Chapter 32
Chapter
Thirty-Two
Rose
After Alex and Watson drop me off at the restaurant where my friends and I used to spend so many nights, I step inside and scan the room for Chelsea.
I spot her immediately, looking just a little out of place in the dim, run-down tavern.
She’s wearing a thick cable-knit sweater, a scarf thrown loosely around her neck in large looping circles.
Although her clothing fits the season, the rest of her doesn’t.
She looks rested and tan and good, like getting away to get some sun in the middle of winter always does.
I pull off my gloves, rubbing my hands together as I make my way over.
She’s sitting at the bar, her attention fixed on the television above it.
She’s completely absorbed in a replay of an ice hockey game.
Frankly, I can see the appeal. Her eyes light up as a player slams another into the glass, knocking his helmet loose as he crumples to the ice. The speed and violence make her grin.
I slide into the seat beside her. She doesn’t look my way, but I can tell she noticed me the moment I walked in.
“Enjoying a little sports action?” I ask.
She rests her hand against her temple, finally turning her attention toward me.
Her lips turn into a sly half-smile that makes me laugh, because Chelsea is anything but sly. She’s always the one who refuses to take sides, somehow managing to stay everyone’s friend. Even now, after everything with our roommates, she’s still here, showing up for me.
“I just love watching men play such vicious contact sports, don’t you?
” she teases, laughing. “Wayne Gretzky once said something I've always liked: ‘A good hockey player plays where the puck is. A great hockey player plays where the puck is going to be.’ I think that's true in everything you apply yourself to.”
“Um…I’m not really into sports, but sure,” I say, and it comes out more like a question. She chuckles, looking at me intently.
The bartender comes over, and the subject of sports changes as we both order burgers and sodas.
Chelsea is similar to me in that regard.
Definitely not a salad girl. She’s down-to-earth, and even though her parents have money, she doesn’t flaunt it or act like it.
Sometimes I wonder if she is just as lonely, the way she talks about her dad and how he’s never around, but I can tell it’s a sore subject, so I don’t press her for information. She gives me the same courtesy.
Our food arrives, and she picks up a fry, dipping it into the aioli before wiping her fingers on a napkin.
“So,” she says, taking a huge bite of her burger, “tell me what you’ve been up to over break.
” A trail of barbecue sauce slips down her chin, and she squeaks, grabbing a napkin and laughing as she wipes it away.
She turns back to me, smiling and waiting for me to answer.
“I went to Texas with Alex,” I start.
She turns slightly, still chewing. “Was it fun?” she asks. A mischievous twinkle in her eye leads me to believe that was a loaded question.
I nod, a smile forming, meeting hers. “Yeah. We had a great time. I met his cousins and we—” I stop myself, redirecting. “My aunt showed up.” If Chelsea thought I was changing the subject, she doesn’t comment.
She lights up immediately. “That’s so good. I know you were sad about not being with family over break and Christmas, so that’s amazing. I’m really happy for you, Rose.”
“Thanks,” I say, nodding. “It was.” I pause and then add, “What about you? You look incredible. Seeing you this tan is making me crave the sun.”
Her phone buzzes beside her. She glances at it, sends a quick reply, then flips it facedown again.
I watch her for a moment, really taking her in.
There’s something about Chelsea that always throws me off.
It’s not just the way she looks. It's more the way she carries herself. There’s a polished look to her, everything about her is just too deliberate.
Even sitting at the bar, she doesn’t fidget as most people do. She just exists.
Her skin still carries that warm, sunlit glow, her freckles more pronounced now, softening her features.
Dark hair falls in loose waves around her face and shoulders, effortless in a way that feels unfair.
It’s then that I notice that she looks a lot like me.
The way that I’m dressed and the hair, except mine, is a lot lighter.
Her face is too balanced, too put together, everything just falls exactly where it should.
The only imperfection is her teeth. She’s never had braces.
We talked about it once. She told me she just didn’t care.
Her parents easily could have afforded it, but she never wanted it.
With how put together she is in every other way, it almost seems impossible.
There’s something almost unreal in the way she holds herself.
Calm. Composed. Untouchable. And I hate, just a little, how easy it looks on her.
She turns toward me fully now, hands resting on the bar as she turns her body in my direction. She’s finished eating, pushing the plate forward. I tense slightly, unsure what she’s about to say. It feels as though maybe she brought me here for a reason.
“Rose, I really think you should—”
She cuts off mid-sentence, her gaze turning toward the door. Her expression tenses just enough for me to notice. I follow her line of sight.
The door swings open, and with it comes a sharp gust of cold before it swings shut again.
Maxwell steps inside alone, brushing snow from his shoulders.
His eyes look around, landing on us almost too quickly.
It’s like he already knew where we’d be.
For a second, he just stands there. Deciding something?
I have no idea, just that he’s not someone I wanted to run into here.
Then he starts toward us with slow, deliberate steps.
I glance at Chelsea, “I thought—”
“Lucinda was coming, too,” she says, though there’s uncertainty in her voice now. Maxwell reaches the bar, offering a tentative smile.
“Hey.” His eyes move to Chelsea and then back to me. “Can I sit?”
Something in my chest squeezes. A feeling of sadness at the loss of friends and how everything went down between us. I didn’t want to speak to him, but after everything that’s happened, and then getting called into the dean's office because of him, I think we need to have this conversation.
Chelsea slides off her stool. “I’ll give you guys some space. I need to grab a prescription anyway.” She gives me an apologetic look before grabbing her jacket and heading out without looking back.
Maxwell takes her seat, moving uncomfortably, dragging a hand through his hair.
He clears his throat, fingers brushing the back of his neck.
He’s already bracing himself, but instead turns to me.
“I—uh…I wanted to apologize. For what happened. For how I acted. I mean for what I did. All of it,” he huffs out.
“I wasn’t in a good place back then. Not really thinking straight.
” His voice sounds more confident. Yet rehearsed, like he’s said this part plenty of times before today.
I wonder if he has and to whom else. He exhales, glancing down at the table before continuing.
“Lucinda and I...we're not together. We haven't been for a while.” He hesitates, his jaw tensing. “And she never admitted to writing those notes. I didn't want you thinking it was just me. That I was the one behind all of it.” His fingers tap once against the table before going still. He hangs his head and drags a hand over the light stubble on his jaw. “I was going out a lot. Drinking too much, honestly. Every time. Just getting wasted.” He lets out a short breath. “That night, I don’t know. Something felt off. I swear it did. I felt…wrong. I swear I’d been drugged.” He looks up then, meeting my eyes, and I see the sincerity in them. “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.” A pause.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I hope that you can forgive me. ”
I don’t answer right away. I study him for a moment.
Then the words leave my mouth, surprising even me.
“I forgive you.” My voice is calmer than I thought I could manage.
I’m not angry anymore. In fact, if he hadn’t done that, then I would have never moved in with Alex, maybe things wouldn’t have happened the way they did, but I can’t deny that I’m happy the way this ended up, with me in his bed and on the verge of feeling something that feels a lot like being in love with my soulmate.
Maxwell exhales, like he’s been waiting for me to say those words and not thinking I ever would.
“But something did happen, Maxwell,” I add, glancing at his hands before looking back up. “Someone vandalized my car. The question is who? If I’m being honest, I’m still a little shaken.”
“Rose, I swear it wasn’t me, and Lucinda denies it, too.” I fight the urge to roll my eyes. She's still the only logical choice. Maxwell leans forward slightly, tension pulling tight through his shoulders. “Did they find anything? Anyone?”
I shake my head. “Not yet, but speaking of our roommate,” I make a point of looking around in case she walked in without me noticing, “where is she?”
Maxwell’s cheeks turn a shade of pink as he rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “I think she was embarrassed about the…” He slouches, looking away without meeting my gaze. “The position you found us in. A lot of that is actually fuzzy, to be honest.”
I nod, but just keep studying him, wondering if I should probe further. This might be my only chance. “And you?” I ask lightly. “How are things at home?” I try to keep it casual. Careful with my questioning.
Maxwell stills for just a second. “Fine,” he says too quickly. His gaze slips away before he adds, “Yeah. They're fine.”