Chapter Twenty-Eight

Steph

Most Likely to End Up Together

Once upon a time, I used to fantasise about my life with Shaun. I had a secret Tumblr account where I d save things like the songs I thought might work for our first dance because they felt special to us , or pictures of wedding d cor, quotes from books about great loves, and gifsets of my favourite couples from romance movies. I used to collect fragments of the ways I loved him, the life I pictured us having together, so sure that it was forever.

It was silly and naive and

Sat here on the steps at the back of the school, night drawing in around us, I miss it.

Now isn t so different, I suppose. I have Pinterest boards where I save inspo of interior design or ideas for anniversary gifts. I have several more dedicated to wedding dresses, food, venues, playlists, gift bags, name tags, cakes - all bar the dress board are shared directly with Curtis, as well as my mum, aunties, some of his side of the family, and my bridal party. They re organised, precise, but no less meaningful. We do have a wedding to arrange, after all.

But I don t have anything quite like that old Tumblr account. I don t think I ve even got so much of a shoebox of keepsakes; the history of mine and Curtis s relationship is scattered around our flat in the form of photos and vases and coffee-table books.

I miss the hope and reckless abandon of that blog. And I know , deep down, it s not just the memories, but what they represent: such a strong, all-consuming kind of love.

Doesn t it mean something, that I don t have anything like that now?

Which is not, of course, to say that I don t love Curtis; I do, very much. But remembering the sort of love I used to have - the first, great one - it makes me wonder if it s enough.

I don t want to think like that. I don t, because it s an awful, painful, wretched thought to have, but it slinks into my mind and takes root, and I m forced to confront it.

I thought I was all-in with Curtis - but I was all-in with Shaun, once, too.

Shaun is watching me closely; a deep crease has formed between his eyebrows, and the weight and intensity of that look should feel like too much - but it doesn t. It just makes me think he already knows all of the thoughts spiralling through my head, and like it s safe to confide in him.

My legs feel wobbly and when I take a seat on the top step in front of the doors, Shaun doesn t hesitate to join me. I tuck my hands between my knees, but my whole body is already angled towards him. One of his hands rests flat on the ground just behind my back. Neither of us are touching, but I still feel so impossibly, dangerously close to him.

Do you remember all the dreams we used to have about what our future would look like? I ask him quietly. I haven t thought about them in so long

Shaun smiles, and it lights up his whole face. He s so bright, it s dazzling. He looks every bit like the boy I fell in love with in that moment, and it does something terrible and wonderful to my heart.

Remember? He laughs, head tipping back and eyes scanning the night sky, the growing dark above us. How we d move in together right out of uni and get a dog so it d be good practice for when we had kids - three of them, wasn t it? You d help with school fetes and I d help coach the football team on weekends, and we d have great big family trips to caravan parks in Devon like when we were little And we d move once we d saved up enough - somewhere close to both our parents, with a big garden and one of those big driveways where we d teach the kids to ride bikes There was that old house on the corner - always had a pretty garden, with the blue fence, do you remember?

I nod. I snuck a photo of it one day, to add to my Tumblr. I used to point at it whenever Shaun walked me home from school and say that would be our house one day; there was something so homely and classic about it, so picture-perfect for family life in the suburbs. I forgot I used to long for a life like that; it feels so alien to me now. It s hard to picture craving that remote, almost rural, lifestyle. Harder still to picture myself with a swollen belly and children running about my feet and worrying about things like nursery and reading levels and bedtime. The memory of it feels like finding a dress in the back of the wardrobe I d forgotten all about, not even remembering buying it, and trying it on only to discover it doesn t fit and feels all kinds of wrong. A relic of another style, another version of me.

Shaun is still smiling, looking up at the sky wistfully.

It was, I concede, a very nice dream at the time.

Is that what my life would have turned out like if we hadn t split up? Would I have still wanted it, if it was a life shared with Shaun, or would we want different things anyway now that we re grown up?

I confess to him, I think I used to believe we weren t really in love, you know? Everybody thinks they fall in love when they re a teenager, but it s - different. Amped up, somehow? Not real enough , maybe? I think I convinced myself it was hormones and peer pressure and heightened emotions and that I d built it all up in my head to be more than it really was, and that when I grew up and I dated more, I d - I d learn that really was the case. That it was just puppy love and I d find the real deal. Fall in love for true .

And did you do that? With It s like Shaun can t quite bring himself to say Curtis s name. I m a little bit glad when he doesn t; it feels like a betrayal, somehow.

Yes. Well, I - I did, or I I thought

This time, it s my turn to trail off, and I m not at all surprised to realise that my cheeks are wet, or feel a sob hitching in my throat.

Until tonight, I was so sure. Everything seemed so straightforward, so natural. I hate that I m questioning it, and worse that I m questioning Curtis when he s done nothing to deserve it, but - what if this is all meant to be in the end? If everything Shaun and I had was real after all, and it must be for us to both still feel so strongly for each other after all this time

The very moment he came into the party, the second our eyes met across the room It was so clear to both of us that those feelings were still there, lying dormant beneath the surface and just waiting to have each other breathe life back into them, so why, why , did either of us ever indulge that by coming out here to talk, to reconnect? We should have shut it down, not entertained it.

What is it about him that makes me feel seventeen again, when my whole world began and ended with us?

Shaun has wrapped an arm around me, sidling closer, and even that feels so familiar and natural that I hardly noticed it happening. Is that a sign, too? He rummages through my handbag to pass me a tissue - one stained with lipstick prints - and I dab my eyes dry. When I look at him, his face seems to reflect everything I m feeling: the anguish and confusion and heartbreak.

Our bodies are flush from hip to knee, and he doesn t remove his arm from around my back. If anything, it curls a little further around my body, so that his hand can squeeze the top of my arm gently.

He d do that all the time when we were dating, when we were hanging out with other people. His arm would be slung around my shoulders, and we d be chatting and laughing as part of the group, but then he d give my arm a little squeeze that would make me look at him. A brief few seconds of eye contact, a small shared smile as we anchored ourselves back against each other in the midst of everybody else Still here , that gesture seemed to say. Always here.

My brain starts rattling at a hundred miles an hour: is he trying to say that again, now, that he s still here - with me, not just next to me? That he s still mine, I m still his?

A pang twists in my chest, so sharp that I nearly wince. I almost think that, if I could take my heart and carve out the bits that belonged to Shaun, all the parts where fond memories of him took root If I could take it all away and avoid this, now, I might do it.

I wonder if he feels the same way.

It s not regret, so much as as

As the fact that, maybe, those parts of my heart that belonged to Shaun, still do belong to him, and always will, and I don t know how I am supposed to say goodbye to him later tonight and leave and live with that.

All of my emotions are in hyperdrive - the heartache and heartbreak, the longing and sorrow and joy and guilt, all muddled together and vibrating hard and fast beneath the surface of my skin, like any second I might burst into hysterical laughter or throw myself at Shaun or away from him, or

Or blurt in a shaky voice, What if we got it all wrong, Shaun? Letting ourselves drift apart, never reaching back out

It s the biggest what if of all.

And then it s cold, and he s moved away - but only, I see when my head snaps up to look, so that he can angle himself towards me. And then I understand: he s put some physical space between us to compensate for the fact that he reaches for my hand. His palm is warm and soft as it encompasses the back of mine.

It feels - strange. Different. It s a man s hand, not the boy s I used to hold all the time. For a moment, I just stare at his hand on mine, the few dark hairs that dust the back of it, like I can t make sense of what I m seeing.

Did you really mean that? Shaun asks, and his voice, too, is raw and cracked, as if he s the one who s been crying. His eyes search mine, and there s nothing desperate or plaintive or even wildly hopeful in them this time. He looks - so sure of himself, so certain. An inner gravity that centres him and helps his gaze not to falter, even as emotion bleeds into his voice.

I swallow the lump in my throat, push away the sound of Curtis s laugh and the smell of his cologne as they swim at the forefront of my memory, and give Shaun the only honest answer I can.

I don t know. I don t suppose it it matters, really, if we did.

But I hear the lie in the second half of that statement even as the words leave my lips; I see the way Shaun s expression becomes something fierce and how his eyes seem to burn as he looks at me in such earnestness, and I realise it does matter.

It is, maybe, the only thing that matters.

The noise from the school hall falls away - a cacophony of sound that makes a distant part of my brain wonder if that really is an amateur band playing our old Pixar medley, or if it s only another memory dredged up along with those photos Shaun found in my bag, messing with my senses. I blink, realising how dark it s gotten in the time we ve been out here, especially with the light off in the stairwell behind us. The darkness becomes a blanket, a curtain that separates us from everything and everyone else, like the time we snuck backstage to steal a kiss during one of the school plays, before Mr Dougherty caught us and shooed us away so we didn t get in the way of the next scene change.

There is no Mr Dougherty to come chivvy us along now, though. No old schoolmates or even new loves. There s only us, and the only sound I can hear is the ragged inhale Shaun takes. I think it would match my own if I stopped holding my breath.

I look at his lovely brown eyes and the line of his nose, his widow s peak and the softness of his hair, sure it would feel exactly like I remember if I were to run my fingers through it, and unsure how the line of his jaw, accented by adulthood, would feel beneath my palm if I were to cup his face in my hand.

I wonder how he would taste. Like fruit punch, maybe. If he would kiss differently, or if I do, or if, even if we do, we would still kiss each other exactly the same way as we used to.

Shaun s eyes blaze a path along the outline of my mouth, as he considers it, too.

His hand on mine shifts, minutely, hardly at all, and I gasp. Something like anticipation sends a shiver down my spine, and I wonder if Shaun s eyes have grown darker in the last few seconds or if it s only a trick of the light.

The whole world falls apart around us and I m left with only one very clear, inescapable thought: I am about to kiss Shaun Michaels .

And, I don t think I am going to do anything to stop it from happening.