Chapter 16
I sleep deeply, out of exhaustion and satisfaction, and wake in the morning disoriented about where I am and what time it is.
The memory of last night hits me a few seconds after I get my bearings.
Nate should be in bed next to me, but his pillow is cold and the sheets on his side aren’t rumpled at all.
I’m pretty sure he slipped away as soon as I fell asleep.
I chastise the pit in my stomach: It’s okay. He’s allowed to do that. Another term he’s setting. Irrelevant too, because I got what I needed, he seemed to enjoy himself, and we both know exactly what it was.
Onward.
I have a text from Bailey, sent three hours ago: SO sorry I didn’t message you back yesterday.
I saw your text during my ten-second pee break between patients, and I mentally responded without actually replying.
UGH. I am so confused by how this trip is playing out but I hope you’re having a good time, and I can’t wait to hear all about it when you get here!
How many times have I put off responding to her messages and then never responded at all? Because I forgot or felt guilty. Or sometimes because it’s hard to be the version of me she knows.
I send back a quick reply— No worries! Yeah, it’s been pretty wild!
—and climb out of bed. The shower is running, and Nate’s stripped the sheets from the pullout and converted it back to a couch.
His half-zipped bag sits on the coffee table, and it looks like he’s repacked it.
Cold panic swamps me. We booked this place for two nights, so he shouldn’t be going anywhere until tomorrow.
It’s possible Nate has a lead on Logan. But the panic is telling me it’s something else: that because of last night, Nate is leaving. I should’ve known when he snuck out of my bed after I fell asleep. Maybe even when he told me to keep my clothes on.
Did I think we’d sit at the table and reflect on what happened over bowls of Raisin Bran this morning? It was great, so glad we got the chance to dry-hump once in our lives. Anyway, should we check out the farmer’s market?
Obviously not. And that’s okay. Last night was incredible, but it can’t go anywhere.
If Nate leaves, I’ll head north to Wyoming.
I won’t have to worry about making sure his arm doesn’t appear in any of the photos I post, and when I stop, I’ll have time to respond to DMs. Nate bowing out would be a good thing.
Bullshit. Even my mother would have a hard time selling that one.
I’m so tired of trying to convince myself to want things I don’t. Even if it’s dangerous, even if it pulls my focus, I don’t want Nate to leave. I’m not ready for this to end. Weirdly, admitting this makes the panic subside.
I take a breath and grab my phone. My notifications are blowing up.
Jeez, I have fifty-seven thousand followers now, more than double what I started with.
I tap my profile picture to look at what I shared last night, the photo Kyla posted of the two of us, but I do a double take.
There’s a long dotted line across the top of the screen, indicating that I’ve posted more than just one photo. What the fuck? I tap through.
Someone picked out a bunch of posts I’ve been tagged in recently and shared them, adding motivational comments underneath. Summer. I thought she was only supposed to be logging in to collect data for Tracy, but I guess that was na?ve.
First, she told a newly divorced woman contemplating how to move forward, You have to love yourself first!
You’ve got this! Ugh. All her comments are like this: cheery, superficial responses to sincere expressions of vulnerability and struggle.
I’ve used some of these lines on myself, in my own head— Focus on what you do have!
You can handle anything! Things always work out!
—but in this context, they sound tepid and insensitive.
The worst is a post from a longtime CycleLove rider talking about her recent cervical cancer treatment. Summer—no, I, apparently—told her, Everything happens for a reason! Stay positive and there are brighter days ahead! She added some twinkly stars, for additional motivation, I guess.
What the fuck? I told this poor woman her cancer happened for a reason? I quickly delete it and change my password. Got hacked , I explain to Tracy, not caring whether she believes me. With shaky fingers, I type out a private message to the woman, sending her strength and wishing her the best.
Between what happened last night and this, there’s only one thing that’s going to settle me. I send Nate a text: Going to find a place to work out! I’ll be back in a couple hours. He might be getting ready to go, but I don’t think he’d leave without saying goodbye.
I seek refuge in a no-frills gym a few blocks away and buy a day pass.
Earbuds in, pop-punk playlist on. My body craves strength work, so I squat and deadlift and shoulder press until my muscles are fatigued.
With blood pumping through my veins and sweat pouring out of me, the tension lifts.
By the time I step onto the treadmill, I feel light, and I fly for a few miles before deciding I’ve pushed myself enough.
Between the altitude and the time off from my usual routine, I’m breathing harder than I normally would, but it feels good.
The cool air is heaven on my skin when I step outside, and I don’t bother to pull on my sweatshirt. God, I love endorphins.
While I walk, I text Livvie. After thanking her again for letting us crash the party, I ask, Any idea what Logan’s plans are?
She responds immediately. I’m so glad we got to meet!
We’re all headed to Sunflower Sound and you’re welcome to join us.
Kyla and I have a VIP RV and they gave us passes for plus-ones.
They’re yours if you want them. Logan is camping with some of the guys instead of doing the RV thing but he’ll be there too!
It’s more than I’d hoped for, as far as leads go.
According to Google, Sunflower Sound is a festival in Kansas that promises to be “country music’s rowdiest party.
” Yee-haw. That’ll put us east of most of the places I wanted to see, but it’ll be teeming with possibilities for content that will hopefully make Tracy forget to ask for my new password.
I need to see this through. Settle things with Nate so our time together doesn’t end on this weird note.
Find Logan so Nate can get what he wants.
Hole up in the woods somewhere in, I don’t know, the Ozarks or Gatlinburg, to continue figuring out my new CycleLove persona.
Unwind, make sure Bailey has a great birthday, feel good about how I leave her and Seapoint, and return to work motivated.
When I walk up the driveway, Nate is sitting on the bench outside. “Great news,” I announce. “Logan is going to a music festival in Kansas tomorrow. It’s an eight-hour drive.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t. I’m going to get a flight to New Jersey. You should stay here tonight, figure out what you want to do next.”
My stomach plummets. “What? Why?”
He rubs the back of his head. “This whole thing is ridiculous, and we’re wasting our time.”
“But we know exactly where he’s going,” I argue. “It’s a straight shot from here.”
“You already looked it up?” I’m not sure why he looks so surprised.
“Of course I did!” I say. “Because I’m not a quitter. So which is it? You’re too embarrassed by your own ambition to keep trying? Or you don’t want to spend more time with me because we hooked up?”
He drops his face into his hands. “I can’t—okay, first of all, Logan doesn’t want to see me. He’s already decided it’s a bad idea, and he’s probably right.”
“You quit your job. You’re moving home for this.” I pace in front of the bench. “You’ve thought it through. You know it’s a good idea! Don’t let one person showing the slightest resistance make you give up.”
“I don’t know why I thought this would work. I got carried away.”
“Well, then, you see it through. Don’t bail now just to save yourself a little pride.”
He doesn’t have a counterargument for that, so he says, “The music festival is eight hours away. I’m sure it’s nowhere near anything you wanted to see.”
“Yeah. Good point. Eight hours in a car with the person who humped your leg last night. Is that what you’re worried about?” I stop pacing and jam my hands against my hips.
He massages the bridge of his nose. “Jesus. Yes, I am worried about that, okay?”
“Look, obviously there’s still something between us. And, obviously, neither of us is in a place to pursue anything serious. We got caught up in the moment, but I have no regrets as long as it doesn’t kill our friendship. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, whether or not it happens again.”
Truthfully, I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from last night. But admitting that doesn’t seem likely to put him at ease.
“ Happens again? Quinn, last night was…” He squeezes his thigh, and I try not to look. “I can’t stop thinking about it. There’s a good chance I’ll never stop thinking about it. But to be your—your rebound—I don’t think I can do it.”
I thought I was okay with a onetime thing, but something inside me rips in two at his words. It’s all we’ve got, I want to say. Don’t dwell on whatever’s giving you pause. Focus on the good.
But I’ve made that mistake with Nate before.
“If that’s what you want, I’ll respect it.
” My voice wavers as I realize how much I’m going to expose myself.
“But last night wasn’t about me rebounding.
It had nothing to do with Caleb. I don’t care about him anymore. That was entirely about me and you.”
He’s completely still. “Oh.” A beat passes, quiet except for the birds chirping in the tree next to the garden.
The air between us is taut with the weight of my admission and the memory of us tangled together last night.
There’s longing in his eyes, and it makes my knees shake.
When he bites down on his bottom lip, I taste raspberries and lime.
“I wish it were simple. Last time, I only left L.A. for a month. This time…”
I look away, at the yellow flowers. Forever, that’s how long he’ll be gone. “I know.”
When I turn back, he’s shaking his head. “If that was hard for both of us, I can’t imagine how awful it would be now.”
After it ends, he means. Because it will end. A crush of red threatens to descend on me, but I push it away. We can do more right now than lament our sorry circumstances. “You’re right. But regardless, we should still go to Kansas tomorrow. Together.”
He watches me in that intense way, like the completely neutral position of my mouth is telling him I’m on the verge of falling apart. I don’t bother forcing a smile. He stands, and something flashes on his face that I think might be hope. “Okay. Let’s go to Kansas tomorrow.”
We spend the rest of the day apart. I poke around some nearby shops and pick out a pair of silver cowboy boots at a secondhand clothing store. He goes for a run.
At night, when I come out of the bathroom after brushing my teeth, he’s pretending to be asleep, and not even doing a good job of it.
His phone is still lit up on the end table, like he put it down five seconds ago.
I lie in bed in the loft, listening to the couch creak under his restless movements for a long time.
I’m so glad we cleared everything up today. We have a long drive ahead of us tomorrow.