Page 100 of Remember Us This Way

But then she was off the rest of the weekend. Saturday she was mostly alright, but she kept drifting off like something else was holding her attention, and then Sunday rolled around, and she was like a stranger. She was frazzled, unable to concentrate, and couldn’t get a sentence out without forgetting what she was trying to say.

Her mind was somewhere else, and when she faked a yawn . . .

I’m still trying to convince myself that she wasn’t trying to kick me out. That’s not how we’ve ever done it. If she’s tired or wanted some space, she’s always been able to tell me. But is that it? Has she gotten so accustomed to me being away that she doesn’t need me around like she used to?

I’ve tried to give her space this week, testing the theory, only calling every now and then, not flooding her with texts, and a few times she’s avoided my calls and responded to messages with nothing more than a lousy one-word reply. The times I’ve actually gotten through and spoken to her on the phone, I’ve told her about my day while listening with a gaping hole in my chest as she gave me silence in return.

Something is up, and I need to know what.

If she’s hurting or something is happening at school, I want to know. Or if she’s finally realized that she’s too good for me and is ready to call it quits . . . Fuck. It would kill me, but I love her too much to hold on to her if she’s not happy. I want her to fly free, to be happy and filled with love, and if I’m hindering that, then I’ll let her go, but it’ll be the hardest thing I’ll ever do.

It’s Thursday afternoon, just after lunch, and despite my business class starting in twenty minutes, I find myself flying down the highway to get to her. It’s the longest fucking drive of my life, but I make it just in time, pulling into East View High’s student parking lot just minutes before the bell sounds.

I pull up right behind Zoey’s Range Rover, get out of my Camaro, and lean against the hood as I wait, never having felt this uneasy in my life. Just the thought that she could be done with me is fucking me up.

I knew a lot of things would change when I went to college, but never in a million years did I think this could have been a possibility. If I thought this kind of distance would have pushed her away, I . . . I don’t know what I would have done differently. I’m as close as I can possibly be.

By the time the bell sounds, I’ve more than convinced myself that Zoey is about to tear my heart right out of my fucking chest. Students begin pouring out of the school, and I keep my gaze locked on the doors, waiting more impatiently than ever before.

She walks out a minute later with Hope, both of them talking with their heads down, and the toxic part of me wonders if this change in Zoey is Hope’s influence. But Zoey seems to really like her, and I immediately feel like an ass for questioning it, but then . . . It wouldn’t be the first time Zoey has been wrong about her choice in friends.

Students gape at me, and it’s not long before my name sails across the school grounds. Zoey is halfway to the parking lot when her head snaps up, and just like always, her eyes come right to mine. She pauses, and for just a second, fear flashes in her eyes. It’s gone quicker than it appeared, but it’s just enough to make that seed of doubt expand until it’s turning into a raging storm inside of me.

She clutches her bag, and in a flash, Hope is forgotten as she hurries toward me.

I don’t take my eyes off her, barely getting a chance to push off the hood of my Camaro before she barrels into my arms, right where she belongs.

Zo nuzzles her face into my chest, holding on to me so damn tight that I hate myself for having to be away like this. “What are you doing here?” she murmurs, pulling back just enough to meet my stare.

My brows furrow, taking her in. She looks like she hasn’t slept all week. Her eyes look sad, devastated almost, and God, I hope like fuck this isn’t my doing.

I clench my jaw, nodding back toward my car. “Get in, Zo,” I mutter.

She doesn’t move, looking at me through a cautious stare. “But . . . my car?” she says. “Don’t you have to go back? I’ll need it to get back here in the morning.”

I shake my head. “I’ll stay at Mom’s tonight and drive you back here in the morning.”

She still doesn’t budge. “You have an away game tomorrow,” she says, so in tune with my schedule. “I thought you had to leave early to catch a flight.”

“It’s fine, Zoey. Just . . . fuck.” I turn away, walking back to my car door before finally glancing back at her. “Just get in my fucking car, babe. We’ll figure it out. But right now, we need to talk.”

That same fear I’d seen earlier flashes in her eyes again, and I know without a doubt that she’s thinking the worst, but I’m already too fucked up to try easing her fears.

I wait until she starts moving before getting into the car, and when she’s finally settled beside me, I hit the gas and get us out of here. I drive and drive, not knowing where the hell I’m going, trying to figure out how the fuck to bring this up. I don’t try to reach for her hand or take her thigh like I usually do, and every second of it tears me apart.

We make our way around the streets of East View, and when I pull into the familiar parking area of the park that’s become ours over the past seventeen years, I finally ease onto the brakes.

Neither of us move to get out of the car, and I can almost hear her heart racing in her chest, so in sync with mine.

I grip the steering wheel, needing something to do with my hands to keep from reaching for her and pulling her right into my arms, begging her to tell me that this is all in my head.

I feel her questioning stare on me, but I don’t dare look her way, knowing the second I meet those eyes, I won’t have the balls to ask her what’s been coursing through my mind all fucking week. My hand grips tighter on the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white, and as the pain rockets through my chest, I drop my head, unable to bear it for another fucking second. “Are we done?” I ask her in a gravelly tone, my voice breaking as a lump forms in my throat. “Are you breaking up with me?”

Zoey gasps, and within the blink of an eye, she scrambles across the center console and into my lap, straddling me as she wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me into her. “Why the hell would you ask me that?” she questions, a gut-wrenching pain filling her voice.

She sits back, meeting my stare, tears lingering in her beautiful green eyes. “Zo,” I say, letting her in and showing her my deepest insecurities, letting her see exactly what I’ve been feeling this past week: the rejection of her snubbed calls, the hurt of her distant conversation, the agony of her pushing me away.

Then reaching up, I push her hair back off her face, my fingers lingering a second too long. “Do you know that you have exactly four different kinds of cries?”

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