21. Alex

ALEX

NOW – SOPHOMORE YEAR – JANUARY

I push through the heavy oak doors of the UMS library, my color-coded notes clutched to my chest like armor. The familiar scent of old books and coffee hits me, a bittersweet reminder of late-night study sessions and heated debates. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the snow-capped Rockies mock me with their immovable presence.

Professor Bam’s project brief burns a hole in my bag. “Details” is a generous term for the vague nonsense she sent us. A defunct gold mine needs reclaiming? Gee, thanks for narrowing it down, Professor. Economic restoration? Land reclamation? Turn it into the world’s most depressing museum? The possibilities are endless and infuriating.

I spent all night bouncing between ideas, fueled by too much caffeine and the gnawing dread of working with Freddie again. Because, of course, the universe hates me.

And there he is—Freddie Donovan, sprawled at our usual table like he owns the place. Our old usual table. Because non-friends don’t have usual tables, right?

The afternoon sun streams through the windows, catching his hair in a way that’s absolutely unfair. He’s wearing that damn blue button-down that makes his eyes pop, and I hate that I still notice. I hate that I care.

“Alexandria,” he says, standing as I approach. His voice is formal, but that signature grin is plastered on his face. The one that used to make my heart skip. Now it just makes me want to throw my extremely thorough notes at his stupidly handsome face.

“Freddie,” I quip. “Shall we get started?”

He’s all smiles, while I’m armed for battle. I can already hear his economically sound, morally bankrupt suggestions. With a little activism sprinkled on top, like garnish on a crap salad.

As I spread my array of colorful notes across the table, I can't help but steal glances at him. He seems... different. Sharper, somehow—like he's been honed to a fine edge. His jawline, always unfairly defined, now carries a dark stubble that screams "effortless bad boy."

My eyes trace the line of his jaw, the way his shirt stretches taut over his shoulders as he leans in, his focus on the papers in front of us. Heat floods my neck, and I bite my lip, the pressure sharp enough to hurt. I grab my pen, scribbling nonsense just to have something else to focus on.

"So." I tap my pen against the notepad, probably harder than necessary. "Professor Bam wants us to develop a reclamation plan for the old Jefferson Mine."

Freddie nods, his eyes scanning the brief. "Right. We need to address the environmental impact, potential hazards, and propose a solution for the land."

"Exactly." I lean in a little, warming to the topic despite myself. "We need to approach this like we’re healing a wound. That mine is basically a giant scab on the earth. We don’t just slap a band-aid on it and call it a day. We need major surgery."

I dive into my carefully prepared argument, my hands flying as I sketch my vision of ecological restoration. But something feels off. Freddie's usual sharp counterpoints are absent. Instead, he offers sluggish nods and half-formed sentences. I catch him stifling a yawn, his eyes struggling to stay fixed on the papers in front of him.

Frustration builds with each uninterested "mm-hmm." This isn’t the Freddie I know—the one who’d challenge every point, offering counterarguments that both infuriate and impress me. This Freddie looks like he might collapse into his textbook at any moment.

A tiny, traitorous part of me misses our old dynamic—the back-and-forth, the intellectual sparring. I shove that thought aside. I’m not here to mourn what we’ve lost.

“Are you seriously falling asleep right now?” I snap, my voice sharp, cutting through the quiet library like a blade. Nearby students glance our way, but I’m too worked up to care. Let them stare. Let them witness the disaster that is Freddie and Alex: The Reunion Tour.

Freddie blinks rapidly, looking like a deer caught in headlights. A very handsome, very infuriating deer. "What? No, I’m listening. You were saying something about... scabs?"

That does it. The dam breaks, and all my frustration pours out in a rush. I can’t stop myself.

"Freddie!" I whisper-shout, leaning in so close I can smell his stupid cologne. It’s intoxicating, and I hate myself for noticing. "This isn’t a joke."

A sharp "Shh!" slices through the air, followed by the glaring eyes of a girl at the next table. I whip around, my attempt at an apologetic smile probably looking more like a grimace. It does nothing to soften her scowl. Great. Now I’m pissing off the entire library. Add it to my list of accomplishments for the day.

Turning back to Freddie, I hiss, “Do you have any idea how crucial this is for my GSRI application? This could make or break my entire life plan!” My fingers clench around my pen so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t snap. “But I guess that doesn’t matter to you, does it? You probably made some plan with Dr. Reeves to steal kittens for cash, so why bother, right?”

It’s a low blow, and I know it. But I can’t seem to stop the words from spilling out, bitter and sharp.

Freddie’s eyes flash, a spark igniting in their depths. He leans forward, jaw clenched tight enough to crack walnuts. “You think I don’t care?” His whisper is sharp enough to cut. “That I’m not taking this seriously? Maybe if you’d stop assuming the worst about me for five seconds, you’d realize there might be other things going on in my life!”

His outburst leaves me reeling. We stare at each other, the air between us crackling like a live wire. I want to reach out and touch him, to bridge this chasm between us. I want to slap him. I want to?—

Slam!

We both jump. The shusher from earlier is on her feet, textbook clutched to her chest like a shield, lips pursed in disapproval. As she storms off, Freddie and I mumble simultaneous “Sorrys!” then lock eyes again.

Freddie deflates like a punctured balloon. He runs a hand through his hair, messing up its perfect sweep. I hate that I want to smooth it back into place. “This matters to me. You know it does. I was planning on being at the top of my game for this meeting, but I didn’t get any sleep last night. I’m sorry,” he admits.

I keep my arms crossed and lips pursed, ignoring the way my heart squeezes at his apology. “What kept you up all night?”

An unexpected pang of jealousy twists at my gut. Was he having an all-night fuck-a-thon with somebody? The image of Freddie with another girl makes me want to scream or throw up. Or both.

A traitorous part of my brain whispers Ashlyn Coleson. Rumors about them hooking up over the summer have been all over campus. I push the thought away, hating how much it bothers me. I have no right to be jealous. We’re nothing to each other. Not anymore.

“It’s Ethan,” Freddie says, his voice thick with worry. “He got accused of plagiarism. We were up all night trying to sort it out.”

My anger dissipates, replaced by a wave of concern. “Ethan? Plagiarism? What happened?”

As Freddie explains, guilt gnaws at me. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own drama, I didn’t even know one of my friends was in trouble.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I offer, surprising myself with how much I mean it.

Surprise flickers across Freddie’s face, quickly replaced by something softer. Something that makes my heart do a stupid little flip. “Thanks, Alex. I think we’ve got it under control, but I’ll let you know.”

An awkward silence falls, heavy with all the things we’re not saying. I fidget with my pen, suddenly unsure of everything. “How’s Ethan? I mean, aside from the plagiarism thing. I… I miss him. All of you guys, actually.”

The admission hangs in the air between us, fragile and terrifying. I want to take it back, to shove it deep down where all my other inconvenient feelings live. But it’s too late. It’s out there now, a truth I can’t un-tell.

Freddie looks at me, really looks at me, for what feels like the first time in forever. And in that moment, I realize how much I’ve missed this. Missed him.

“He misses you too, Alex. We all do.”

The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. I swallow hard, pushing down the lump forming in my throat. It feels like I’m choking on all the words I can’t say, all the feelings I’ve been desperately trying to bury.

“Yeah, well… things change, I guess,” I manage, aiming for nonchalance.

Freddie leans back in his chair, studying me with those hazel eyes that used to make my knees weak.

Still do, if I’m being honest with myself.

Which I’m not.

Obviously.

“They don’t have to, you know,” he says softly. “Change, I mean. Not everything.” He pauses, and I can practically see the gears turning in his head. “We could try to be… civil with each other. Friends, even.”

I let out a laugh that sounds hollow even to my own ears. “Pretty sure that ship has sailed, Freddie. Crashed and burned. Sunk to the bottom of the ocean.”

He shakes his head, a stubborn set to his jaw that I recognize all too well. It’s the look he gets when he’s about to argue a point to death, environmental ethics be damned. “Only if we let it. Look, Alex, I know things have been… complicated between us.”

Complicated. That’s one way to put it. Another would be total fucking disaster, but who’s counting?

“But this project?” he continues. “It’s important. To both of us. Maybe it’s a chance to… I don’t know, start over?”

I stare at him, trying to reconcile this mature, thoughtful Freddie with the guy who broke my heart. The guy who called me childish, who kissed me when we’d both sworn not to blur the lines again. Part of me wants to say yes, to grab onto this olive branch with both hands and never let go. But another part, the part that still stings from our falling out, the part that wakes up in the middle of the night remembering the feel of his lips on mine, holds back.

“I don’t know, Freddie,” I say finally, hating how unsure I sound. Hating how I sound like the Alex I was last year, naive and excited to have the attention of Freddie Donovan. God, I thought I’d grown past this. Evolved. Become a strong, independent woman who didn’t need a man to validate her existence.

Turns out, I’m still that girl. Just with better taste in protest signs and a slightly more robust knowledge of environmental law.

He gives me a small, hopeful smile that does stupid things to my insides. “Only one way to find out, right?” Then, in a move that’s either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid (probably both), he extends his hand. “Hi, I’m Freddie Donovan. Environmental Science major, terrible artist, and occasional superhero to disaster-prone roommates. Nice to meet you.”

Despite myself, I feel a smile tugging at my lips. It’s so ridiculous, so quintessentially Freddie, that I can’t help but play along. “Alexandria Ford,” I say, taking his hand. “Eco-warrior in training, color-coding enthusiast, and apparently, quick to jump to conclusions. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The moment our hands touch, it’s like someone’s set off fireworks under my skin. Electricity crackles up my arm, and I have to bite my lip to keep from gasping out loud. Get it together, Alex. You’ve had sex now. With a couple of guys. You’re not some blushing virgin anymore. You should be able to touch a guy without spontaneously combusting.

But this isn’t just any guy. This is Freddie. The guy who knows exactly how I like my coffee. The guy who can argue environmental policy with me for hours and still make me laugh. The guy who’s seen me at my worst and, somehow, still wants to be my friend.

We agree to reconvene later tonight, to give Freddie a chance to go home and nap. As he gathers his things, I find myself watching him, cataloging all the little changes I’ve missed. The new scar on his chin. The way his hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck. The tired slump of his shoulders that makes me want to wrap him in a hug and never let go.

“See you later, Lex,” he says, that infuriating half-smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah,” I manage, my voice embarrassingly breathy. “Later.”

As he walks away, I let out a shaky breath I didn’t know I was holding. What the hell am I doing? This is a terrible idea. Freddie Donovan is like kryptonite to my common sense, my self-respect, my… everything.

God, I need a drink. Or ten. Is it too early for tequila?

“So, about the mine closure,” I start, “Like I mentioned before, we need to approach this like we’re healing a wound. The Earth is bleeding, and she needs us to act fast and bandage her up.”

Freddie leans back, that familiar crease appearing between his brows. The one that makes me want to smooth it out with my thumb. Or maybe smack it off his face. It’s a toss-up, really. He’s looking so much fresher than earlier.

“I get where you’re coming from, Alex,” he says, his voice doing that low, thoughtful thing that definitely doesn’t make my stomach flip. “But maybe we need to think more… long-term. Less invasive.”

“What, like physical therapy for the land?” I scoff, picturing some weird visualization of Mother Nature in yoga pants, struggling through downward dog.

He perks up, eyes lighting up. “Actually, yeah. Something like that. We could implement a phased approach, gradually reintroducing native species, monitoring soil health over time.”

I hate to admit it, but it’s not a terrible idea. It’s frustratingly logical, annoyingly well-thought-out. Kind of like the guy himself. We continue bouncing ideas back and forth, and I find myself stuck on Freddie’s “physical therapy” concept. It’s… not awful.

God, this project is going to be the death of me. Or the death of Freddie. Jury’s still out on that one.

The library’s ancient clock chimes nine, its gong reverberating through the now-empty building like the world’s most ominous grandfather clock. Freddie’s still talking, something about phytoremediation and soil microbes. When did he get so knowledgeable? And why is it so damn attractive?

I shake the thought away. GSRI application . Bigger picture. Don’t get distracted by the way his eyes light up when he’s excited about an idea. Definitely don’t notice how his shirt stretches across his shoulders as he leans over the table, pointing at a diagram.

Nope.

Not noticing at all.

“Earth to Alex,” Freddie’s voice breaks through my totally-not-ogling haze. “You still with me?”

I blink, heat rising to my cheeks.

“Yeah, sorry. Just… processing.”

He nods, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Shit, did he notice I was checking him out?

Quick, Alex, say something smart. Something witty. Something that doesn’t make you sound like a hormonal teenager.

“Dirt,” I blurt out. Nailed it.

Freddie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Dirt?”

“Yep. Dirt. It’s, uh, important. For the project. Because mines have dirt.”

Oh god.

He looks at me for a long moment, but there’s amusement dancing in his eyes. “Right. Well, on that profound note, maybe we should call it a night?”

“Probably a good idea,” I agree, stretching my arms above my head. My back pops in about seventeen places.

Ah, the joys of hunching over textbooks for hours. “Before I start waxing poetic about gravel or something.”

As we step outside, the crisp night air hits me like a slap to the face. I inhale deeply, letting it clear my head of all thoughts of Freddie’s shoulders. And arms. And… nope, we’re not going there.

“I can give you a ride,” Freddie offers, jingling his keys like some kind of chivalrous car fairy.

I open my mouth to refuse, but he cuts me off. “It’s late, Alex. I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

“I’m a big girl, Freddie. I can handle myself,” I retort, but there’s no real heat behind it. Truth is, the idea of a warm car is tempting. Almost as tempting as—nope, still not going there.

He raises an eyebrow. “Humor me?”

I sigh dramatically, channeling my inner diva. “Fine. But only because I’m too tired to argue. And if you try to lecture me about soil pH levels, I’m jumping out at the first red light.”

The drive is quiet at first, the radio playing some soft indie song I don’t recognize. Probably something about a guy falling in love with a tree. Freddie clears his throat. “So, how are things?”

I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. How are things? Oh, you know, just trying to save the world while juggling classes and pretending I don’t have complicated feelings about my ex-best friend turned project partner. The usual.

Instead, I shrug. “Fine, I guess. Busy with applications, classes, and trying not to accidentally set the chem lab on fire. Again.”

He chuckles, and the sound does something warm and fuzzy to my insides.

“GSRI?” he asks. “That’s still the dream?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “What about you? Still planning to sell your soul to the highest bidder?”

It comes out harsher than I intended. I see Freddie’s jaw clench, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. Great job, Alex. Way to keep things light and friendly.

“It’s not that simple,” he says quietly.

I want to argue, to remind him of all the passionate debates we used to have about corporate responsibility and environmental ethics. Of how he was starting to come around to the idea that one person can make a real difference. But something in his voice stops me. He sounds… tired. Resigned.

“Nothing ever is,” I mutter, turning to look out the window.

We lapse back into silence, the streetlights casting flickering shadows across our faces. As we pull up to my apartment, I feel a sudden urge to say something, anything, to bridge this chasm between us.

“Thanks for the ride,” I manage, hand on the door handle.

Freddie nods. “Anytime, Lexie.”

Before I can respond, he’s speaking again.

“Look, I know things are weird between us. But I’m glad we’re working together on this project. I still think we make a good team.”

I stare at him, trying to reconcile this mature, thoughtful Freddie with the guy who broke my heart.

“Yeah,” I say finally. “Maybe we do.”