Chapter 34
And now he’s here.
What the fuck am I going to do? Slam the door in his face? Punch my fists into his chest again and again and again until the anger roiling inside me finally fades? Fall at his feet and beg for forgiveness?
The problem is, I have no idea.
It could really go any way.
In one breath, I’m furious and fuming at him for what he did, for getting behind that wheel, for risking both of our lives just to continue the lie, for throwing everything we had away.
In the next, I’m racked with guilt for turning my back on him in his time of need.
I know this isn’t him. I know he’s hurting. I know he needs help.
I’m so fucking torn.
The knocking continues.
I’m frozen on the couch, a spoonful of cereal halfway to my lips, the milk sloshing over the rim with every flinch.
My mom’s gaze burns a hole in the back of my head from the kitchen, which has fallen silent.
My dad jerks his face to me, an infuriated scowl across his brow.
I haven’t told them exactly what happened.
They’d never forgive Nox. I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive him, but deep down, I’m not ready to let him go.
I’m still holding out hope. But they know enough.
They know I came home tearstained and hysterical, driving his car without him.
Ollie doesn’t shift his gaze from the football highlights flashing across the television screen, but he leans closer. “Do you want me to get rid of him?”
I snort out a soft laugh, grateful to break the tension. Yes, my brother made varsity. Yes, he grew five inches this past year. But he’s lost his ever-loving mind if he thinks for one second he’ll be able to stop Nox from getting to me the second that door springs open.
I’ve got to do this.
Alone.
“I’ve got it,” I force out, voice hoarse, body shaky as I put down my bowl and lurch to my feet. When I’m halfway to the door, the pounding stops.
A desperate plea pierces the silence. “Clara!”
I sprint to the door and fling it open. Nova collapses into my arms. We sink to the ground in a heap as she buries her face in my neck, her tears cold against my skin, and whispers, “He checked into rehab this morning.”
I’m not even sure why she’s crying, but suddenly I’m crying too.
Relieved. Crushed. Just overwhelmed that we’re even here, even having this conversation, that we weren’t crazy and it wasn’t all in our heads and he really does have a problem.
But he’s fixing it. That’s what I choose to cling to as we head up to my room and she tells me about the discreet six-week program their mother’s publicist got him into, common for celebrities who want to keep under the radar, a place Madeleine has visited more than once.
Nova shows me the website. It’s a drug- and alcohol-free facility with therapy programs and wellness gurus and some other Hollywood mumbo jumbo I’m not really sure I buy into, like energy healers and crystals and things like that.
But there are professionals. And he won’t be able to drink.
And maybe that will be enough to snap him out of it.
Nova looks hopeful when I drop her off at the train station later that day, and that’s enough to brighten my spirits. She’s got more experience with this than me. Maybe she knows something I don’t.
After the customary game of flag football has been played, and my family members have all said their goodbyes, and my stomach is so stuffed I don’t think I’ll be able to eat for a week, I finally head out to the garage to grab my dad’s shovel.
I’m too tired to dig the whole car out, so I just free the passenger-side door and climb in.
My breath is a white cloud in front of my face as I gingerly lift my phone from the floor.
I don’t want to do this with witnesses. It’s much better out here in the dark, where I can pretend my teeth are only chattering from the cold.
I’m not sure what to expect. Voicemails.
Missed calls. A thousand texts. Photos. But all I have from Nox are ten words.
Turns out that’s all it takes to break me.
Please don’t give up on me.
Forty-two days, then forever.
I hug the phone to my chest and sob. Does he really think I’d forget him so easily? I don’t even know how to begin to move on—and I don’t want to. I just want him to get better. Then maybe, together, we can figure out how to move past this.
My countdown begins that night.
Forty-two days.
I don’t speak it, don’t write it down, but it’s there in the back of my mind, ticking down. I won’t give up on you, I want to tell him, then hug him and kiss him and fuse that promise into his skin. I won’t give up on us.
One week into his program, the first doubt creeps in.
Nova comes into my room and asks me what Nox and I spoke about on the phone.
My expression must be completely lost, because she frowns and leans closer, concern shifting her features.
“His communication blackout ended today. He didn’t reach out? ”
I shake my head and try to brush it off. Maybe he was only allowed to talk with family members. Maybe he was too overwhelmed after speaking to Nova. He’ll call as soon as he can. I’m sure of it, I tell her.
Inside, I bleed.
A few days later, I run into Logan, who immediately folds me into a huge hug. Relief flashes in his eyes as he pulls back and grabs onto my shoulders. “He sounds great, right? I really think we did the right thing. I really think he’s going to be okay.”
I nod like a complete idiot and make up some bullshit, so thrown I can’t even recall what I said. All I remember is the knife twisting.
Twenty-six days turns to twelve, turns to three.
I get nothing.
No phone call. No text. No letter.
I keep holding out hope—maybe he just wants to wait until he can apologize face-to-face, maybe he doesn’t know what to say, maybe he’s following the same rules we had in Australia, limiting contact to keep from getting overwhelmed.
Day zero arrives.
A Thursday.
I should be in the lab working on my thesis, the whole excuse I gave my parents for staying at Swiftmore for J-term, but I don’t go. I can’t. I sit in my room the entire day, so I’m there waiting, so he’ll know exactly where to find me.
He never comes.
Nova finds me curled up on my bed around 2 a.m. She climbs in, rests my head on her lap, and runs her fingers through my hair.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I went looking for him, but I don’t know where he is. I thought he’d be here. I thought there was nowhere else he’d rather be.”
So did I. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Her tear falls onto my long-since-dried cheek. “I know.”
“I don’t think we should talk about him. I don’t want to lose you, too.”
“You won’t.” She slides down and pulls me into her arms, holding me as if to prove she won’t ever let go. “You could never.”
The next morning, I wake to dozens of texts and calls and news alerts.
Nox has checked himself into a six-month rehabilitation center for alcohol abuse and depression.
It’s the type of news that could destroy him—his golden-boy image, his sponsorships, his entire career.
It’s also the type of news that I know would never leak without his permission.
The photos of him and Coach walking into the treatment center must come from his team.
They’re releasing the story—the tabloids are just the ones running with it.
He wants the world to know. Maybe he wants me to know too, but I can’t hang my life on wondering.
I’m not mentioned in the articles. My friends are careful not to bring him up around me. To the rest of the world, we’re two separate entities. And in a lot of ways, I’m grateful for that. I really, truly am. I just wish my heart got the memo, too.
I spend the rest of the semester in an odd sort of limbo, balanced between genuine senior-year fun with my best friends and the pure agony of unanswered questions.
Part of me wants to soak in every moment of my last few months at Swiftmore.
Part of me knows that without him, the magic is already gone.
I go through the motions. I finish my thesis.
I go out to parties. I apply for PhD programs, unsure if California is even the right fit anymore.
Does he want me there?
Do I want to be there without him?
It’s not lost on me that the West Coast was always Mabel’s dream.
She begged and begged and begged me to consider colleges out there.
I turned her down again and again, my heart set on Swiftmore.
And now I might be moving all the way across the country—for who?
A guy who doesn’t want me anymore? A guy who’s found the time to talk to seemingly every person he’s ever known except for the girl whose heart he broke?
Or would I be doing it for me?
I don’t know.
Maybe that’s why I jump when the opportunity to go back to Australia falls into my lap.
One of my old professors from the exchange program calls.
They have a one-year opening for an entry-level intern in a lab up by the reef.
Some applications are already in, but he heard from Professor Carson that I might be interested.
He invites me to apply. I submit my forms that night.
Two rounds of interviews later, I get the call that I’ve been hired.
They need me two weeks before the semester officially ends.
I’ll miss graduation. But I don’t care. I work it out with my professors to take all my finals early.
I cry with the girls, give hugs to the guys. I clean out my dorm.
On my final morning, before my dad arrives to take me home, I walk out to the end of the pier and stand above the pylon where Nox kissed me that day.
I stare down at the water, no longer afraid, just sad, missing his touch, his presence, how alive he made me feel.
This pier is where it all started between us, where it ratcheted up, and now it’s where it ends.
Be haunted by me, Clara.
I am.
I think on some level I always will be.
Even so, I whisper a single word into the breeze. “Goodbye.”