Track 2
JAKE
I GATHER MY books and pack up my bag the second the lecture ends.
I’m out the door in the second that follows.
Austin's warm October air hits me with a breeze, and it actually annoys me.
October weather should be cool and crisp with leaves that change color by the hour, rather than lively greens glimmering in the light and a summer wind whipping around. Everything about it is wrong.
I probably wouldn’t feel this way if I was able to go home to Jersey, but that’s not an option.
It hasn’t been for five long months, and I think it’s starting to get to me—this feeling of being trapped on this side of the country just so I can keep avoiding all the things I don’t want to deal with.
The questions from family and friends I don’t want to answer.
The potential run-in with Sydney, or worse—Sydney and E.
The second his eyes locked on mine that day, I knew exactly who he was.
It was like I had always known. I only heard his name once before, but when I saw him, everything clicked.
It was written all over him. It was written all over them both.
And I just stood there, shaking his hand, like a fucking moron.
I try to rid my brain of the images I’m so tired of seeing. Day and night, all these miserable memories flood my mind like a cassette stuck in the deck. I wish there was a way to bust the tape. Pull out all the guts so it can’t be played ever again.
“Hey, Cooper!” A voice calls from behind me. I keep moving forward, not recognizing who it belongs to, or even the name, honestly. I’m too distracted by my own mind.
“Hellooo,” the voice sings. “Mr. Cooper,” she says in a playful taunt. I’m not sure why, but my brain registers then, catching my attention.
I barely turn around before a delicate hand is on my shoulder, stopping me and tugging me around.
Gray-blue eyes that seem almost familiar meet mine.
My brows furrow as my eyes search her face.
I don’t think I know her. I would have remembered full pink lips, cherry-kissed cheeks, and skin that’s reminiscent of days spent in the sun.
The girl is undeniably beautiful. She has that girl next door vibe with a bite on the end, and her eyes—they’re the kind that change color depending on the day, or maybe even the hour.
Tiny yellow rays surround bold irises encapsulated by the lightest blue I’ve ever seen.
They’re cold and striking, but there’s a warmth within them.
Staring at them too long is enough to shock you right out of your universe.
Not that I’m noticing. I’m just trying to place her.
She grabs the strap of her bag and readjusts it on her shoulder. Her golden brown ponytail swings behind her, the tails from a bow bouncing along with it.
“Hi,” she says with a warm smile. “How’s it goin’?”
My eyes dart left and then right before they’re back on her. “Good, I guess?”
“Oh good, okay. Well, I just wanted to say you’re welcome.”
The twist of her lips pulls a memory to the surface. A bakery—no, a café. An angry patron snapping at her while she quietly reassures him that he needs to calm down. A woman struggling with her bags, and her stepping in before I even have the chance to move.
That’s where I’ve seen her.
She’s a nice person—kind and patient, but she doesn’t take people’s shit. I guess I’m no exception.
Normally, I would apologize, give a quick thank you, and be on my way. But for some reason, I kind of want to mess with her right now.
“Excuse me?” My brow lifts slightly, and my lips tug into the faint, downward curve of what I remember a smile to be.
“You’re welcome,” she repeats. “You know, for saving your ass with Stanley.” One hand moves to her hip, and she leans into it.
An amused breath escapes my nose. “You didn’t save—”
“I did.” She smirks, her head tilting, ponytailed bow falling along with it.
I roll my lips between my teeth to hide my smile. “Okay.”
“Okayyy.” She gestures an open hand toward me as if she’s waiting for more. I look down at her palm, then back to those striking blue eyes, tilting my head. A small tickle forms somewhere in my stomach. I don’t know why I feel the need to toy with her, but I keep following it.
“I feel like there’s something you want me to say here, but I’ve got nothing.”
“Thank you,” she says with a slight swing of her hand.
“You’re welcome?” My face twists, and my smirk deepens in feigned confusion.
“No. You say thank you to me.”
“Thank you to me.”
“Oh my gosh,” she scoffs. “What are you—twelve?”
“And a half.” I smirk with a quick lift of my brows.
She folds her arms across her chest and purses her lips to contain a smile. “You think you’re funny, huh?”
“Not usually,” I mutter through a breathy laugh.
She doesn’t say anything for a moment. She just smiles at me, her eyes becoming impossibly brighter, and I don’t know how, but I can feel them in my soul.
“What’s up with you and Stanley? You guys have a love affair gone wrong or something?”
“What?” Now, I actually laugh. “What kind of question is that?”
She shrugs. “I’m not judging you. It’s college. Lots of people like to explore their sexualities.”
“With eighty-year-old professors?”
Her lips twist. “Should I note that you’re more put off by his age rather than him being a guy, or are we just gonna skate over that part?”
What? Did she just call me—
“It’s cool if you’re gay. You don’t have to be weird about it.”
My mouth slackens, and my mind fumbles. “I’m not… I don’t…”
“I’m kidding.” She laughs, nudging me in the chest. I let myself fall back a little. “I don’t think you had an affair with our eighty-year-old professor,” she sighs. “Unless—”
“Stop that,” I warn, and she giggles, the sound rich and warm to my ears. A chuckle erupts from deep in my chest—and that’s when it happens.
A tiny fire flickers inside me. It’s a flower budding and hitting that first kiss of sunlight. It’s almost satisfying. Staring into the lightest eyes I’ve ever seen, excitement buzzes through me.
I clear my throat and smother the thought away immediately, snuffing out any possible ember before it has the chance to become a flame.
I’ve learned what fire can do. How it burns through you, leaving you hollow and blackened.
I want nothing to do with it. So, I bury the spark under ice and ash, force my face into indifference, and remind myself that warmth is dangerous. Warmth is a lie.
“Look, I don’t know what you want from me.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend, metal scraping along glass.
Her smile falls, and for a second, guilt flashes through me, hot and unwelcome. I almost feel bad for my sudden change in reaction, but not enough to pull back. Not enough to let her think there’s any kind of hope when it comes to me.
“Nothing, I was just—”
“Just what?” I snap.
She pauses for a moment, and her mouth parts slightly. Her eyes bounce between mine as she tries to read me. I avert my gaze, not wanting her to see any part of me—the pain I’m carrying or the guilt that’s settling in my gut.
“Listen, I don’t need your help so don’t worry about saving my ass again.
I’m good.” She doesn’t respond, but disappointment flickers across her face.
I can sense a form of hurt I’ve inflicted radiating off her.
I hold my guard up like a shield before that falls, too.
My stomach rolls uncomfortably. “I gotta go, so…”
“Yeah, okay.” She adjusts her bag on her shoulder. Her voice is small suddenly, as if she’s trying to fold herself up before she disappears. “See you around.”
She turns and walks away, and I watch her for a few seconds longer than I should, feeling like a complete dick. The ache that hits my chest is different from the hollowness I’ve grown used to these last few months. I’m not used to being the bad guy.
But it’s better this way, I tell myself as I turn my back and walk away.
It’s better to pretend I’m cold and stonewall anyone who comes my way. Because the alternative of letting someone in and risking even the smallest piece of myself? That’s just not an option. Not after what I’ve already lost. Not after what it’s done to me.
Something happens to you when your heart’s been crushed.
It’s not just pain and loss. It’s embarrassment.
It’s shame. It’s a rewiring without knowing where the wires are supposed to go.
It’s devastating and it makes love, even friendship, stop looking like possibility and start looking like a loaded gun.
People think heartbreak makes you stronger, wiser, or virtuous in some poetic, tragic way.
But the truth is it just makes you colder.
Rougher around the edges. It strips the softness right out of you and replaces it with something ugly.
And once you’ve lived inside that kind of ruin, once you’ve seen how easily everything you care about can collapse, you don’t gamble with it again.
So, yeah, maybe I’m the asshole now. Maybe I just sent a nice girl away when a different version of me would’ve wanted to get to know her, wanted to make her smile. But that person is dead. The man left standing doesn’t care to remember him. He doesn’t risk. He doesn’t love. He just survives.
Even if survival feels a hell of a lot like rotting from the inside out.