Chapter 38
thirty-eight
Percy
I snag some carry-out BBQ from a place near the Royal Lilac and have a quiet meal by myself in my room.
Part of me wants to hang around downstairs on the off-chance Chris shows up, but after yet another bust with Owen, I don’t think I can handle any more rejection right now.
Besides, my thoughts about Chris have been even more of a confused mess than normal since I ran into that couple at Sunset Rock.
I’ve committed myself to another lazy Saturday holed up in my room on my laptop when a knock sounds on my door.
I try to squash my instant flare of hope.
There’s no reason for Chris to come up here to talk to me—not after the trouble he’s gone through to avoid spending time in my presence.
Even still, I can’t help a flicker of disappointment when I open the door to find Professor Oshkoff peering sternly at me from behind her wire spectacles.
“Professor. What are you doing here?” Realizing how rude that might sound, I hasten to add, “I mean, I thought you’d be at dinner by now. What can I do for you?”
Oshkoff purses her lips, her eyes running over me from head to toe. I fight the urge to flinch or draw back. “It is past nine, Mr. Wentworth. We have just returned from the restaurant. I wanted to see how you were doing before I retired for the night.”
“Oh.” God, is it really that late? I must’ve spent a couple hours since the sunset literally staring at nothing while my mind wandered. That doesn’t seem like a good sign for my current mental health. “Thank you. That’s very kind. I’m doing all right. Feeling much better.”
She nods but remains in the doorway, not making any move to leave. Am I supposed to invite her in? There’s not exactly a lot of space to sit and comfortably talk, and I have no idea what I’d say anyway.
“This really is a beautiful island,” she remarks out of the blue. “A truly splendid collection of natural geological formations coupled with a quaint, artistic aesthetic and a good deal of historical memorabilia.” Her lips quirk upward. “Not to mention the unbeatable fudge.”
I chuckle dutifully. “My family used to bring literal cartons of that stuff back home with us after every trip. It’d take us months to eat our way through it all.”
Something flickers over Oshkoff’s face. On anyone else, I might’ve called it sympathy.
“It is never easy losing someone you love,” she offers, and I instinctively tense.
I hadn’t been sure how much she knew about my mom.
My dad must’ve told her or someone else at the university.
Maybe he’d even asked her to keep an eye on me this weekend.
“It’s like they leave this hole in your life behind,” she continues.
“One that’s up to you to fill. Grief is important.
It helps us mourn. Move on. But eventually, if left alone too long, it starts to fester and grow toxic.
It taints the things that remind us of what we’ve lost until we think we must lose them, too.
” She raises a hand before dropping it, like she’d considered patting me on the back but then thought better of it.
“I’ve been there myself,” she says softly.
From the pain in her eyes, I can tell she’s sincere, and I wonder fleetingly who she’d lost. A parent? A lover? God forbid, a child?
“Do not let the grief win,” she continues. “Hang on to the things that matter to you—the things that bring you joy. The best way to honor and remember what you have lost is to show the universe that it cannot break you. Take that grief and use it as fertilizer to grow something better.”
How many times have I teared up today? I’m not sure, but at this point, I’m beginning to reel from emotional whiplash. “Thank you, professor.”
She clears her throat, and her voice comes out gruff. “Yes. Well. That was all I wanted to say. Goodnight, Mr. Wentworth.”
As her footsteps retreat down the hall, I stare at the closed door she’d left in her wake.
I hadn’t had many interactions with her in past cycles—mostly attempts to trick her into excusing us from the officially sanctioned activities or else listening to her chew us out for being irresponsible.
But I’m beginning to think I’d misjudged her.
Maybe even as badly as I’d misjudged myself.
Now that Oshkoff is gone, I catch the clear sound of others in the hall outside, either returning to their rooms or else preparing to head out again and hit the town.
The urge to peek out and try to sneak a glimpse of Chris is almost overwhelming.
But what if he dismisses or ignores me like he did at the start?
That had hurt badly enough before we’d reconnected.
Dealing with his apathy now after everything we’ve been through might break me.
Oshkoff’s mantra to hang on tight to the things that matter echoes through my head, along with Carol’s earlier claim that all my mom had wanted was for me to be happy.
I think of that gay couple at Sunset Rock, so obviously in love and unafraid to show it.
My grip tightens on the doorknob. So what if Chris doesn’t want to see me?
I want to see him. And for once, I’m going to do something not because of my fear but in spite of it.
I throw open my door, intending to stride straight out, and freeze. Chris is standing directly on the other side, hand half-raised to knock. He stares at me with wide eyes. Not in disgust or hate like I’d feared. If anything, he looks…guilty?
“W-what…?” I stammer.
Chris shifts from foot to foot, staring at the floor. He reaches up to absently swipe his bangs out of his eyes. “Can I come in? I’ve been working up the courage to knock for a couple minutes now, and if Quinn sees me, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
He’s been working up the courage? Struggling to make sense of his sudden appearance, I step out of the way and allow him to slip inside.
I shut the door and pad over to my bed, lowering myself on unsteady legs.
Disappointment bears down on me when Chris opts for the chair by the desk instead of sitting beside me, even as I tell myself that it’s for the best.
Tension hangs in the air as neither of us speaks. Finally, he sighs and sweeps a hand through his black hair. The familiar gesture sends a flutter through my chest.
“So, I think I owe you an apology,” he begins.
I blink, still feeling like I’m missing something. “An…apology?”
He jerks a nod, fiddling with something on the desk beside him.
“I stand by the decision I made at Huron Blue,” he begins.
“It was the right call for both of us. But that doesn’t mean it was fair of me to push so hard for you to come out when you weren’t ready, or to blame you for how everything ended up.
” His face flushes as he continues staring pointedly at the floor.
“It turns out I’ve got plenty of my own issues to work through. ”
My body itches to erase the distance between us—to take his hand, wrap him in an embrace, and press my lips to his.
But that wouldn’t be healthy for either of us.
He’s trying to move on, and this apology is part of that.
I can’t burden him with my own confusion over what I want, especially when I haven’t figured that out yet.
I don’t want to make any promises I can’t keep.
So, instead of rushing to him, I shuffle awkwardly on the bed and say, “I’m sorry, too.
Sorry for causing you so much pain, even if I never meant to.
For…for not being more decisive. For pulling away and not being a better friend to you when you needed me most.” I take a steadying breath.
“But I’m done running away. No matter what happens next or how many damn Saturdays we have to repeat, I’ll be here for you—as a friend. That much, I can promise.”
His head jerks up sharply, and it turns out there’s no need for me to go to him because he comes to me. The way he holds me tight, cradling my head to his chest, isn’t the passionate embrace of lovers. It’s the desperate grasp of two people clinging to stay afloat.
I close my eyes, relishing the feel of him against me. God, I’ve missed this. More even than I’ve let myself realize until I have him in my arms once again. And the only thought that keeps looping through my head is how could I have ever willingly let this go?
The contact is over too soon, Chris pulling away to sit beside me. I resist the urge to tug him back, biting my lip as I study his flushed face.
He gives me a lopsided grin that plucks at my heart. “I missed you.”
My answering smile feels almost foreign after the last couple weeks. “Same.” I hesitate, then decide to give voice to my question. No more holding back—not with him. “You mentioned working through some of your own problems?”
He grimaces. “Yeah, you could say that. I spoke with Devon earlier, and—surprise!—it turns out he and the rest of the guys on the team always had my back. They just thought I didn’t have theirs.
I was so worried about them treating me differently that I isolated myself first. Apparently, that’s a thing I do—distance myself from people before they can let me down. ”
He chuckles in a self-deprecating way I don’t like, and I frown. “It’s my fault, isn’t it? If I hadn’t abandoned you at Christmas—”
“No! I mean, okay, yeah, that probably didn’t help.
But I think this is something I’ve always done.
Like how I never told you about my writing.
” He hesitates, and by instinct, I reach out to grab his hand, relieved when he doesn’t pull away.
“My parents always pushed me so much. They’re not like your parents.
Nothing I did ever satisfied my mom, and my dad was barely there.
” His grip on my hand tightens until it’s almost painful.
“I think, deep down, I’ve always worried I’m not good enough.
Not for them. Not for my friends. Not for you… ”
His voice cracks on the last few words, and I can’t hold back from hugging him any longer. I relish the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my arms—the way his head slots into my shoulder, like the space was sculpted just for him. The soft brush of his hair tickles my cheek.
“Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re not worth it,” I whisper fiercely. “Because you are. You’ve always been worth it to me. And I’m so, so sorry if I ever made you feel like you weren’t.”
Chris clings to me for a long time, his tensed muscles gradually relaxing. I’m starting to wonder if maybe he’s drifted off to sleep when he murmurs, “I talked to my parents today.”
I stroke his hair. That’s a thing friends do…right? “Oh, yeah?”
He nods against me. “I kinda went off on my mom about how she treats me. I told her she had to let me make my own decisions, live my own life…or else.” He barks a faintly incredulous laugh.
“It…well, I don’t know if I’d say it went well, but it definitely could’ve gone worse.
She said we’d talk about it later.” He snorts.
“Not that later will ever come. Guess I’ll have to have that conversation again if we break free. ”
“When,” I insist. “When we break free. And if you did it once, you can do it again. I’m proud of you for standing up for what you want.”
Even if I can’t do the same.
“Thanks,” he croaks, his voice husky. Then, clearing his throat, he pushes back from me.
For a moment, I worry he’s about to make some excuse to leave just when it feels like we’re reconnecting, but he simply shifts to prop himself up on the wall, keeping his side pressed against me.
“So,” he says, a bit sheepishly. “I guess we should probably talk about what’s happened since we, uh, parted ways. You know, compare notes and stuff.”
I nod, settling back beside him. I tentatively rest my hand on his thigh, my heart fluttering when he sets his hand with mine. “I suppose so. Want to go first?”
“If I have to. Though I’ll warn you upfront, it’s pretty depressing. I haven’t been in the healthiest headspace.”
My fingers entwine with his, and I give him a gentle smile. “That’s okay. Neither have I. But I’ve got a feeling that things are about to get better.”
He gives me my favorite crooked grin in response. “You think?”
And yeah, I really do.
We spend the next couple hours chatting, the tight ball of regret I’ve been carrying gradually unclenching in my chest. Whatever ends up happening between us, at least we’ll have each other.
Because even if I can never be the person Chris needs, I know I want him in my life, no matter how many time loops we have to face together before we get there.