I text Alec: Please talk to me.
An alert from HOCKEY BOY pops up almost immediately and that’s something. It is a fragile wisp of hope and I cling to it like a lifeline. Then, I read his response. I need time.
How much?
Crickets build a symphony in the silence. I refresh my phone maniacally, this whole thing making me mental. It’s a miracle I fall asleep, but the morning doesn’t bring me the text I’d been hoping for. I am greeted only by the sun, strangled by sadness.
I roll over in bed, lacking the energy to pull myself vertical, let alone shower or get dressed. I feel hollowed and vow I’ll never keep the truth from Alec again. If I haven’t lost him already, that is.
Finn shares my agony; he remains as mopey and withdrawn as I am.
Until I hear Alec’s engine, thick with power as it approaches the house slowly over our rutted driveway. Even Finn’s ears perk. Alec’s car sounds like forgiveness. Like a second chance. I jump up, pull on a clean hoodie, and smooth my hair. I run to the kitchen. The engine purrs louder. Closer.
My pulse races faster than I can make my limbs move. I’m breathless by the time I reach the door, an apology wrapped in a promise hanging from my lips. I hear the cut of the engine, the whine of the heavy car door opening and then the slam of it closing. I grab at the kitchen door handle and yank it wide as a bloom of cold air rushes in.
My muscles freeze.
My head scrambles.
My heart drops.
“Gregg?”
“Zeph.” He gives me a wink. “Nice bed head.”
My brain empties. I’m only vaguely aware I’ve stepped aside to welcome him in when he crosses the threshold. I stare at the car in the driveway, Gregg’s father’s old truck. The engine too much like Alec’s.
Fading hope shrivels me.
I close the door slowly, taking a deep gulp of the winter air. Finn greets Gregg with a slow but eager tail wag.
“What are you doing here?” My words are tight. Because he is not Alec. He’s not the forgiveness I crave.
“Thought we could go for a drive up into the mountains like we used to.”
“I can’t,” I say, too quickly.
He holds up his hands, surrender style. “Whoa, it was an invitation, Zee, not an attack.”
My head is a mess. “I know. It’s just . . .”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m kind of in the middle of this thing with Alec.”
“Alec’s here?”
I shake my head.
Gregg pulls up a seat at the island. “Then I fail to see how your ‘thing’ with Alec affects me and you hanging out. You and I aren’t complicated, Zeph. I thought we established this on Thanksgiving. That was you at my place, being my friend again, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but I made this stupid mistake and Alec and I got into this huge fight and we’re kind of at a critical place right now.”
“How does your ‘critical place’ ”—he makes air quotes—“have anything to do with me?”
“Because you were the mistake.” I stride along the edge of the counter hearing how awful that sounds. “I mean, not you, exactly, but hanging out with you. I didn’t tell Alec and he’s so hurt.”
“Wait. What? You’re not allowed to hang out with me?”
When he says it like that it sounds impossibly horrible. “No. It’s just that Alec’s really jealous.”
“Of what?” His stare is laser sharp.
“Of you. He’s jealous of you.”
Then Gregg’s face breaks open in a laugh. “Me? That’s a good one. He’s the one who got the girl, Zephyr, not me. Maybe you need to remind him of that.”
I’d remind him if he’d talk to me. “It’s just that you and I have all this history together. Alec feels . . . well he’s not totally comfortable with us hanging out since I told him how you kissed me.”
I should have just slapped him; it would have been kinder.
“Since you told him I kissed you? Huh. Well, all right then. There’s that.” Gregg stands, his palms pressed against the edge of the island. He taps the side of his thumb on the counter the way I’ve seen him do countless times before.
“Well you can tell Alec that my visit was an innocent one. I just came to tell you something but now I’m afraid it falls under the traitorous too much history category you two have so deftly established. I thought—stupidly it seems—that you might like to know a letter came from the coach at Boston College, basically offering me a spot on the team.”
“What?” A shocked puff of air. “I didn’t know you were accepted.”
“I’m not, technically. I have to apply. But it looks like they want me. That’s why I came over. Because you’re still the first person I want to tell news like this to.”