Chapter 11

I singin my car all the way home from Dr. Conlon's office. My radio is blaring some top-forty pop station, and I'm screaming out Ava Max and Dua Lipa songs at the top of my lungs. Thankfully, the windows are up, so nobody has to go deaf from my horrible voice. I love to sing, and I do it probably more than I should, considering I can't hold a tune. A few times, Landon has told me that if I didn't stop singing, he was going to stuff a gag in my mouth.

He was joking, obviously.

When I get back to the dorm, there's only one person I want to talk to, and that's Landon. Okay, things haven't been super great with him lately, but that's about to change. I'm going to make an effort to make it work from now on. Maybe next weekend, I'll drive out to see him.

Before placing the call, I bring up a photo of Landon that I've got saved in my camera roll. In the picture, he's lying on his bed, his curly brown hair tousled, grinning with those adorable dimples at the camera. It's like I've somehow almost forgotten what he looked like. I trace my fingertip over the curves of his face, trying to remember how much I care about him.

I do. I know I do. Even though he's sort of been a jerk lately.

I minimize the photo then flop onto my stomach so that I can call him and take advantage of these warm feelings. It takes seven and a half rings, and he answers just when I'm certain the voicemail will pick up. What is he always doing that he can't manage to answer the phone in the first few rings?

"Hey," Landon says.

"Hi. It's me," I say.

Thank God, he doesn't ask who "me" is. And for once, he doesn't sound distracted.

This relationship could work. It's going to work. Two hundred plus miles isn't so far for true love.

"Hi…" Landon says.

Actually, he sounds… oddly serious. But whatever. I'm not going to obsess for once. I prefer Serious Landon to the apathetic guy he's been lately.

"So guess what? I passed my anatomy exam!" I almost get chills when I say it.

"That's great… I knew you would."

"So… I thought maybe we could celebrate this weekend," I say, twirling a lock of hair around my fingertip. I didn't even notice until now how bitten up my fingernails are. "I could drive in Friday night…"

"I don't know if this weekend is good," Landon mumbles.

"Why not?"

There's a long pause on the other line. Too long. What's going on? "Landon?"

"I just…" He sighs loudly. "I don't know what we're doing anymore. I mean, is this enjoyable for you?"

"It's not about enjoyment," I say. "I want to be with you. We both knew the long-distance thing was going to be hard."

"But… shouldn't it be about enjoyment? I mean, we're twenty-two years old. Why shouldn't we be able to enjoy ourselves?"

Landon might be the love of my life. But at this moment, I hate the bastard.

"I mean, if this isn't making us happy…"

He's dumping me. He's dumping me! How is this possible? We have been together for over three years! How could he? We love each other, damn it! Unless…

"Is there someone else?"

"No… Well, not really," Landon stammers. And now I really hate him. "There are other… I mean, aren't there guys at school that you're interested in?"

"No!" I say in an affronted voice, although I can't help but think of Mason.

"I'm sure there are."

"Go to hell, Landon."

There's a long silence on the other line. I grip the phone in my fist, not wanting to be the one to break the silence. If I talk first, he wins. I can't let him win.

"I need to go study now," Landon finally says.

"Fine, go study." I don't wait for a reply. I hang up the phone and hurl it across the room. It smashes against the wall, and I hear a resounding crack.

Well, that was a dumb thing to do.

I try to tell myself that if something as small as being apart for a month could break us up, obviously, it wasn't true love. We're just two people who dated a while in college and broke up when life got in the way.

A sudden ache in my chest nearly knocks the wind out of me. I had considered the possibility that Landon and I might break up—of course I had—but I hadn't imagined how badly it would hurt. The sick, dark feeling seems to consume all the organs I learned about so far this year—my heart, my lungs, my esophagus. Even my pancreas seems to be aching for Landon.

I would give anything to make this pain stop. If there were a pill I could take to feel better, I'd swallow it in a heartbeat.

No. No. I'm not going to go down that path.

But what can I do to feel better? There must be something that could dull this awful pain.

I pace across the bedroom a few times, then I grab my keys off my desk and head out the door. I get to the stairwell, but instead of going downstairs, toward the exit, I find myself going upstairs.

Abe lives upstairs—one flight up, to be exact. But I'm not looking for Abe right now. I'm looking for his roommate.

Mason.

No matter what negative things I could say about him (and there are many), that guy is very, very attractive. He has those hazel eyes and that killer grin. When he gets into the hospital as a third-year, the nurses are going to go wild for him. He'll probably sleep with half the hospital staff.

An hour with Mason will help me forget about Landon. Mason is like the perfect rebound guy—he's hot, and I don't care about him at all. And he looks like he'd be up for a little no-strings-attached action. I'm pretty sure all hot guys are at least halfway decent in bed, if only because they get a lot of experience.

I stand outside the door to Mason and Abe's dorm room, taking inventory of my appearance and working up my nerve. Okay, I don't look amazing or anything. I don't have a scrap of makeup on, but at least I'm showered and wearing clean clothes, even if my jeans and sweater aren't outright sexy.

Maybe I should go back downstairs and put on some lip gloss. Of course, if I do, I'll probably chicken out. Oh God, this is scary. How do you hit on a guy?

I knock timidly. Once.

I hear footsteps, and it's pretty obvious that those resounding thumps belong to Abe. Crap. How am I going to explain to him that I want to hook up with his roommate? Before I have a chance to think about it, the door swings open.

Abe's face lights up when he sees me. "Hey, Heather."

"Oh, hi…" I wrack my brain to think of a believable reason why I'd need to talk to Mason. I draw a blank.

Abe raises his red-orange eyebrows at me. "What's up?"

I swallow. "Is… is Mason home?"

Abe frowns. I wonder if he has any idea what I'm thinking. "No, he's probably at the library. He's always at the library."

Damn."Oh."

Abe steps aside. "Are you okay, Heather? Do you want to come in?"

I like Abe, don't get me wrong. But I came here for a booty call, and now that it's not going to happen, I feel completely deflated. Still, Abe can lend a sympathetic ear, at least. And I'm clearly not going to get any studying done.

I've never been inside Abe's dorm room before, and let me tell you, their living room is disgusting. I mean, really disgusting. There are two empty pizza boxes and a few half-full beer bottles on their coffee table, and I can see a partially eaten crust abandoned under the table. I scan the floor for insects or rodents and can't find any, but I do spot a pair of boxer shorts hanging off the edge of their ratty, stained futon sofa. Abe is nice enough to yank it off.

"Sorry," he says, blushing. "Not mine."

I'm seriously considering asking him to put a blanket on the futon so that I don't have to sit on it directly. Of course, yesterday, I was elbow deep in Frank's intestines, so maybe I shouldn't be such a diva. I plop myself down between a brown and a yellow stain and bury my face in my palms in an overly dramatic gesture.

Abe's large hand falls on my back. He rubs my shoulder gently.

"Heather," he murmurs. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"

I just shake my head. To say it will make it real.

"Come on, Heather," he says. "It's me."

Finally, his kindness gets the better of me. I start sobbing, mourning three lost years of a guy I thought I was going to marry someday. I'm definitely not going to marry him now. I may even hate him.

Abe just sits with me, rubbing my back, eventually getting up to fetch me some tissues (well, toilet paper). I'm glad it's just Abe with me, because I am not attractive when I'm crying. My eyes swell up, and my nose is clogged with fresh snot. Good thing Mason isn't here to see this.

Abe scoops up the hand that isn't holding snotty tissues and squeezes it in his own. He could easily crush my hand in his, but his touch is surprisingly gentle.

"Talk to me, Heather," he says again.

"Landon broke up with me," I manage, and that sets off a whole fresh wave of tears.

If it were someone else, I'd probably fudge the details. I'd probably say that "we broke up." But what's the point of lying? Abe is my best friend here. If I can't tell him the truth, then who can I talk to?

"Wow," Abe murmurs. "I'm really sorry. That's… awful."

I nod and blow my nose noisily into a fresh tissue. There's so much snot that I have to lay my first tissue on his coffee table and get a fresh one for a second blow. I feel pretty gross. I glance up at Abe, who doesn't seem to be bothered by my snotty tissues.

"Sorry," I say anyway.

He frowns. "For what?"

I hold up the tissue. "For being disgusting and full of snot." I allow myself a tiny laugh.

But Abe doesn't laugh. "Heather, you could never be disgusting."

"Um, yeah, I think I could."

"No." The way he's looking at me makes my heart speed up suddenly. "You couldn't. Never."

I'm about to tell Abe that he's never seen me when I'm sick with a bad upper respiratory tract infection when he leans forward and presses his lips against mine.

This, I did not expect.

But it's not bad. Actually, it's quite nice. Landon always used to scratch me up with the stubble of his facial hair, but Abe's lips are incredibly soft, and even the bristles of his five-o'clock shadow are gentle against my chin. As he kisses me, he slides his hand up the back of my neck, lacing his large fingers into my hair, pulling me closer to him. And I'm letting him do it.

I can't even say how long it lasts. But when Abe pulls away from me, I'm breathless. We're both shaking, and his green eyes are wide.

"I'm so sorry," he breathes.

"You don't look sorry."

Abe rubs his face with his hands. "I wanted to do that for so long," he murmurs. "You have no idea."

He's right. I had absolutely no idea. I'm a total idiot.

This explains a lot, though.

"I'm sorry," he says again, and now he's the one who looks like he's going to cry. "I really like you, Heather. I mean, a lot. I just… want to be something to you. I don't want you to freak out. We could just be friends again if that's what you want."

"Is that what you want?" I ask him.

He runs a shaking hand through his red hair. "If it's what you want."

"But what do you want?" I press him.

He stares at me.

"You," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I look at Abe. Honestly, I never thought of him this way. As a man. He may not be as handsome as Mason, but he's not bad-looking at all. He's actually pretty cute, and he has really nice green eyes and huge muscles. As long as you don't mind guys who are roughly the size of a grizzly bear.

"Okay," I say.

His eyes widen. "Okay what?"

I reach out and squeeze his knee. "Okay, you can kiss me again."

Abe's face lights up, and he grins at me like Christmas and his birthday came all at once. And then he kisses me again.