Page 67

My fingers flexed in the blanket, and for a split-second, I was clutching at a soaked shirt instead. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to picture an alternate reality: a cool hand brushing a wet lock of hair away from my heated face, ice-blue eyes dipping to my mouth with intent, before he leaned in—

Strangling a horrified whimper with my palm, I shook my head violently, as if that could shove away the images lodged in the crevices of my brain.

My skin itched, like he’d doused me in gasoline and set me on fire with a text. The blanket kicked off me as I darted up, toes curling against the cool floor underneath as I started pacing again.

My thumbs typed response after response, before the letters vanished. Over and over.

My phone buzzed in my hand. I squealed and almost dropped it—part surprise, part rush to check.

J: Goodnight, Mia xx

My pulse rabbited in the hollow of my throat, making it impossible to swallow—or breathe—as my attention snagged on the little x’s that would haunt my dreams.

Palms clammy against the plastic of my case, I typed a slow reply, which was essentially a funeral for my dignity, sanity, and any plausible deniability I could’ve clung to otherwise.

M: Goodnight, Josh x

The phone landed on the bed, bounced, and hit the floor.

I didn’t dare pick it up.

PART TWO

Chapter twenty

Josh

Anticipation buzzed in my bones, low and insistent, as the clink of cutlery against mugs scraped against my eardrums with each passing moment.

The 26th was almost gone, and I sat on needles, despite the comfortable armchair, telling myself I wasn’t waiting for her, yet every time the campus gate clanged, my head whipped around to scan for a familiar silhouette.

The waiters’ footsteps sighed past our table, carrying with them the scent of coffee, cinnamon, and tea. I busied myself scanning the black and white pictures of former alumni lining the wood-panelled wall, searching for a face in particular—my great-grandfather’s.

Distantly, Nathan went on and on about rugby, but my ears swivelled to the gate swinging shut. I froze when my eyes locked on someone trudging along the gravel path, who might have been—

Relax, it’s probably not her.

But there was no reasoning with my galloping pulse.

The heat from the fireplace burned the side of my neck as I shifted in my seat, before I excused myself, claimed an overwhelming need for a cigarette, and ducked out.

The winter air bit at my nape, at my exposed hands, and through the window, my coat mocked me, draped on the back of the chair.

Serves me right.

The figure passed, and I held my breath. Black hair instead of brown. My stomach bottomed out with a disappointment so vivid, my teeth ached.

Christ.

The lighter clicked on, and a long pull scorched my throat, then seeped into my lungs. Smoke fogged up in the crisp air, cigarette tip glowing cherry-red against white and grey.

A few silhouettes ploughed through the snow, each spiking my pulse to dangerous levels, before it dipped again. A slow, rattling huff escaped me, as if my lungs were punched full of holes.

Muttering under my breath, I considered texting her, just to ask when she was coming back.

God, you’re pathetic—

Another lone silhouette trudged through the snow, a straggler behind the earlier group.