Chapter 41
Zoe
I went on some dates last year, several, as part of my therapy. But every time, I could only think that it didn’t feel right.
—Zoe
I don’t know if it’s a noise or a feeling that shakes me out of sleep, or just the sense that something is missing.
It takes a minute for me to reorient myself and remember that I’m in my room in my parents’ house and not in the dorm.
And then there’s another moment until I notice the emptiness beside me.
Jase, who fell asleep exhausted next to me, is gone.
I sit up with a start, suddenly wide awake.
My heart races, and I panic. He’s gone. Where the hell did he go?
My hands shake as I fumble for my phone on my bedside table, only to realize it’s not there. I didn’t bring a purse when we went to the party, and I gave my phone to my mom. It’s probably still in her pocket. Damn it!
It’s still dark; he can’t have been gone for long.
Hopefully. Maybe he went back to school, or .
. . my stomach cramps. I jump out of bed and am about to go check if my parents are home when I notice a light shining through the window of my room.
I didn’t close the curtains properly, which normally isn’t a problem until the sun rises.
My window looks out over the garden, which is usually completely dark at night.
But not tonight. I look out the window, and my heart leaps as I see a light in my treehouse. Someone turned on the fairy lights. There’s only one person it could be.
I don’t waste time wondering; I just grab the woolen blanket from the foot of my bed and hurry downstairs.
A pair of Mom’s boots sits by the back door, and I slip into them and leave the house.
I walk through the frost-covered grass, shivering.
The rungs of the ladder feel cold and damp under my fingers as I climb up.
I hesitate at the door. Maybe he came here to be alone. But if that were the case, he wouldn’t have stayed at our house at all. And he wouldn’t have gone to my treehouse, would he? I shake off the doubt and open the door. If he wants to be alone, he can send me away again.
Jase is sitting on the floor in exactly the same place he sat last year, on the night when he came to me for the first time.
He’s still wearing Caleb’s clothes. His hair falls messily over his forehead, covering his face as he looks down.
There are blankets next to him, but he hasn’t even bothered to pull one over his legs, and no matter how well insulated the treehouse is, it’s not warm in here.
“Jase,” I say softly. When he looks up, my heart constricts. His eyes are dull and empty, and tears are running down his cheeks.