Page 15 of Ex Marks the Spot

It could be Hartley in any one of these pictures.

Or rather, it should be.

Because as much as it kills me to admit it, Corrina’s right. If Hartley stays with me, she’ll be forced into a life of mediocrity while I finish my undergrad and get my master’s degree. And a long-distance relationship means she’d be tethered to time zones and video dates instead of going out and having fun. As an accomplished artist who wants to advance her career, Hartley deserves to experience Italy in Technicolor, not black and white.

With a heavy sigh, I lean my elbows on my knees and grip my hair while selfishly wishing I’d followed the rules and turned my phone off.

Wade finds me in the same position when he knocks on the door a few minutes later. “Everything okay?”

Nope. Not even close.

I sit up and swallow around the lump in my throat. “If Sophia had a dream career, would you support it?”

“Of course.”

“Even if that dream meant you’d have to make sacrifices?”

He studies me for a moment, then says, “I’m sure there’s a deeper discussion to be had, but simply put, Sophia is my person. I can’t think of anything I’d have to give up that would be more important than seeing her happy.”

I sigh and nod. “Figured you’d say something like that. Guess that’s why you’re the one getting married.”

“Sorry, man. I can always send Bobby in.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder toward the game room, where Mr. Chronically Single is singing a drunk and curse-filled karaoke version of “I’m Too Sexy” by Right Said Fred.

I offer up a weak smile. “Getting relationship advice from him is about as smart as taking a bath with a toaster.”

“Sad but true, my friend. How about we skip philosophical discussions and toasters and get you drunk instead.”

He extends a hand and pulls me off the bed. I follow him back to the game room, where Nick is waiting with the ridiculous lampshade.

“Rules are rules, dude.”

There’s one thing on my mind as he crowns me with the Cone of Shame: I refuse to let Hartley choose me over Michelangelo.

Dread and preemptive regret have blanketed the drive home. I only took a few shots last night because breaking up with Hartley will be hard enough without dealing with a hangover on top of it. As it is, my stomach is already churning when I maneuver my car into a visitor’s space in her lot. The only silver lining in this shitstorm is the no-phone rule working in my favor today. I told her I’d call when I left the cabin, so she still thinks I’m unavailable and hasn’t tried to contact me.

I thought about calling my sister, Ella, on my way home. She’s the actress in the family and could probably give me pointers on drafting a script for what I’m about to do, but I don’t feel like explaining myself to anyone, blood or not.

Pulling in a few deep breaths, I exit my car and focus on my upcoming performance as I cross the pavement. After a few quick knocks, Megan answers the door and thrusts two twenty-dollar bills at me. “Oh. Sorry. I thought you were the delivery guy.” She steps back and waves me in. “Hart’s on the couch. We’ll have plenty of pizza, so you’re welcome to have some if you want.”

“Thanks, but I won’t be here long.”

Just long enough to rip out your roommate’s heart.

And mine too.

My first gut punch comes in the form of Hartley’s face lighting up when she sees me round the corner. “Hey! I didn’t think you’d be back until tonight. Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, but we should talk.”

“Um...okay?” She casts an uneasy glance at her roommates as she slowly rises from the couch.

Unable to look at the damage I’m already causing, I retreat to her bedroom like a coward. One of her senior capstone canvases is sitting on her easel, with two others propped against the legs. She’s spent months on these pieces, and I’ve been looking forward to seeing her show them off next month. I guess that makes Gallery Night another casualty of what I’m about to do.

Hartley closes her door with a soft click but doesn’t say anything until she’s sitting on her bed, knees crossed and fingers twisting in her lap. Her eyes meet mine briefly before dropping back to her hands. “What do you want to talk about?” she asks in a small voice.

My mind races with answers I can’t give, like my immense regret for answering my phone this weekend, how I don’t mean anything that’s about to come out of my mouth, and how I already know I’ll never completely get over her.

Leaning against the dresser, I release a quiet breath and start with the words I practiced on the drive home. “Being at the bachelor party and hearing Wade talk about his future with Sophia forced me to open my eyes about our relationship. When I sat down and looked at everything objectively, it became clear that we’re at two very different points in our lives. It doesn’t make sense to keep wasting our time on something that won’t work long-term.”