Page 15 of Somewhere in the Sunset

“Whatever. Gracie doesn’t like jerks, anyway,” Elena huffs, and I hang up the call before she can pass me back over to Adam.

I only want Charlotte. No one else.

By the time the train pulls into North San Jose, I feel only slightly more human after a quick half hour of shut-eye. I sprint up the station stairs and break into the daylight, filled with determination to win back my girl, and navigate the streets on foot.

I won’t let Charlotte throw our relationship away. We’ve spent four years together, and that’s too long to just give up like this. I still remember the first moment I laid eyes on her, back in our sophomore year at San Diego State, when she tapped on my shoulder in the library and asked if I had a highlighter. I didn’t. She moved on to the next person. Two weeks later, I spotted her at a frat party.

“You’re the highlighter girl from the library,” I said.

And her face twisted with confusion before she exchanged a look with her friend that clearly meant, “This guy is a creep.”

Because for her, that interaction in the library was insignificant and unmemorable. For me, it was the start of a crush. I couldn’t help it. She was soft-spoken with a gentle smile, inviting eyes and a gap between her front teeth that was attractive as hell. I never did find her again in the library, so coming across her at that party seemed like a miracle, until I opened my mouth and made it weird.

We found each other again in a quiet corner of the frat house just after midnight. Both drunk with no inhibitions. She told me her name, I told her mine. We talked for a long time, then I walked her back to her dorm. I didn’t leave until the next morning.

We had a blast in college. Studying for finals together while fighting to keep our hands off one another, partying with friends, exploring San Diego on the weekends. After we graduated last year, we both moved back home to the Bay Area, and I think that’s when things changed. Life got serious, and maybe I became too absorbed in figuring my own shit out, rather than planning for a future with her. I just didn’t know I was capable of doing things so wrong.

I hesitate on the sidewalk outside of Charlotte’s walk-up apartment. Maybe I should have warned her I was coming, but I doubt she would have read the message anyway. Her spare set of keys are attached to my own, so I let myself into the building and begin the dreaded climb to the fifth floor, sidestepping around packages scattered over the stairs. I never liked that she lived here. It never felt all that safe to me, but I also can’t remember if I ever expressed that concern to her.

Outside of her apartment, I knock on the door rather than barging in unannounced. She’s probably not even here. I’m sure she mentioned something about staying with her parents for a while.

“Charlotte?” I call gently, pressing my ear to the door and listening for any signs of life on the other side. “Please open the door if you’re there. It’s me.”

The lock clicks and I jolt back from the door, my body tensing. I rack my mind for all of the things I wish to say to her, but there are so many, the words blur together and I panic that I won’t be able to say anything at all.

Charlotte opens the door, but only a crack. She peers through the gap and quietly says, “Weston.” My chest seizes at the sound of her voice carrying my name.

“Can I come in so we can we talk?” I ask, though my tone is cautious because, right now, I’m walking through a minefield. One wrong move and she will slam the door in my face.

It’s torture, watching her debate whether or not she will let me in. Finally, she opens the door fully and then heads back to the couch, deliberately avoiding eye contact with me as I enter her apartment and shut the door behind me. Charlotte stares at the TV. She’s watchingFriends,her comfort show.

“Don’t sit down,” she says, holding up her hand as I move to sit next to her. “You aren’t staying.”

This is going to be tough. I press my hands to my face with a groan and then step in front of the TV so she is forced to look at me. She does, reluctantly.

“I’ve been calling you. Did you listen to any of my voicemails?”

“Yes, and there’s a reason I’m ignoring them,” she says, arms crossed and expression impassive. Her blond hair is pulled back off her face and without makeup; she always looks so young. And adorable as fuck. If we weren’t broken up right now, I would kiss her until her lips were swollen. “Nothing you say now changes anything.”

In frustration, I sit down on the coffee table in front of her and desperately take her hands in mine. “I fucked up, I know. Forget my friends.Youcome first from now on. You’re what I want, Char. You’ve always been what I wanted.”

“You don’t get it,” Charlotte snaps, trying to tear her hands free from mine. I squeeze tighter. “You’re drifting through life right now without making a single decision, because youdon’tknow what you want. You hate your job, but no onemadeyou choose it. You just didn’t want to let your dad down, so now you’ll spend the rest of your life complaining about it rather thandoingsomething about it. You get drunk with Adam on your weekends off because youhaveto let off steam, while I’m over here by myself! When was the last time we did something that wasn’t just hanging out at your apartment, Weston?”

Each word of hers is so cutting, I almost feel too wounded to think of an answer. “We went to Perbacco for our anniversary meal, didn’t we?”

“That was two months ago!” She snatches her hands back from me now and I don’t fight her as she shoves me away from her. Rising from the couch, she throws her head back in exasperation. “You need to grow up! We aren’t in college anymore! I want someone who knows what they want in life, and that isn’t you.”

“Charlotte .?.?.” I croak, but everything inside of me is crumbling. I have never seen such an awful expression behind her eyes, something so pained, ugly, unrecognizable. She means every single word and there’s no convincing her otherwise.

“You took it for granted that I’d always be here, and I deserve better than that, Weston,” she says, releasing the softest of breaths. As our eyes lock, her voice dips to a whisper. “I deserve better than you.”

I spiral into panic. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, you have no idea.” Fuck, am I crying? I squeeze my eyes shut, my clenched jaw slackening with a tremor.

“Weston,” Charlotte says, but the emotions she’s been holding back emerge and my name cracks in half. She starts to sob and loses her hands in my hair as she presses her body against mine. Still seated on the coffee table, I wrap my arms around her slim body and pull her closer. I bury my face into her stomach, clinging to the fabric of her T-shirt.

“Please,” I beg, but she shakes her head against the top of mine. “Please.”

“It’s too late,” she whispers.

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