Page 8 of Holding On To Good

“But… it… uh, became official,” he continued, still not meeting her eyes. “Last night.”

And he blushed so hard she was surprised his brown hair didn’t turn bright red.

She was far from an expert in the goings-on inside the male teenage brain, but she could guess what, exactly, had transpired between him and Miranda that’d suddenly put them into coupledom.

What made him blush like that. What made him look so guilty.

She could guess, but for some inconceivable, messed-up reason, she wanted to know for sure. “Did you have sex with her?”

The color in his cheeks deepened. “We’re together,” he said quietly. Firmly.

She hadn’t expected a confirmation. Not really. Urban was too sweet, had too much respect for girls to ever talk about something so personal.

But he was also too honest to lie. And if it wasn’t true, he would’ve denied it.

Five weeks ago, he’d stood on her porch and told her he liked her. That he wanted to be with her.

And last night, he’d screwed another girl.

Tears came, so swift and hot she choked on them. Ducking her head, breathing shallowly through her mouth, she whirled around, frantic with the need to escape. Everything inside of her was twisted and snarled into a knot of anger and humiliation, betrayal and pain. And a bone-deep sense of loss that wound its way through them all.

Spying her backpack on the floor near his dresser, she dove for it.

“You said you didn’t like me that way,” Urban reminded her, his soft tone somehow managing to sound confused and irritated and apologetic all at once. “You said we’d only ever be just friends.”

She swept her backpack up and clutched it to her chest like a shield, keeping her back to him. Yes, yes, that was exactly what she’d said. This was her own fault for being so scared. For waiting too long.

But it was his fault, too. For trying to change things between them. For saying those things to her in the first place.

For not meaning them.

She swallowed. Sniffed. Then finally faced him.

He made a sound like he’d just been punched in the stomach.

As if seeing her cry tore him up inside.

But it didn’t. It couldn’t. Or else he never would have hurt her this way.

“This never happened,” she said thickly, wiping her hand over her wet cheeks. “Valentine’s Day… now…” She shook her head. “None of it.”

He frowned. “We can’t pretend—”

“It never happened,” she repeated, her voice breaking. “We’re going to go back to how we were. How we’ve always been and we aren’t ever going to even think about changing it. We aren’t going to talk about this. We’re not even going to think about it because it… never… happened.”

His mouth was flat, refusal written all over his face.

But he wasn’t the only one who could be stubborn.

“Promise me you’ll forget this,” she said. “That we’ll always be friends and nothing more. That you’ll never want us to be anything more. Not ever again. Promise me,” she continued in a whisper, forcing out the words that were so hard for her to say, “or else our friendship ends. Right here. Right now. Forever.”

Eyes narrowed, jaw tight, he studied her. Whatever he saw must have convinced him she meant every word she said, because he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Opened them and nodded once.

But she needed the words. “Say it.”

“I promise,” he ground out from between gritted teeth, a reluctant vow that wasn’t the least bit sincere.

Sincere or not, it’d do.

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