Page 171 of Unspoken Rules

Some days I’m angry. Some days I’m sad. Some days I just really fucking miss him.

And every day I wonder if I’m ever going to forget about him at all.

I want to. So badly, I want to stop thinking about Cole, but he left a mark on me and I’m not sure anything will make it go away. I need to learn to live with this, but I don’t even know where to start.

There are still some nights I cry myself to sleep. I want to call him and beg for answers. Answers to what? I don’t know. Other nights, I just want to hear his voice.

I just… miss him.

He’s fixed so many of my problems before, and maybe he could help me get through this too.

Tell me how to get over you, Cole. Please, for the love of god, tell me.

But that’s just pathetic. It’s embarrassment more than anything that’s holding me back. He’s obviously over me, and it’s about time I do the same. I just don’t know how.

I’ve come so far since moving to Boston, but I still have so much work to do on myself. My dad really did a number on me. Still haven’t heard a word from him, by the way. That of which I’m grateful for. He isn’t someone I want in my life. There is no amount of apologizing he could do to make me forgive him.

But this lingering obsession with Cole? It’s not normal. I mean, how long does it take to get over someone? How can I still want him after all this time? Clearly there’s something broken in me. Something I need to fix. Everything else in my life is moving steadily, this is the last thing I need to get past. Maybe it’s as simple as needing more time. Maybe it’s more, I don’t know. I’m just thankful Daniel finally gave up and hasn’t bothered me since that night Cole answered the phone. It’s one less problem I have to deal with.

“You ready to go?” I look up and find Westley standing in front of my desk with his jacket on and messenger back on his shoulder. I glance at the clock on my computer.

“Shit, I didn’t even realize the time,” I say.

The second part of my day always goes by fast, but today was faster than normal.

I save the file I was working on, turn off my computer, gather my things, and we’re out the door.

Boston winter is nothing to play around with. I bundle up like the kid from A Christmas Story and don’t feel an ounce of shame over it as we walk the streets to either take the T or a rideshare. Each day is different, depending on who we’re with and what we’re doing. Plus the weather and what’s available.

Today, we take the T, which means more walking. It’s fine though. I don’t mind all the walking. It’s nice. Helps clear my head. Especially since the winter chill can’t get through my twenty-five layers of clothing. Sometimes I get home and I’m sweating.

“You look ridiculous, you know that?” Westley mutters, shoving his hat further onto his head.

“Not ridiculous enough or I’d be walking alone,” I comment.

“Add one more scarf, and you will.”

Taking the T has become so normal to me now, but at first it scared the shit out of me. Being squished in the car with all these people sucks, but I’ve gotten used to it now.

The walk from the station to our apartment building is only a few blocks, and we get there before the sun is fully down.

Westley and I part ways at my door. I head inside, take off my layers of clothes, and go right to the kettle to start a cup of tea. I’ve started little routines that have helped me settle in more, and having tea when I get home after work is one of them.

I’m waiting for the kettle to buzz when there’s a knock on my door. Figuring it’s Westley who needs an egg or cup of milk, because he’s always making something and is missing one ingredient. It’s easier to come here than go to the store on the next block. Truthfully, I don’t mind. It’s just something I can give him shit about. Besides, when he’s making something sweet, he always shares, and that’s worth it for me.

I pull the door open, but it isn’t Westley who’s there.

Chapter Seventy-Two

Bryson

“Chris? What are you doing here?”

“Nice way to greet your best friend,” he comments with a smile. The tip of his nose is bright red, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his poofy jacket.

“Shit, sorry. You surprised me.” I gesture for him to come inside, then hug him. “I was just making tea. Do you want some?”

“Nah, I’m good.” He looks around my little apartment with a small smile on his face. He takes off his jacket and puts it on the coat hanger. Rubbing his hands together to get the chill out, he adds, “This is nice.”

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