Page 48 of Shattered

Lan’s face becomes visible. With wide eyes, he glances at me and then shifts his attention to Mr. Stiles. With both of us breathing heavily, I can’t begin to imagine what this situation looks like, especially when Mr. Stiles just stepped away from me.

“Lan, what are you doing here?” I rasp, trying to clear my throat.

“I-uh thought you might be caught up here. I came to find you after waiting at your place as you asked,” he says, awkwardly hugging himself and shifting his weight between his feet.

“Oh, yeah. Uh—” Mr. Stiles stands there, his lips sealed, observing both Lan and me. He raises a brow before uttering.

“I’m going to be heading off. Your form is better.” I frown and then realize he is trying to make it come across that he was helping me with my boxing.

“Thanks.” My stomach sinks. He knows I told Lan to come over. He knows I was going to fuck Lan. Shit. Usually, Lan avoids direct eye contact with Mr. Stiles, but I witness Lan’s eyes lingering on Mr. Stiles’ face as he walks past and says something under his breath. I draw nearer to Lan and notice his eyes wandering across my face as he frowns and furrows his brows.

Scratching the back of my neck, awkwardly I say, “I’m tired now. Sorry. I pushed myself a little too much in here tonight.” I gesture with my busted hand and he nods rapidly, but never breaks his stare from my mouth.

“You have something on your face and around your lips?” He points to his cheek. “Looks like a rash, are you all right?” he asks, frowning.

Forcing a smile, I reply, “Yeah, just hot. Let’s go.” I walk alongside him as we exit the doors and pass through the gym.

Once we’re outside, I turn to him. “I’ll see you around, OK?” Lan eyes me with a slight frown, appearing suspicious as he turns and peers over his shoulder at a retreating Mr. Stiles which I hadn’t realized I was watching. Lan catches my attention as he faces forward again.

“OK.” He nods slowly, and I turn around to head back to my dorm in the opposite direction. I hear my phone make a sound and I take it out to find an Instagram direct message. As I read the message, the butterflies that had settled down come back to life.

@thestilestman:If you touch a single inch of skin on that kid, I swear I will make you regret it. I don’t share.

I try to suppress the grin that’s eager to appear on my face by biting my lip. I type back.

@quakeontheice:The only skin my fingers will touch are yours.

Chapter twenty-six

Bohdi

Iknew I couldn’t go on the date on Saturday night. I was telling myself it’s what I needed instead of accepting what my body and mind already knew.

It’s him I want. Brayden Anders.

No matter how much I tried to deny it to myself.

He was my calm among my storm.

He was the person who had unknowingly picked me back up. Being around Brayden makes the grief a little easier to carry.

I don’t dread my days when I wake up anymore. I look forward to them because I know I will see him. I finally found the person who, in those moments of them being around, the pain eases. It’s barely noticeable when they are near or when you think of them. I finally found that person to make the pain go away.

After dropping Brayden off on Saturday, I went home, took the picture of Jace out of my nightstand, and placed it on top. I didn’t stare at it and then put it away. Instead, I asked him what he would do and I know what he would have done.

He would have told me to accept the feelings.

He wouldn’t have been disappointed like my dreams.

He would have told me you can’t help who you fall for, Boh. You can’t help who you catch feelings for. You can’t help what your heart wants.

He would have told me not to fight it.

I know he would have because that was Jace. He was the purest soul out there. He accepted anyone and everyone, no matter who they were or who they liked.

They say grief reshapes us, often for the worse, but in losing Jace, I discovered my true self. This is who I am now, shaped by love and loss. I listened to my body and my heart when I left Brayden. I allowed myself to feel the ache in my chest from his presence not being there. The sickness deep in my stomach from wanting to see his smile and not his sadness. I imagined myself standing in front of him and telling him how I felt and his lips touching mine in a silent confession. I finally listened to my true self.

It wasn’t Ms. Banksy I wanted. It wasn’t any other women; it wasn’t any other man; it was Brayden.

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