Page 15 of Man On

I'm not looking forward to having to see him every day, but at least I won't be living with him anymore. Aside from practice, and any freshman classes we might share, we will live blessedly separate lives. And if he's more serious about partying than classes, maybe I'll get lucky and he'll drop out to go somewhere else. And then I can truly relax.

One can only hope. And pray… Please, Lord, let college be my opportunity to remake myself.

Now that he's had the chance to make a dig at my expense, I'm expecting him to go back to the party. It is the last night, after all. Instead, he falls into step beside me. I side-eye him, watching for a moment while his eyes are looking down at the leaf strewn dirt path through the woods. He looks pensive. It’s not an expression I'm used to seeing on his face. By the time we're standing in the courtyard between our respective cabins, because thankfully we haven't had the misfortune of being bunkmates again, I'm actually a little worried. The good-natured part of me wants to ask him about it, but anytime I've tried in the past it’s been met with sarcasm and snark.

He beats me to the punch. "Are you alright?"

I'm taken aback for a moment, retracing our conversation to remember what we were talking about. "Oh, you mean Maci? Yeah, I'm alright."

His lips twist and his gaze cuts away from my eyes. He's feeling awkward. Which means he's not talking about my relationship status. My body stiffens, not wanting to give him any more fodder to tease me with. We're adults now, damn it.

"I meant the news. I didn't realize?—"

"I'm good," I cut in. It's a lie, but he doesn't need to know that.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. He sounds almost sincere, but if there's one thing I've learned about Noah Milner in the past four years, it's not to let my guard down for even a second.

"Like I said, I'm good," I tell him curtly, spinning on my heel and walking into the cabin I share with Blake Tamlin, a goalie that's headed to Stanford. He's quiet, unobtrusive, and keeps his part of the room neat. He's the perfect roommate, and I hope I get paired up with someone like him in the dorms. Is he the one Maci is with right now? I've seen the way he looks at her, and it was hard not to feel a vibe in the room whenever she came to visit me in here. I hope it is him. They're both good people that deserve to be happy.

I use the restroom and change into some pajamas, realizing I never closed the door properly. My forehead scrunches, and I look around the room before I stick my head out the door. There's no one out there. Noah left without bothering me. Normally he’d consider an open door an invitation. Like the time, only months ago, when the bathroom door didn't latch while I was taking a shower. The asshole let himself in under the pretense of needing to pee, then accused me of leaving it open on purpose so he could hear me washing myself. His words were far more crude, of course.

It's really messed up that I'm disappointed he's not here, forcing me to shame myself. But it's not because I want it—it's not.

It's because I know he only stopped out of pity.

A knock on the wall that separates my makeshift bedroom from the laundry room draws me out of space. I've been staring at the same picture in this photo album for I don't know how long, not actually seeing it.

"Lane?"

I clear my throat and wipe away any evidence of tears, standing up and facing the shelf I was packing up before I invite my mom in. There's no actual door for the room, but she stands back from the archway that opens into the rest of the basement, giving me privacy until she hears me call for her to come in. She's been careful about that since day one, and I appreciate it. I was worried about the lack of privacy down here, but the door at the top of the stairs has a lock, and Noah has surprisingly never tried to step foot down here. I'm both grateful for a safe space from him, and angered that he gets my mother to do his laundry for him.

"Are you almost packed up?" Mom asks.

I see the flash of pity and concern in her eyes, but she redirects her attention to some clothes I have laid out on the bed. She busies herself with folding them, and I let her do it, even though I know I'll be refolding them the way I like before packing them in the luggage set she and Scott got both of us for a graduation gift, along with hefty gift cards to make our dorms more comfortable.

"Just about," I answer her, lifting a stack of books.

She looks around the space I've kept perfectly neat and organized, and her brow furrows. Her eyes lock on the empty bookshelf.

"Without your books, you can't even tell you live here. There's not one speck of anything personal."

I shrug. "Now that I'm moving out, you can use the space for whatever you were planning to use it for, you know, before I moved in."

"This will still be your room, even if you're not currently living here, Lane. I hope you'll be back for breaks and summer."

My head cocks, and I frown. I hadn't thought of that.

"I can stay somewhere else."

"You can stay here," she says insistently. "This is your home, Lane." The way she puts emphasis on the word home hurts my chest.

I wish she'd leave, but I don't want to hurt her feelings by asking her to go. I feel like she's gearing up for a heart-to-heart like the one she tried to have with me when I was fourteen. But I do not want to revisit that conversation and I do not want to talk about anything else.

She looks down at a stack of books, rubbing her hand over the leather-bound Bible on top. It belonged to my grandfather. Every time I look at it, I feel ill, but I don’t have the heart to let it go.

"That detective came by again."

Nausea rolls through me, and my chest feels tight, like a fist has taken hold of my heart and squeezed. This happens sometimes, but not as harshly as it feels right now.

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