11
Remy
I walk back into my bedroom with a little weight finally lifting off my shoulders.
Cole’s here, safe, back where he belongs.
Wrapped up in his bed, getting some rest. The thought settles something jagged inside me, he’s under the same roof, breathing the same air, even if he’s shut me out. It’s enough for now… it has to be.
I don’t waste time. I start gathering everything of Hannah’s that’s still in here…
her clothes draped over the chair, her deodorant on the dresser, the little silver bracelet she always forgets, hair clips scattered on the nightstand.
I shove it all into her suitcase without folding anything, zipping it shut with more force than necessary.
The wheels squeak as I drag it out into the hallway and park it right by the dorm door. She’s not coming back in here.
Next, the bathroom. I grab the air freshener, citrus, sharp, nothing like her floral perfume, and carry it back to my room. I spray it everywhere, long bursts until the room smells clean and neutral again, like her scent never existed. I hate how desperate it feels, but I need it gone, all of it.
The sheets are next. I strip the bed completely…
top sheet, fitted sheet, pillowcases, everything.
I hate this chore, always have, tugging the elastic corners free, wrestling the duvet out of its cover, but right now I do it.
Fast, angry, rolling the whole pile into a tight ball, and shoving it into the laundry basket in the hall.
The mattress is bare and exposed, but it’s mine again.
I go to my cupboard, pull out the spare set, plain navy, simple, and clean.
Fifteen frustrated minutes later I’ve wrestled the fitted sheet on, snapped the top sheet into place, and stuffed the pillows into fresh cases.
It smells like laundry detergent and nothing else.
I want Cole. I want to go back into his room, crawl under the covers, press my face to his neck, and breathe him in until the panic stops clawing at my ribs.
I’m restless… can’t stop moving, hands twitching, heart hammering like it’s trying to break free.
Every few seconds I glance at his closed door, wondering how long he’ll sleep, wondering if I should wake him in a couple hours or wait until he comes out on his own.
I don’t even want to go to Jeb’s party now. I just want to sit down with Cole, explain everything… how I was ready to end it, how Hannah’s tears caught me off guard, how I closed my eyes and thought of him the whole time, how I never wanted her, not really. How it’s always been him.
I sink back onto the couch, pull the blanket around my shoulders, and lie down, curling up. The fabric still smells faintly of him, from when we fell asleep gaming under it together. I bury my face in it and breathe deep.
Please let us work this out. Please.
My phone buzzes suddenly on the coffee table, sharp and insistent, cutting through the quiet like a knife.
I flinch hard, blanket slipping off one shoulder as I sit up fast, the cushions shifting under me.
I reach for it before I can second-guess, lifting it close.
Unknown number. I frown, exhaling hard through my nose, it’s probably spam.
I almost swipe it away to voicemail, thumb hovering, but something prickles at the back of my neck, uneasy.
I hesitate one more second, then answer. “Hello?”
A woman’s voice comes through, warm, lightly accented, Spanish lilt. “Hello, is this Remy?”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, speaking.”
“Hi, I’m Rosa, Hannah’s mom’s nurse. Hannah gave me your number in case I can’t get in touch with her.”
My stomach drops. I sit up straighter, blanket slipping to my lap. “Is everything okay?”
Rosa hesitates, just a second, but it’s enough. “Well… her mom is having a bad day and wants to know when Hannah is coming home from her trip.”
I blink. “Her trip?”
The words feel wrong in my mouth. Hannah isn’t on a trip, she’s here, she came back to college. She’s in class right now, catching up on everything she missed.
I clear my throat, trying to keep my voice steady. “I thought her mom was getting better? Uh… sorry, Hannah will be in class now.”
Rosa makes a small, confused noise. “What? No, her mom’s health is declining. Sorry, I’m confused… Hannah said she’d dropped out of college to be with her mom?”
What. I stand up so fast the blanket falls to my feet in a heap. My head swims, light-headed, ears ringing. “What? Seriously?”
“Yes,” Rosa says gently. “She said she wanted to spend some time with you and then come right back.”
I start pacing, three steps to the window, three steps back, hand dragging through my hair hard enough to hurt. “Oh… um, okay. Well, I’ll let her know you called. Thanks.”
I hang up before she can say anything else.
Hannah lied… she lied to me. She seemed so sincere.
Crying about classes, about her mom, about how overwhelmed she was.
She never lies to me… she’s not the type; she’s honest, almost painfully so.
So why would she come back suddenly for a short visit, only to plan on leaving again?
When did she drop out? Why didn’t she tell me?
My eyes land on her suitcase by the door, still exactly where I left it, standing there like a quiet accusation. I’ve never gone through her stuff before, she knows that. She knows I’d never snoop, never dig through her things without asking. So, if she were hiding something… it would be in there.
I grab the handle, wheel the suitcase the few steps to the couch, and drop it with a heavy thud that echoes in the quiet dorm.
My hands are already trembling as I yank the zipper open…
clothes spill out in a chaotic tumble: pyjamas, underwear, a half-empty bottle of her favourite lotion, toiletries rolling across the cushions.
I dig through it all, frantic and careless, not giving a damn how invasive it feels.
Nothing. Just the usual clutter of someone living out of a bag.
I check the side pockets, the zippered compartments…
still nothing. Maybe I’m overreacting, maybe Rosa misunderstood, maybe Hannah really did come back for good.
I start shoving everything back in, rough and impatient, trying to restore some order so she won’t know I looked.
My fingers brush something hard under the lining as I smooth down a sweater; rectangular and box-shaped.
I feel it again, a definite outline. I unzip the compartment, the hidden one nobody ever uses, and reach around behind the fabric.
My fingers close on the edge of a box. I yank it free…
and immediately throw it onto the couch.
I yelp, sharp, involuntary, then gasp. “What the fuck?!”
Cole
I jerk upright on the bed when Remy’s voice cracks through the quiet, sharp and panicked, just one shout from the living room.
It’s not his usual cocky yell or playful laugh; it’s the kind of raw, terrified sound I’ve only heard from him a handful of times in fifteen years. The kind that makes my stomach drop.
I want to stay stubborn, stay in here, bury myself under the covers, and pretend the last twenty-four hours didn’t happen.
I need space; I need to breathe without him in my lungs.
But I know him better than anyone… that tone means something’s wrong, really wrong.
And no matter how gutted I am, no matter how much I want to hate him right now, I still can’t just sit here and let him drown.
I climb out of bed reluctantly, cautiously, hoodie still on, jeans wrinkled from sleeping in them. I open the door slowly, like I’m stepping into a minefield, and walk into the living area.
My eyes go wide. Remy’s on the floor, knees drawn up, head in his hands. He’s rocking slightly, breaths coming in short, ragged pants like he can’t get enough air. Face pale as milk, eyes wide and glassy, red-rimmed like he’s been crying. He looks like he’s about to throw up or pass out or both.
I move fast, cross the room, and drop to a crouch right in front of him. My hands land on his shoulders, firm. “Hey, Remy… hey!”
He looks up, eyes unfocused at first, then locking on mine; terrified and lost.
I frown, heart racing. “What’s going on? Remy… what happened?”
He licks his lips but doesn’t speak. Just rocks a little harder, gaze darting toward the couch like he’s afraid of it. He looks deranged… hair wild, face blotchy, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands.
I follow his gaze. Hannah’s suitcase is open on the couch… clothes half-spilled, things thrown around like he tore through it. And on the cushion beside it… a box, small and white. Ovulation tests, the kind that come in strips. I stop breathing for a second.
I reach for it slowly, mind numb, and pick it up, swallowing hard. My eyes fill instantly, hot and stinging. Why… why does Hannah have ovulation tests? No. They’re… trying for a baby? What?
Nausea rolls through me so fast I almost gag. But then I look back at Remy… he’s shaking, rocking, and terrified. He had no idea, he didn’t know she had these, he probably thought she was still on birth control. Fuck.
I rip the box open, strips inside, some already used. I don’t want to touch anything that might have piss on it, but I carefully slide one out by the dry end. Two lines, clear as day. I look at the instructions on the box: two lines means ovulated.
Fuck fuck fuck. When? When did she take these?
I spot a piece of paper tucked inside the box, crumpled, scrawled in Hannah’s handwriting.
I throw the box down, uncrumple the note with shaking hands, drop onto the couch beside the mess, and try to read through blurry eyes.
It’s notes… dates of her last period, hormone changes, and login details for an app called, “Period & Ovulation Tracker.” A circled date in pink gel pen: Wednesday 8th July.
Hannah came back on Tuesday. I don’t know how many times they’ve had sex since she arrived.
Twice? More? Did she… time it? Did she come back to get pregnant?
My heart drops through the floor. She can’t have Remy’s baby. No. Fuck that.
I stumble back to him, drop to the floor right in his space, knees touching his, and grab his face in both hands. “Remy… look at me.”
His eyes flick up, wide and wet. I hate what I’m about to ask, it’s disgusting, and I don’t want to know, but I need to.
“Remy…” My voice is low, careful. “Did you… did you finish inside Hannah at all while she’s been here?”
He frowns, sniffles, and wipes his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. Shakes his head fast, small, jerky. His comes out tiny and broken. “No… I couldn’t.”
“You’re sure?”
He nods again, faster. “I couldn’t even get hard… I faked it.”
Relief crashes through me so hard my shoulders sag. Despite everything… despite the anger and hurt… I pull him into my lap. Wrap my arms around his neck, keeping him close. He buries his face in my shoulder, shaking.
He whispers against my neck, voice cracking. “I-I can’t… I’m not ready to be a dad… I’m nineteen…”
I stroke his hair slowly, soothing. “Shh… it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. She can’t be pregnant.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes red, hopeless. “How can you know that?”
“Because she wrote it all down.” I nod toward the box, the note. “And if you didn’t finish inside her…” I pause, throat tight. “She came back for this, Remy. You didn’t know, did you?”
He shakes his head fast. “Her mom’s nurse said she just came back for a trip.” His voice breaks again. “Cole… she dropped out of college weeks ago.”
I pull back, frowning, holding his face. “Wait… what?”
He nods, face crumpling again.
I laugh in complete shock and disbelief. “Hannah? We’re talking about the same person, right?”
He nods, tears spilling fresh.
I shake my head. “Hannah lied to you? She came back here to… to get knocked up and then fuck off again?”
He sobs hard, broken, and falls forward into my chest.
Fuck. Why would she do that? What the hell has gotten into her? I pray to God she’s not pregnant from this ‘trip.’
Remy’s voice is muffled against my shirt. “I’m sorry, Cole… I didn’t know…”
He’s breathing hard, panicked still, clearly terrified I think he planned this.
I stroke his back in slow circles. “This isn’t your fault, Remy. Fuck… I can’t believe this.”
He shifts, straddles my lap properly, and wraps himself around me. Not sexual, just close. “Please believe that I don’t want her. I had no idea. I swear to God, Cole.”
I nod into his shoulder. “I believe you.”
He lets out a relieved, sad little laugh, half-sob. I hold him tighter, stroking his back, shushing him softly, rocking him gently until his breathing evens out.
Then I pull back just enough to look at him. “How do you want to handle this?”
He shakes his head fast. “I want her gone. I never want to see her again.”
I nod. “Okay. But if she’s not in class… where the fuck is she?”
He shrugs, still on my lap, face to face now. Wipes his hoodie sleeve across his eyes and nose, face red and tear streaked. “I don’t even know.”
I can’t help it… I reach up, wipe the tear tracks off his cheeks with my thumbs. He leans into one of my hands like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “About last night.”
I shake my head. “I had no right to be mad. She’s still technically your girlfriend.”
He frowns. “I was only hard because of you.”
I blink, just staring, not expecting him to say that.
“That’s why my eyes were closed…” He swallows hard. “Cole… I was picturing you the whole time.”
I grin suddenly, stupid, even though the whole thing is fucked up. Because yeah… he shouldn’t have been inside her at all, but knowing he was thinking of me instead? That pleases some possessive, petty part of me I didn’t know I had.
Remy raises his brows at my grin.
I shrug. “Just… please promise me… no sympathy sex with anyone, you idiot.”
He nods fast. “I promise. I’m sorry.”
“Good.” I lean in close, voice low. “Unless it’s me.”
He laughs, shaky but closer to real relief this time.