding panic ripped through her.

Kathryn snatched her scattered clothes from the floor, sprinted to Andrew’s room, and stuffed them in the hamper. She darted to the bathroom and clicked the lock behind her, hands trembling.

“Kathryn?” Andrew slurred from the bedroom, and she threw the shower handle, water spraying violently into her face. She lowered herself onto the cold porcelain. Sobs burst from her. She dry heaved, and for a few moments she thought she might vomit into the tub.

If Andrew called for her again, Kathryn didn’t hear. Instead, she cried until she was hollow, aching with exhaustion, then shut off the now-cold tap. Gingerly, she stepped from the tub and dried herself. Nothing but silence from the opposite side of the door. When she entered the darkness of the bedroom, Andrew’s snores rose and fell. Kathryn felt around inside the dresser and withdrew a T-shirt that she pulled over her head, then crawled onto the mattress. Andrew rolled onto his side, the sick-sweet smell of liquor emanating from his body. His hand thrashed on the sheets, searching, until he found hers and clutched it tight.

The following day, Andrew returned—albeit hungover—to his studies, as if the night had never happened. He seemed oblivious to the shift in the dynamic inside their apartment, blind to Kathryn’s despondence. She wore a hoodie to cover the bruises Nick had left on her wrist, and Andrew didn’t get close enough to question them. Kathryn spent her days in bed, with no interest in emerging from the depressed state she deserved to endure alone.

One morning she padded down the hall and turned the corner, bumping into Nick’s chest, and his eyes locked on to hers. He was wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants low on his hips, his face inches away. “Kat, please. Talk to me.”

“Nick, listen. What we ... it never should have happened.” The memory of his body rising above hers, the way he’d bit her bottom lip, flashed in her mind. “Don’t tell him,” she pleaded.

“You know I won’t.” Nick placed his hand on her arm, and she drew a sharp breath, but this time he was gentle, his rich scent hovering between them. “But we can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. That it wasn’t—we were fire together, Kat.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine. “I love him, Nick. It was a mistake.” She jerked her arm away and pushed past him.

In the following weeks, Kathryn vowed to be patient with Andrew’s distraction. Guilt simmered when he reached out for her in the night or when he weaved his fingers with hers while he read in bed, in the moments their love was how it had once been. Maybe it was just a blip in their love story. An indulgence on her part. Maybe their future wouldn’t collapse. She made a silent pact to bury her betrayal, the deepest secret she’d ever carry, where it would never see the light.

When Andrew announced his plans to return home to South Carolina for Christmas break, unexpected panic spiked in Kathryn. It had been only two months since she’d slept with Nick, and she couldn’t imagine smiling at Andrew’s family.

She called her mother, thinking maybe a trip back to Delray Beach might do her good. She was desperate to get away from the boys, to sort through her feelings with the fresh perspective only distance could provide.

“Oh, honey, you haven’t been home in almost a year, and we figured you’d be going home with Andrew for the break, so we booked a senior ”—Sherry whispered the word—“cruise. No one under fifty, so I’ll look young, and there won’t be any of those DJs or wild pool parties where girls take their tops off.”

Kathryn rolled in bed with a groan.

“I told the girl next door I’d pay her twenty dollars to water the plants, but I suppose you could stay here and look after the house.”

“No, it’s fine. I just wanted to check and see that you’re fine with me going with Andrew’s family.”

“Is everything okay, dear?” Sherry’s question was long and drawn out, and Kathryn needed to get off the phone before her mother sensed anything was amiss.

“Yeah, Mom. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.”

Kathryn hung up and called Harper, who asked, “You’re going to stay in that crappy bachelor pad for Christmas?”

“I guess,” Kathryn moaned. “I just can’t imagine putting on a show in front of his family.” She’d confided in Harper about the distance she’d felt with Andrew since the summer ended but couldn’t bring herself to confess what had happened with Nick.

“Come home anyway. You can stay with us—you can see the new house. We’re going to the stuffy country club Christmas dinner with my mom, and you’re welcome to join. I promise it’ll be the most uncomfortable situation imaginable.”

Kathryn pictured the string quartet, the terse waiters filling champagne flutes under Nora’s glare. “I’ll think about it.”

On Friday afternoon, Andrew burst into the bedroom, a toothy grin on his face, and snatched Kathryn into a hug. “I did it, babe—a 4.0 GPA.” He beamed, reaching for a high five. “One semester to go, and I’m totally going to crush it.”

Kathryn gave his hand a smack and mumbled, “Congrats.”

“Please come home with me for the break?” He leaned over to place a kiss at the base of her part. “It’s our first Christmas together. My folks are expecting you.”

Kathryn examined the carpet and picked her nails. “My parents need me to house-sit.”

That was it. She’d go home to her empty childhood home and process everything that had happened. Maybe she would have dinner with Harper and Lucas. But could she confess everything to Harper, or would Harper think she was a slut? Guilt throbbed in her belly as she watched Andrew pack his things. She almost stood and stuffed her clothing into his bag, but a throb of guilt gave her pause. Years later she’d look back on those few seconds and wish they’d played out differently. That way, nothing would have turned out the way it had.

Andrew plopped onto the bed and wrapped a heavy arm around her, pulling her face close to his. “What am I supposed to do without you for a week?”

Something inside her cracked. He did love her. This man held her future in his blue eyes, and she’d betrayed him in the worst way, one that couldn’t be undone. Kathryn yanked her gaze from his and tried to swallow past the knot in her throat, tears prickling.

For two days after Andrew left, Kathryn wallowed in his bedroom. She heard Nick come and go at odd hours but avoided him until late Christmas Eve. She was on the couch, numb from a bottle of cheap merlot, when he came home. In the flickering light of the TV, they locked eyes from across the room.

“I figured you would’ve gone home with Drew.” Nick cracked a beer and settled at the other end of the couch.

“I couldn’t stomach their wholesome, happy faces in their matching pajamas on Christmas morning, given ... everything.”

Nick grunted but didn’t press for more. She switched the channel to a generic Christmas movie. On the screen, two absurdly attractive people appeared to own an entire wardrobe of red and forest green. For ninety minutes, they battled a ridiculous misunderstanding that culminated in a perfectly worded confession of love in the final scene, and a kiss in a gazebo as artificial snowflakes danced around the town square. The credits rolled. Kathryn’s tears burned. She loathed the movie. Every fucking second of it was sickening. This was not how life worked. Sometimes the two beautiful people don’t figure it out; life wasn’t a happy ending in the making. It was gritty and ugly and confusing. The picture of the life Andrew wanted with her was as artificial as the movie, and if she forged on into a life with him, every second of it would be a lie. Their relationship was tainted. Rotten.

“You okay?” Nick asked, and when Kathryn blinked her tears away, he was staring, his mouth an O of concern.

She shook her head, an aggressive no , then slid to the other side of the couch and cupped Nick’s face in her hands. He still wore the look of confusion as she leaned in and kissed him. Then he gave in, pulling her close, matching the desperation of her need to feel something better than the mourning she already felt for the life she’d almost had with Andrew.

Kathryn woke to dawn peeking through Nick’s curtains, the merlot raging a war inside her brain. Her existence felt cheap. Grimy. Empty.

Nick was awake, staring into the corner. His paintings were hung, soft shapes in deep hues, forest green and cobalt. And red, like blood. They made her anxious in a way she couldn’t pinpoint. “What are we going to do, Nick?”

His jaw, shadowed with stubble, tightened. “Let’s not pretend there’s a choice.”

“What does that mean?”

Nick tilted his head to look at her. “You know what it means, and you know what you want. You just feel shitty right now.”

“I love him. You love him, too.”

Again, Nick’s jaw squared. “Kat, I work at a bar. I have the kind of mom that doesn’t even want me home for Christmas. And the kind of dad that thinks a punch to the jaw is a sufficient punishment for getting a C in chemistry.”

Shame swelled in her gut.

“But guys like Drew always win. The blond, rich boys. And if it’s not him for you, it’ll be someone else who can give you the life you want.”

“He hasn’t always had it easy, Nick. His dad abandoned him.”

“Yeah, and after that he won the rich-stepdad lottery.”

Every Christmas Kathryn’s mother prepared a ham for dinner, and that afternoon Kathryn attempted to re-create the recipe from memory, sipping more merlot, which managed to dull the fog of self-loathing. Nick insisted the meal was delicious, but Kathryn couldn’t taste it. They ate outside at a patio table, where they remained until the sun bled into the horizon.

When night fell, they slipped back into Nick’s bed, and as she tugged her shirt over her head, Kathryn wondered how her life had changed so completely since the magical summer she’d shared with Andrew.

When Andrew returned a few days later, he met her in his bedroom, fresh faced, blue eyes glittering. He was well fed and rested. He’d thrived without her beside him, without her dulling his light. Andrew lifted her off her feet and carried her to his bed. They collapsed in a pile, and his mouth met hers, his tongue dancing, sparking her desire. “I missed you so fucking much,” he said when he pulled away, his weight pressing her into the mattress. Then he buried his face in her hair and breathed her in, his voice muffled when he asked, “Promise we’ll never spend a week apart again?”

He undressed with fervor, oblivious to her aching guilt as she followed his lead, fighting tears as he tipped her head back when they came together, his mouth hot on her neck, when she realized she’d never again be able to give him all of her.

It was February when Kathryn realized something in her body might be amiss. At first it was a quick, suspicious thought that she brushed off. Concern struck her again as she was wiping tables at work late one night. No. It’s not possible. I’m just stressed.

She rummaged through her purse, withdrew her calendar, and counted back the dates. She was a full two weeks late. Had she missed January without noticing?

Shit.

A woozy sense of dread. If it were true—she didn’t allow the thought—it could be Andrew’s. Or it could be Nick’s.

The floor wobbled.

After her shift, Kathryn rushed into the pharmacy, avoiding the cashier’s eyes as she swiped her card and snatched her purchase from the counter. Andrew was asleep when she got home, the box concealed under her sweatshirt. Kathryn decided to take the test in the morning. The whole scare was punishment for her behavior—she was sure of it.

Kathryn tossed, her nerves accelerating. The test was going to be negative. She could picture it in her mind. The rush of relief. The only possible option.

Or it would be positive. And then what? What if she was knocked up with her boyfriend’s roommate’s baby? Or a baby with the man she loved, whom she was cheating on? How would she know whose baby it was?

Why had she always been so fucking blasé about taking her pill?

She kicked the blankets to the end of the bed.

At seven, Andrew’s alarm cut through the room. He stumbled around, gathering his things. Kathryn wondered if he knew she was faking sleep, but before he left, he placed a soft kiss on her cheek.

Kathryn dashed into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She clawed the box open and dropped it on the vanity. Her hands quivered as she unwrapped the white stick. It didn’t feel like a few grams of plastic could send her life rocketing into an unexpected—and unwelcome—new trajectory.

She couldn’t look. Instead, she dropped onto the cold porcelain lip of the tub, screwed her eyes shut, and waited. Her knee bounced as she drew in shaky breaths, counting. One hundred and twenty seconds.

A little blue plus sign.

A guttural wail escaped her without warning, and she dropped to the floor, clutching the stick. Then hard, racking sobs of regret. Of realization. Of shame.

“Kathryn?” Nick’s voice came from the hallway outside the bedroom. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she shouted.

“No, open the door. Please.”

Kathryn pulled open the bedroom door. She couldn’t hide it, didn’t want to hide it. She had to tell someone. She held the stick up for him to see, and watched the realization settle in his expression. He beckoned for her to follow, and they seated themselves on the living room couch.

“Have you told Drew?” Nick asked.

“No. I literally—” She motioned to the stick.

“Well—what do you want to do?”

The weight of the question hit Kathryn like a tidal wave. “I—I don’t know. I haven’t had time to think.”

Nick leaned forward, palms pressed together. “Let’s get out of here, you and me; we can find a place to rent.”

Kathryn swallowed. “You told me you didn’t want kids.”

“I know. And I don’t. This isn’t ideal. But I can get a better job. Maybe this is the thing that pushes us into a life—”

“But what about what I want, Nick?” Her words echoed in the room.

“Yes, Kat. What do you want? What the fuck do you want?” Nick’s tone pitched. “You have to make up your mind.”

“I have bigger concerns. I don’t know if it’s yours. I don’t know if it’s his.”

A bolt of jealousy in his eyes. Nick leaned back onto the couch, drawing a shaky breath.

“I’ll . . . just . . . take care of it . . .” Her voice quavered.

“You’re not going to tell him?”

“How can I do that? I’ll have to tell him what we ... I’ll have to tell him everything.” Tears spilled down her face. Waves of nausea rolled her stomach and she doubled over.

“Well, there has to be something wrong between you two, because you came back for more of what we did ,” Nick spat.

Nick’s words left her with a grimy feeling.

All the control she’d had over her life slipped through her fingers, and she grasped for one thing—anything—she could decide on her own. Kathryn suddenly itched to get out of the room, away from the whole damn town. She got to her feet and ran down the hall.

“Where are you going?” Nick yelled, and she realized he’d followed her. He was always right behind her, and now it was suffocating.

“I’m going home for a few days.”

“When are you coming back?” he demanded.

In Andrew’s room, she dragged her suitcase from the closet and tore her clothing from the hangers. “I don’t know. But you can’t tell him. He’ll hate me, but he’ll get over me. But you’re his best friend. If he finds out, he’ll hate you even more than me. And you’ll lose him.”

“You’re his girlfriend,” Nick cried.

“Not anymore.” She went into the bathroom and gathered her makeup bag. “Tell him my parents needed me to come home last minute. I’ll call him in a few days and tell him I’m not coming back.” She zipped her suitcase. It had taken only a few moments to gather everything she owned. “I won’t tell him about us. Ever.”

Kathryn dragged her bag down the hall, Nick in tow. She didn’t deserve Andrew. She didn’t deserve Nick. She uncoiled her key from her key ring and tossed it onto the table. Nick’s eyes were pleading, helpless when she slammed the door in his face.