Chapter 25
MOM AND DAD WEREN'T SHOCKED when they got back yesterday to find that I hadn't gone to school. I hadn't moved from the couch since that encounter with those wolves, both fresh out of energy to move and far too terrified to think about leaving the cottage.
True to their word, mom made my favorite – chicken-stuffed pasta shells in tomato sauce, a generous layer of cheese coating the top. Dad bought the chocolate cake, and I got the largest cut.
After dinner last night, Carter and Asher stopped by.
They hadn't seen me at school, queried if I was all right or still shaken up about the break-in.
It had been at the tip of my tongue to ask about those wolves, about why my parents and I weren't given proper warning ahead of time, or more specifically, why the hell they would put us somewhere with such animals prowling around.
I didn't though. I welcomed the distraction they provided. I asked them about Sky.
Other than the craziness of the last three days, he's been on my mind nonstop.
With how we went our separate ways and not having seen him since our kiss at his house, I can't help but wonder how he is.
Itt kills me to think he could be sad because of someone like me, that he would cry because of me.
I don't want him hurt because of me.
I never want him to feel unhappy because of me.
But now, I'll see him again.
Pulling into the school parking lot and into the first spot I find, not bothering to seek out my old one that's now been given to that Pipsqueak underclassman from the team, I turn off the music, cutting off the sounds of Three Days Grace.
The time on my phone reads fifteen minutes before eight o'clock.
I don't have an exam carded until ten this morning.
In the rearview mirror, Sky's black SUV strolls to a spot two cars away from mine. A few seconds later, his head pops up over the top the car and he comes strolling past around the front of my car. He looks directly at me, my heart jumping in my chest at the look on his face.
It's intense but not at all the one I've become familiar with. It's like we're back to where we were before we started talking, before I took him up on his offer to tutor him.
He looks at me like he despises the very air around me.
It shatters something in me, leaving me grasping at straws, wondering just how badly I've fucked up. He's entitled to his feelings, entitled to glare at me as though I'm the scum of the earth. I just wish it wouldn't hurt so much because at the end of the day, I hurt him first.
What makes all of this worse is that he's in all the classes for which I'm writing a final today.
First is Economics and I'm nowhere near prepared to face him.
He might not talk to me, might not even look at me and I don't know what's worse: Him hating me for breaking his heart and ignoring me like I don't exist, or him treating me the way he did before.
I don't get a chance to dwell on it for longer. I'm parked in a spot where I have perfect view of the steps leading inside, perfect view of the main gate, and the pedestrian gate at the side. I spot Sasha among a group of girls from the cheerleading team.
She's got her hair tied up in a ponytail, pink top and blue jeans, stilettos on her feet.
A sweater is draped over on arm, her backpack dangling off one shoulder.
She speaks with her friends, but when she reaches the end of the pedestrian pathway, stopping to let a car pass, she glances to the parking lot, searching for my car.
Sasha waves with a bright smile on her face as she crosses to the other side, waiting beneath a palm tree. She whips out her phone and starts typing, waving to her friends as they move along toward the steps. A few seconds later, my phone pings with a message notification.
It's from her.
'I'll wait for you. Let's get something to eat together.'
Guilt slaps me harder than I'm ready for.
It takes a full minute before I can breathe easily, before I find the courage to leave the car.
She looks happy, excited to see me, to talk with me.
I haven't spoken to her much since Monday, reading her messages but not responding, letting her calls go to voicemail while I tried to sort myself out.
I've been a horrible boyfriend and whatever she'll yell and scream at me, I'm prepared to take it.
I deserve it.
It's the least I can do after leading her on so disgustingly for the better part of a year because the truth is, I've been emotionally distancing myself for months now.
With each doctor's visit, the news kept getting worse.
Each treatment didn't work for long, and I had been losing hope of surviving, knowing it would be a matter of time before I was told that there was nothing that could be done, that the cancer had progressed so viciously that waiting for the end was the only thing left.
I should have ended things with her months ago.
I still love her, just not the way I used to.
Not the way this beautiful, kind-hearted girl deserves to be cherished.
Yet, despite knowing the right thing to do, I kept her because I couldn't let her go.
She made me feel somewhat normal, made it easy to ignore the turmoil in my life, and I never told her about my illness because I can't stand the sight of tears in her eyes.
Sasha doesn't deserve this.
I could be an asshole and wait until finals are over since I don't want to be the reason her concentration shatters and she performs poorly.
But at the same time, ending the relationship is the merciful route.
Here she is worried about me, probably wondering why I haven't been around much while I'm falling for someone else.
Sasha still loves me while I betrayed her by kissing someone else.
Heaving a shaky breath, I grab my bag and get out, locking the car with a press of the button on the key fob. Sasha's smile brightens when I cross over to meet her, pulling me into a hug.
"Hi," she greets, cheerfully. She tip-toes to press a kiss to my lips but I move away, her lips grazing my cheek.
Here's the thing about Sasha Vernon. She's smart, observant. She notices things that others might not, she gauges sudden changes in behavior. Her frown says it all.
"Is everything all right?" she asks, slipping her arms around my waist, tucking her nose against my collarbone, peeking up at me from beneath delicate eyelashes.
You're doing this because you love her, too.
My feelings may have changed but I still love this girl. I respect her too much to continue this stupid charade.
"No," I answer honestly. It's subtle but I notice the way her arms tighten for a heartbeat, the shadow of doubt that dances across her face. "Come with me," I tell her, slipping my hand into hers and leading her away.
I take her inside the school, to the cafeteria where there are only a few students.
It's quiet outside of the occasional murmur from the other students here with us, scattered at different tables.
Some are in groups of two or three. Others are by themselves, books open as they get in last-minute cram sessions.
We get sandwiches and bottles of water, settling at a table farther away from the others.
There's no chance of someone overhearing our conversation.
In the dreary silence that befalls us, we munch on those sandwiches.
My guilt grows with each passing minute because by the tension in her shoulders, the way she chews in small bites, sipping her water little by little, she knows something is coming.
I hate this feeling. Hate having to do this to someone who's been nothing short of amazing to me.
I cap my bottle, crumpling the saran wrap into a ball. Sasha does the same, turning to me with questioning eyes. I see her doubt, like if she knows the exact words I'll say before I've had a chance to say them.
"We need to talk," I say. The reaction is immediate.
Sasha lets out a shaky breath, blowing air out through her mouth. Her eyes glisten, turning her gaze skyward to prevent the tears from falling.
"Oh boy! There it is." Against her best efforts, the first tear falls, the sight of it a punch to the gut. She breathes deeply, in and out, her lips trembling and she rushes to catch the falling tears with the palms of her hands. Her voice wavering, she asks, "Is it me? Did I do something wrong?"
Her question breaks my heart all over again. How could she think that?
"No," I assure, shaking my head. "It's nothing to do with you."
She sniffles, wiping away tears that seem never ending, continuing to fall when she looks at me again.
"Then what's wrong, Jace? Please, tell me.
You've been so distant lately and I can't reach you no matter what I try.
" Her nose scrunches, the glisten in her eyes thickening. "Is...Is there someone else?"
Pressing a palm to my forehead, I think for a moment about lying to her. About telling her that the reason for the breakup is one hundred percent on me, and nothing to do with a third party.
Sasha keeps her gaze trained on me, the tears falling nonstop. A devastating pang in my chest follows and in that moment, I know can't lie to her. I don't have it in me to continue doing so because she doesn't deserve any of this.
Not my lies, not my distance, not my betrayal.
"Kind of." Her breath shudders and she looks away, pressing a hand to her chest above her heart.
"But that's not why I'm breaking up with you.
" Sasha's jaw trembles, tears prick the back of my eyes.
I knew this wouldn't be easy, but I didn't think I would feel the need to cry over the breakup believing I've distanced myself enough.
Still, it's difficult.
"Then why else?" she questions.
I take her hand in mine, turning it over palm up, tracing her fingers with my thumb. "There's a lot going on in my life right now. Personally. It's messy. Crazy. And it's not fair to drag you into that."
"I'm your girlfriend, Jace," she argues with a sniffle. "When I agreed to be with you, I signed up for all the hard times between the good times. Don't push me away. Whatever you're going through, let me stay by your side. Let me help you."
Now it's my turn for the tears to fall. They mist my gaze, threatening to spill. Slamming my eyes shut, I give her hand a light squeeze.
"I can't. You can't help me, and I don't want you to."
"What? Why?"
"Because you deserve better than me."
"But you're the only one I want." Her voice is soft, almost a whisper, ringing with the heartbreaking truth of her feelings. She truly loves me.
"Stop. Sasha, please. You'll only end up getting hurt if you stay with me and I can't put you through that."
Her hand trembling, she cups the side of my face, forcing my gaze to hers. The pain I see there is almost too much to bear. How I hate the sight of tears in her eyes. How I hate that I'm the cause of it. All the more reason she shouldn't be with me.
"Is there really no way I can stay with you? I love you, Jace. I really, really love you."
Her confession only breaks me further. Why are these things always so difficult? Why must it hurt so much?
"There isn't. I'm sorry, Sasha. Please, let me go."
With a final shuddering breath, she quietly gathers her things and leaves, hearing the finality in my plea. The sound marking her departure is the clicking of her heels against the floor, each click resounding in the hollow cavern the break-up leaves in my chest.
I'M NOT SURE HOW LONG I sit there going through the motions of my emotions, sorting through thoughts, reminding myself that breaking up is the best thing I can do, banishing that awful image of Sasha's tear-filled eyes from mind.
It feels like hours pass. The cafeteria is quieter and emptier when I gather the courage to walk out, facing the possibility that other than my now ex-girlfriend, I might bump into Sky as well.
I take the steps to the floor above when three people I don't want to see come into focus, loitering outside the cream-colored double doors that lead to the library.
Blake is there with his new flavor for the week or day or hour or however this motherfucker operates. I don't care to know her name, but I recognize her as a girl from the grade below ours. Brent is also there, in deep conversation with Blake, the girl with them engrossed in scrolling on her phone.
Brent is first to notice me. He moves, cornering me at the top of the steps but I swiftly evade him.
"Jace, will you stop for a minute?" he calls, exasperated. I pause, not exactly in the mood to talk to anyone except maybe the one person who's been avoiding me like the plague since Tuesday evening. Still, I know Brent. He can be a persistent bastard, so he won't stop until he gets what he wants.
Crossing my arms over my chest, ankles crossed, I lean against the banister overlooking the floor below that houses the computer labs and the AV room. Brent stands next to me, leaning over the balcony, hands gripping the molding.
"Where've you been?" he asks, a shadow of concern lacing his voice, but it's so toned down, I can't be bothered to dwell on it. To wonder if maybe, somewhere inside him, exists the best friend I once knew.
"Around. Why? Do you need something?"
Brent shrugs. "Not really. You've just been acting weird. And you missed an entire day of finals."
"I told you. I don't care about finals."
Brent narrows his eyes, looking me up and down like he can't figure me out. Like if I'm someone he doesn't recognize. It's not that far-fetched. We're not as close anymore.
Besides, Brent isn't stupid. There aren't many things he can't figure out especially if it involves numbers, algorithms, and computers – an obsession of his that he keeps locked away and strictly confidential because he'd rather play the part of the hot-headed asshole jock than let people know he's secretly some kind of genius.
He tilts his head, not believing a word out of my mouth.
"Are you sure you're okay? If you don't care about finals, why show up at all?"
Like I would tell him after the way he's behaved with me recently. I haven't forgotten about his shady behavior on Monday, silently taking the backseat while Blake said those things to me. I certainly can't forget those messages over the weekend.
Realizing that my silence and bored stare are all he would get, he glances away, watching a few students leaving the corridor on the ground floor.
"Fine," he says with heavy sigh. "You won't tell me, and I probably deserve that. I wanted to ask you about the try-outs. Are you really quitting?"
"I am."
Brent's eyes widen in surprise. I'm not confused as to why that's his reaction. We might have grown apart since high school started but he knows that I love basketball and wouldn't quit without a damn good reason. His surprise melts into confusion, brows pinched tight.
"Why?"
"Personal reasons."
He drums his fingers against the banister realizing that he's not going to get substantial answers from me – that he's no longer privy to such. Brent expels a deep breath, frustrated with the vagueness of my responses. He's reached his limit of tolerating me – of idle chit chat.
"All right, then. Have you at least considered who you'd want taking your place?"
The stiff stare he gives, trying to coerce me into telling him what he wants to hear is all the confirmation I need.
He doesn't actually care about my reasons for quitting the team or that I've missed a few exams. It's no secret that Brent Harper has always had his eyes on the position of Captain but for whatever reason – perhaps, by some still-existing shred of sportsmanship – he's never challenged me for it.
Until now. It's within his grasp and he's going for it. He's fishing for information on who his competition might be and how hard he'll have to fight for it. Or maybe, he wants to know that he's the only candidate.
"Just play your best, Brent. I'm not about to rob someone else the chance –"
"You know I deserve that position more than any of the other guys," he grits out, stepping forward, using proximity and his height to intimidate me. He's got maybe two inches on me.
I raise an eyebrow. "Then prove it on the court. Don't tell me, or the team how much you deserve it. Prove. It."
I don't give him a chance to get another word in, leaving him stupefied and fuming at my boldness.
Now that I'm distancing myself from such a problematic friend group, he's finding it difficult to deal with me because I won't stay silent any longer, and I won't bend and bow to conform to something I hate.
THE SILENCE INSIDE THE LIbrARY is a welcomed distraction, disrupted occasionally by soft murmurs of other students gathered in study groups, clicking pens, and flipping pages.
Ashton showed up a few minutes after I settled at one of the round tables closer to the bookshelves. He joined me, spreading out his books and writing materials, occupying one half of the table.
Not long after, Sasha walks into the library, her face tear-free but around her eyes are a little puffy.
She comes in with a few of her friends. Our eyes meet across the room, sadness shadowing her gaze once more, but she quickly looks away, sitting at one of the long tables with her friends, her back facing me and Ashton.
"Is everything okay between you two?" Ashton asks, having fully expected Sasha to join us.
"Not exactly," I lie. He frowns, glancing from me to Sasha and back.
"Did you two fight?"
"I'll tell you later." Truthfully, I don't want to think about the break-up because then I'll think about all the secrets I've kept from her – the cancer's progression, the kiss with Sky – and I'll feel shittier than I already do.
It's like adding another layer of garbage to the already accumulating pile.
Ashton shrugs and goes back to his studying. I try to do the same, stealing glances at him and Sasha every once in a while, thinking – debating – the pros and cons of telling them the truth.
Not about Sky, but about my sickness. I doubt they'll turn me away, that they'll change the way they treat me, but I can't help wondering whether it would be better for them to carry on in blissful ignorance.
Or would that hurt them more? Would they be filled be regret when they suddenly get the news that I'm no longer here?
Would they blame themselves for not noticing?
Would they be angry that I shouldered that secret in silence?
No.
No way can I keep them in the dark. I'll tell them one day, soon maybe. Just not today.
We continue our work in silence but it's not much longer before there's another disruption. The whole group has shown up, Sky and his friends. Kelly Dalton tags along with them now that she and Carter aren't fighting.
Watching her interact with Carter and his friends suddenly reminds me that she's a fraternal twin, her brother being Blake.
The stark contrast between them is baffling, and it's twice more puzzling to his own sister.
Too many times, I've found myself laughing, catching the look on her face when Blake is being extra obnoxious – disgusted and calculating the 'how the fucks' of their blood relation.
She speaks quietly with Carter, leaning into him and whispering into his ear. He says something back which makes her laugh.
Dale and Laken are in their own bubble – as usual. Speaking between themselves, flipping pages in their notebooks and textbooks. Asher has locked everyone out, headset plugged in, head bowed, pencil scribbling across page after page.
And then there's Sky Daniels. He brings with him a swift change in ambience.
When I glance in his direction, the wind is practically knocked out of me.
He's already looking at me, stern-faced and jaw set like stone.
He looks highly annoyed by my presence, as if I'm a parasite he shouldn't have to share air with.
His eyes are dark, piercing me with a coldness that's both strange and familiar.
He's icing me out – reverting back to a time when he couldn't stand my existence.
No! I don't want him to look at me like that – like there's nothing for me in them except contempt.
Just like that, he turns away, dismissing me altogether.
The pang resounds loudly, reverberating in the hollowness his dismissal leaves in its wake.
I'm slammed back to Tuesday evening by the pool.
The feeling of his hard body pressed against me, his arms holding me close – fitted around me like it's where I belong. The taste of his lips.
The pain of his words.
I reject you, Jace Conner.
They ring in my head – a broken record on repeat – hammering the lingering pain deeper and deeper. Deeper than flesh and bone, striking somewhere so sensitive that it makes me want to curl up into a ball and never face the world again.
When he'd said those words, it felt like something was being ripped out of me.
Something snapped in half, disappearing into nothingness, never again to be retrieved.
I'd been left immobile, incoherent, stuck in a state of profound shock that I didn't hear a word he'd said afterward.
Didn't even know I'd started walking until he left me at the door of the cottage.
By the time I'd come to, his retreating back nearly out of sight as he disappeared into the woodland at night struck like lightning out of the blue. Sudden, shocking, painful.
And he was too far away to reach.
He'd slipped away so easily. Too quietly.
My knee bounces, anxiety ripping through me. Would it hurt to pick up my phone and text him?
The idea of going back to square one – back to when he hated me – of him ignoring me hurts too much.
I don't want to live in a world where he despises me.
Not after the time we've spent together, getting to know the person who lies beneath that menacing, mysterious persona. Not with how good he's been to me.
He's valid in all of his reasons to ignore my existence. He told me himself that he never had any intention of being my friend, that his pursuit of me had never been platonic.
Yet, fear of rejection keeps my hands away from my phone.
When I look back at their table, he's looking this way. A shadow of something real – something heartbreaking but warm flashes across his face. A glimpse of the Sky Daniels who crept in and stole my heart before I knew it.
And then it's gone. A stone wall, cold and hard, slams down in place. A mask – dangerous, brutal.
It cuts like a knife how easily he can flip the mask.
Sky gets up, a subtle glance in my direction as he moves in our direction. With each step closer, my heart beats louder. Harder.
It feels like it'll burst out of my chest, my throat drier than a desert when he walks past behind Ashton. He disappears into the rows of shelves, and it takes all of one second before I make up my mind. Dropping the pencil, I chase after him.
I find him in the Social Sciences section, looking at spines for Economics textbooks. At my approach, he steals a sideways glance.
"What're you looking for?"
His lips press together, fingers running along the book spines. "A book."
Flat and disinterested. He doesn't spare me another glance. It makes me uncomfortable.
Or perhaps, that's just me.
"I frequent the library from time to time. Maybe I can help you find what you're look for."
"I don't need your help. You can go back to your friend.
Better yet, go back to your girlfriend," he snaps, shooting me a pointed glare capturing the pain and anger I've caused him.
He's tossed being nice out the window, content to treat me according to how mangled I've left him with my denial.
Yet, despite the hurt and knowing he might be particularly nasty toward me, I'm here. If only to be near him, I came back.
"How's your side?" It's the stupidest thing I can ask, let alone do, grasping at straws to stay close to him even if we go back to being strangers. It's clear that he needs time to himself, away from me but if we're meant to go our separate ways, I don't want things to end this way.
I need closure. A chance to properly say goodbye to what I could have if only I'm a little braver, daring enough to throw caution to the wind and indulge in a little bit of madness where he makes me happier than I've ever been.
Sky scoffs, averting his gaze with a roll of his eyes. I wish he wouldn't do that. "Why do you care, Conner? We're not friends."
I deserve that. Every bit of his scorn and hatred.
"Why didn't you tell me there are wolves in Marcana?"
A slight crack in his bravado.
"Were you wandering around in the woods by yourself? That's dangerous, you know. You could've gotten lost."
His concern slips through, the mask of indifference he's going for cracking enough that I glimpse the person I know. Tangled in his concern is that teasing tone he often used with me, matching the mischievous twinkle of his blue eyes.
And suddenly, as if catching himself lacking, he covers it up and in place of the Sky Daniels I know, is the version of him I hate.
Hell no!
He can't do this to me. He can be horrible and vile, throw it in my face all the ways I have hurt him.
But he doesn't get to weaponize the version of him I love against me.
He doesn't get ask why I care about his injury, act concerned that I might get lost in the woods, but in the same breath, look at me as if I mean nothing to him.
"Did it ever occur to you that my parents and I could be in serious danger since you guys put us in a cottage in the woods which have wolves in them? Wolves that you guys failed to mention."
His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck tightening. "You shouldn't have left the cottage."
I scowl. I don't want to be rude or nasty but he's forcing my hand. "I need to walk through a path in the woods to get to the street, ass."
Sky expels a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I don't want to argue with you, Jace." He turns, crossing his arms over his chest, watching me closely.
He does that thing – scanning my body head to toe.
Slowly. So slowly, it's almost a physical pressure because it feels like he's undressing me with his eyes, taking in everything that's visible to him.
It's not fair that he has this much control over my body. That he can make me feel this way with a single look.
For a moment, his gaze lingers on my mouth, darkening with the kind of desire that could make me go mad. The spell breaks when he meets my eyes, then turns back to the shelf, plucking a random book off of it.
"You're unharmed, though. That's good."
"More like lucky. But I guess it's all good. My parents and I are moving back home this evening. We may not see each other often."
He puts the book back, resuming his search. "Yeah, I guess." The crack in his voice makes it difficult to walk away.
He's putting back up that wall, blocking me out with the version of him that's shrouded in mystery and danger and coldness. But his tone says otherwise.
"I'll...uh...I'll see you around."
I have to remind myself that I'm going this for him. It's never been about what I want when it comes to him. It might seem like the cowardly thing to do but hurting him is the last thing I want.
Not that I've managed to prevent that.
"Yeah," he replies, plucking another book off the shelf. He flips it open, subtly dismissing me.
Without anything more to say, I turn and walk away, pausing briefly at the end of the aisle to steal one last glance. His jaw is locked tight, the book in a death grip by the whitening of his knuckles.
He doesn't look back. Instead, he turns to face the other way, blocking me out completely.
And that's when it hits. I lost him before I truly ever had him.