Chapter 13 #2
A few minutes later, I pull my car out of the apartment parking lot and crank the volume all the way up, bopping my head along to an old Nirvana song. My adrenaline is still buzzing from all the singing. For once, it feels like maybe I’m not just reacting to my life but actually steering it.
I feel so good, in fact, that I decide to be generous and stop at Hayes’s favorite Greek restaurant, Souvlaki’s, to grab him dinner too. He’s probably wasted at the frat party by now and could use something to soak up the damage.
Souvlaki’s is pricier than I normally allow myself, which is why I usually only go when Hayes insists on paying. Still, I want to do something kind. Something uncomplicated. I even text Mom and Amber after I park, asking if they want anything.
See? You can do this. You can still be Hayes’s friend, I tell myself. Even if it feels like he’s slipping further away each day.
The pep talk almost works too—right up until I walk inside.
What the hell?
Hayes is here.
His black hair is damp, curling slightly at the ends like he just showered. He’s in jeans and his favorite Nikes, looking far too put together for someone who is supposed to be spending the afternoon getting wrecked with his frat brothers.
He sits alone in our usual booth beneath a framed photo of the cliffs of Santorini. Half the image shows the iconic, blue-domed buildings that cling to the hillside of the Greek island. The other half is the Aegean Sea, impossibly blue, dotted with sailboats near the shore.
One afternoon out on the archery fields, Hayes’s father told us of the Greek myth about how Santorini came to be.
Jason and the Argonauts, a band of heroes sailing through the Aegean Sea, were on a quest to help Jason reclaim his rightful throne from a usurping uncle.
During their journey, they landed on the island of Anafi.
There, one of the men fell in love with a sea nymph who became pregnant and needed a safe place to give birth.
To help her, the Argonauts threw a clod of earth into the sea, and the island of Santorini emerged.
Back then, I believed in stories like that. Magic pulled from nothing. Miracles born of love and desperation.
Now, I believe in science.
And I later learned that Santorini was formed by a volcanic eruption, not some ridiculous romantic myth.
“Hay?” I call out, walking toward the table.
“Alysander?” He looks up, startled, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. The blue-and-white checked menu slips from his hand. “What are you doing here?”
I don’t love the way he’s looking at me, like I’ve intruded. And maybe I have. Showing up at his favorite restaurant alone could come off as… odd.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I say. “Why aren’t you at the party?”
He shrugs, his eyes sliding away. “I got bored.”
Hayes ditching a party? That’s not like him at all. Whatever’s going on with his family must be worse than I thought.
“Actually, I’m glad I ran into you.” I slide into the booth, pretending not to notice the way his posture stiffens. “I feel awful about last night. I didn’t mean to push. I’m sorry. I just—I want you to know I’m here. For whatever you need, whenever you’re ready to talk.”
I offer a small, hopeful smile.
“That’s great,” he says, too quickly. “But can we do this later? I’m kind of here with someone.” His eyes flick toward the back of the restaurant, to the bathroom.
A cold tendril of intuition curls at the base of my skull, slick and unwelcome.
Then I see it.
The extra place setting. The half-empty Diet Coke, a pink lip gloss stain bleeding into the straw. The combo appetizer platter Hayes always orders for us—hummus, baba ghanoush, tabbouleh, dolmas—barely touched.
Hayes isn’t alone.
He’s waiting for someone.
Someone who isn’t me.
Of course, I think, feeling stupid. He’s here on a date.
“Right.” My voice comes out brittle as I scramble to my feet. “I’ll just go, then.”
“I’ll call you later, okay?” His eyes flick toward the back of the restaurant again, like he’s worried whoever he’s here with might come out at any moment and catch us talking.
Which is… strange.
Hayes has never cared before if I was around his dates.
Not that I enjoyed it, but I’ve third-wheeled through more of his flirtations than I can count. We’ve even joked about it—how he’d split his fries with me while ignoring some poor girl he had zero plans of ever asking out again.
But this?
He’s jumpy. On edge. Acting guilty. Something about his behavior sets off alarm bells in my head.
I glance at the lipstick stain again, heart plummeting because, suddenly, I know.
I know exactly who he’s here with.
And then, like a cosmic punchline I should have seen coming, my sister walks out of the bathroom, smiling and waving as she heads toward us.
“Don’t be mad,” Hayes says, his voice just a little too smooth, a little too rehearsed. “This isn’t what it looks like. It’s just dinner. I really needed a friend tonight.”
He needed Amber?
She’s the friend he turned to?
Like I’m not the one who’s known him since we were five and has always been there for him.
“I’m your friend, Hayes. Me.”
The words come out hot and sharp, and maybe a little desperate.
“Al, come on. Please.” His voice is soft, almost pleading. “I don’t want to fight with you again.”
“But, Hay—”
“I just can’t. Not today.”
His fists clench the table edges, his knuckles going white. He won’t even look at me anymore.
And that’s when I know.
Really know.
It doesn’t matter what I say or do. He’s already chosen her.
He always chooses her.
I was a damn fool to think this time would be any different.
Heat stings the corners of my eyes as I step away from the table. I don’t walk—I flee. Because if I stay, I’ll shatter in front of both of them, crack open and bleed all over the floor. And I can’t let that happen. I can’t let them see what this is really doing to me.
I make it to my car, dive inside, and yank the door shut just in time. An instant later, the tears come. Hot, stinging, unstoppable.
Rejection.
Humiliation.
Loss.
A part of me always knew this day would come. I just didn’t realize it would come so soon.
My shoulders shake as I slump forward, burying my face against the steering wheel. The ache inside me swells until it spills over, raw, relentless, and hollow. It eats at everything in me, scraping me clean, until there’s nothing left but exhaustion, followed fast by a crushing emptiness.
And then I remember.
Shit.
I forgot the damn food.
Because of course I did. As if the night wasn’t already a complete disaster, now I’m going to starve.
Fucking perfect.