Chapter 2

TWO

When I stumble into the kitchen the next morning, everybody else is already up. It’s the usual early morning cacophony with people moving around, getting coffee, making breakfast, and bumping into each other while trying to get ready for the day.

Jordan is guzzling down his second cup of coffee, eyes fixed on some papers he’s leafing through. Theo’s focus on the half-eaten bowl of cereal he’s hoovering down with the desperation of somebody ending a fast, and Remy is doing the New York Times crossword puzzle, which is something he’s done almost every morning since I met him.

I mutter, “Morning,” in the general direction of everybody before I slump down at the table in a seat across from Theo. He lifts the bowl and pours what’s left in it into his mouth before he grabs the box to get himself another helping. The boy’s barely a teenager. If he keeps it up, he’s going to bankrupt Jordan with grocery bills in the next few years.

“Long night?” Remy asks.

I yawn so hard my eyes water and rub my face before I shrug. “The usual.”

Theo takes a huge spoonful of his cereal and stuffs it into his mouth before he tilts his chin toward me. “What happened to your hands?”

“Fell with my bike,” I say.

“Into a roll of tape?” he asks, eyes on my fingers.

“It’s a splint.” I aim a sour look at my hand. It looks even worse than it did last night.

“If that’s the work of an ER, they’ve really let their standards go,” Remy says without looking up from his crossword.

“This keeps the bone straight,” I protest. It’s not pretty, but it does the job. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore, so I think it’s fine. Hospitals are busy, and I don’t need to go there to clog up the place even more. It’s probably just a sprain anyway.”

Jordan chooses that moment to approach me from behind and squeeze the two taped-together fingers.

I hiss out a breath and pull my hand away. Trying to shake the pain off does very little good.

Theo grins while I glare at Jordan, who sends me an unimpressed look in return.

“We can stop by the hospital on my way to work,” he says.

“I’m fine,” I say.

“Dude, that was the dad tone,” Theo says. “It wasn’t a suggestion. Trust me.”

Jordan ruffles his son’s hair as he passes him, and Theo ducks away with a shout of protest.

“Go get your stuff, kiddo. We’re leaving in ten.” Jordan sends me a pointed look.

I make a face because I fucking loathe hospitals. I’ve spent way too much time in them, and I hate them. If I could, I’d never step foot in one ever again in my life, because I. Fucking. Loathe. Hospitals.

“I’ll keep you company,” Jordan says. “I have time before my shift.”

It’s a bit pathetic how grateful I am for the offer. I’m an adult. It’s been years. Wounds have become scars. I should be able to handle walking into a hospital without anybody holding my hand. But at the same time, if I’m left to my own devices, I most likely won’t go, and we all know it.

“Yeah, okay,” I mutter.

I throw together a quick sandwich while Theo barrels first up the stairs, then back down like a herd of elephants. Jordan rolls his eyes upward and mutters something under his breath about the construction of the house.

“It survived you and Kira,” Remy says. “It’ll survive your son.”

Jordan squeezes his shoulder as he passes him on his way to the foyer.

“Order in tonight?” Jordan says over his shoulder from the doorway.

“Can we have pizza?” Theo’s calls out from somewhere.

“As soon as you figure out how to put some nutrients in it.” Jordan crosses his fingers as he speaks. “So really pay attention in science class.”

“There are nutrients in pizza,” Theo says.

Their voices get muffled the farther away from the kitchen they get.

“Dos that are don’ts.” Remy taps his pen on his crossword. “Nine letters.”

“Wren!” Theo’s impatient voice sounds from the hallway.

I grab an apple from the basket and take a huge bite.

“Combovers,” I tell Remy before I hurry out of the room to catch up with Jordan and Theo.

The splint they give me at the hospital is clunky and uncomfortable, and the news that I have to wear it for the next week doesn’t exactly fill me with joy.

“How am I supposed to type with this thing on?” I mutter, glaring at the splint. “Or work, for that matter.”

“Ideally without complaining,” Jordan says. “Just be glad it’s not broken. A sprain will heal quicker.”

“What a dad thing to say.”

“I am a dad.”

“You’re not even thirty yet. Way too young to say things like that.”

“Get somebody pregnant at fifteen and you too can gain life experience at an accelerated rate.”

“That’s probably not the life advice you’ll want to hand out, unless you’re itching to be a grandpa in a few years.”

“Theo gets different advice,” he says. “You’re a bit late for high school anyway, but you still have time to get a college student pregnant. Should derail your life almost as effectively.”

“The last time I checked, the kind of people I want to sleep with can’t get pregnant,” I point out.

“The last time I checked you weren’t sleeping with anybody at all. I’d work on that if I were you.”

I avoid his gaze and clutch the strap of my backpack tighter.

“I’m fine,” I repeat.

Jordan sighs and nudges me with his shoulder. “You need to stop hiding.”

I snort out a laugh. “Is this an intervention?”

“It’s advice. Good advice. You should take it.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I say drily.

He doesn’t say anything else until we reach the end of the block and stop on the corner of the street.

“Life’s too short to hide,” Jordan says.

I’d reply with something sarcastic, but I’ve got nothing. My brain feels like a sponge that’s been dunked in that sentiment, and now it’s soaking those words in. They keep echoing in my head as I watch Jordan walk away from me, heading to work.

Life’s too short to hide.

Life’s too short to hide.

Life’s too short to hide.

As far as mantras go, it’s annoying as fuck.

Catchy.

But annoying.

It gets stuck in my head, replaying over and over again while I walk to the subway station, while I take the train to school, while I sit in class. It’s still there when I head to the library after I’m done with my classes for the day.

I’m an engineering major. I transferred from a community college in September, so I’m finishing my junior year in a few weeks. It’s a lot of work—a lot of studying—which is fine by me. My keeper principle applies here, too. Keep to myself. Keep busy. Keep my head down.

I grab a quick bite from a food cart on my way to the library and eat while I walk. I have three hours before I have to head home for dinner then get to work on time. I jog up the stairs and into the library, all the while rummaging through my bag for my student ID. My wallet always somehow migrates to the bottom of the backpack. Experience dictates that Monday evenings tend to be busier in the library, so I’m probably already late for the better seats, and by better, I mean the more private ones. The single tables by the windows are always the first to go.

Still, miracle of all miracles, when I step into my usual study hall, I spot a single. A vacant single desk. It’s like a mirage, and I don’t know how nobody else has noticed this yet, but I’m not going to question my good luck as I stride toward the desk.

I’m almost there.

Almost.

Just as I slam my bag on the desk, a laptop lands right next to it.

“Sorry. Taken,” I say before I look up.

Straight at Ethan Russo.

So… yeah.

Okay.

So.

Ethan and I used to date.

On the list of people I want to run into, he’s firmly at the bottom, and by the startled look he sends me, I’m pretty sure he feels the same way.

There’s a long, awkward moment when we both try not to look at each other, not sure what to say.

“Hey,” he eventually says once he’s gathered himself. And then he smiles. Ethan has one of the nicest smiles. It’s sincere and kind and fits so well on his already handsome face.

And he’s very, very handsome, if that wasn’t clear yet. Not like, say, Sutton with his magazine cover, in-your-face, unattainable for mere mortals beauty. Ethan has more down-to-Earth, rugged good looks.

He’s a bit shorter than me, with a wiry build. His hair is a mess of dark reddish strands, and he’s dressed in a pair of khakis and a light blue button-down. Handsome in a boy next door kind of way, and a bit preppy, which is something that has always appealed to me a lot for some reasons.

“Hi.” I try and fail to sound normal. It takes me a moment to force myself to meet his gaze, and when I do, his smile has transformed from awkward to friendly.

“It’s been a while,” he says.

“Oh,” I say, then follow that up with a, “Yeah.” I comb my fingers through my hair just to have something to do with my hands. “Umm… How have you been?”

“Good.” He nods. “Busy,” he adds. “I decided to give grad school a shot. Don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Wow. That’s… that’s great. I’m happy for you. You always wanted to go.”

“Yeah, no. It’s good. Time consuming and hellishly difficult, but maybe it pays off somewhere down the road.”

It’s time for awkward silence, take two.

“You transferred?” Ethan asks.

“In the fall. It’s been good so far. Great.” I correct myself quickly, because even if I don’t blame him for ending things with me, a small part of me still wants him to know that I’m not such a disaster in every aspect of my life. Just relationships.

“I’m glad,” he says, sounding completely sincere about it.

Ethan’s studying economics. We met because we both went to the same community college, both were planning to transfer, and both had appointments with the academic adviser that had accidentally been scheduled for the same time slot.

We got to talking while we waited for the mess to be sorted out.

He asked for my number.

I gave it to him.

He texted an hour later.

It was the first I-feel-like-I-could-die-from-it crush I’ve ever had. An I-think-I-could-fall-for-him type of crush. Want-to-spend-every-waking-moment-with-him kind of crush.

And then I ruined it.

Ethan’s eyes stay on me.

“I got here first,” he says, tone light, a spark of teasing in his eyes.

“That’s debatable.” I almost sound normal.

The smile widens a smidge, and he snorts out a short laugh.

“We’ve arrived at an impasse,” he says. “I suppose you could be a better person and let me have the spot?”

“I could.” I’m really considering it because he sort of deserves it after putting up with me in the past.

“But you want this spot, too.” He gives me a knowing grin. “This makes things a bit more complicated.”

“Unless you want to be the bigger person.”

“I usually am,” he says. It’s true. He is. “But I also really want this desk. See, I’ve got a paper to finish, and this just happens to be my lucky desk.”

“Right.” I roll my eyes. Ethan is way too logical a creature for superstitions.

His smile, in return, widens even more.

He leans his hip against one of the partitions on the side of the desk and tilts his head to the side a bit as his eyes land on the book I’m holding.

“You’re taking Probability and Statistics? Landry’s class?”

I nod slowly.

He nods too, his silvery gray eyes glinting with humor now. “I took that as an elective in a moment of insanity and had a terrible time. Flunked it on my first go.”

Still the same Ethan. Easygoing, kind, and a perfect gentleman.

“I heard Landry fails a lot of people,” I say.

“I bet you’re acing the class.” There’s the kind of melancholic fondness in his tone that comes from knowing somebody well.

“Maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m failing every class nowadays.”

“Are you?”

“No. I do okay,” I say.

He looks down at his feet, then up at me again.

“You still on the econ path?” I manage to ask.

“Accounting.” He looks around the room. “I’m going to have to pull an all-nighter to get my paper finished and the econ library closes at midnight, while you engineering lunatics have yours open twenty-four seven.”

“I didn’t know you changed your major. But accounting is great. Interesting, I bet.”

He chuckles softly. “Almost convincing. It’s not too bad. I like it. Job prospects are good, too.”

“That’s good,” I say.

He smiles and raps his knuckles against the desktop twice.

“So how are we going to solve this desk situation?”

“I guess it would be fair if we both found a new spot,” I say.

He gives me a calculating look.

“Or…”

I don’t get to find out what he’s planning to say because that’s when somebody stops next to us. It’s a tall, pretty brunette, and her smile takes up her whole face when she looks at Ethan.

“Hey,” she says. “Fancy running into you.”

“Hi.” Ethan grins at her. “Let me guess. Taking advantage of the engineering library’s opening hours?”

“Why do they close ours at midnight?” She holds her arms out. “I should start a petition.”

“You do have a lack of worthwhile causes to support and too much time on your hands,” Ethan says. She sends him a mock scowl and pushes at his shoulder while he chuckles.

The two of them look at each other, and I haven’t felt so much like a third wheel in a long while.

Are they dating? Flirting?

I’m not sure, but that doesn’t stop me from taking the two of them in and feeling like crap while I’m at it. She’s very pretty and clearly interested in Ethan, judging by the way she only has eyes for him.

I shouldn’t care. It’s been two years. It’s not like I’m still carrying a torch for Ethan. Mostly what’s left now is regret and embarrassment and a good heaping of insecurity.

“Oh my God. Sorry. I’m being so rude barging in like that. I’m Audrey.”

I snap my attention back to the present.

“Wren,” I say awkwardly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” she says. And then I’m dismissed as her attention focuses back on Ethan.

“I was just thinking about grabbing a bite to eat before I hit the books. Want to come with?”

Ethan looks conflicted for a moment.

“I have a paper,” he says apologetically.

“I solemnly promise I’ll have you back here in thirty minutes max. You have to eat. It’s good for the brain.”

Ethan caves. “If you say so,” he says. He does turn his gaze on me then, and raises his brows in a wordless invite.

“Oh,” I say. “No. I’m full. I just ate.”

Even if I’d been starving for a week, I can’t really imagine a more awkward setting. Me, my ex-boyfriend, and the new girl. No, thank you.

“You just want the desk,” Ethan accuses.

I shrug and force a grin onto my face. “I did get here first.”

He spends another moment eyeing me before he grabs his stuff.

And he goes.

And I look after him.

And I feel like an idiot.

A bit pathetic.

Sort of sad all of a sudden.

A tad bitter.

I bet Audrey would make a great girlfriend. She’ll have all sorts of spontaneous sex with Ethan. They’ll probably do it in broad daylight and nobody will feel the need to hide anything or wear a shirt or something.

Life’s too short to hide.

Just like that, I’m forced to face those words.

I am hiding.

Hiding behind my scars.

Should I be?

There’s plenty of them, and they’re ugly as fuck.

Yeah, it’s safe to always hide, but the problem with hiding is that nobody will see you.

And I think…

I think, after all these years of hiding, I might finally want to be seen again.