Page 27 of Fallen Stars

She blathers on about her romantic weekend in Lake Lavender with her boyfriend, Desmond. I nod and hum at all the right times but otherwise disengage from the conversation.

Am I the asshole for basically giving her the cold shoulder? Yes. Without question.

Do I give a fuck that I’ve detached myself from the situation? No, not a single fuck is given.

I made my stance in this situationship abundantly clear. It’s all for show. A way to shut our parents up and get them off our backs. Period.

Sure, I should be friendlier toward Abigail. At least act as though I’m interested in her life. Be afriend.

But why add another lie to the stack? It’s not as if I’m outgoing and chipper with Tymber or Oliver. Why be someone I’m not for her? If anything, that’d make it worse.

When she realizes I have yet to engage in conversation, she asks about work. How it’s going. What project has me so busy and exhausted. I give her brief, vague answers and tell her I’m not at liberty to share details.

And then, somehow, the conversation feels lighter.

She tells me about her boyfriend and what he does for a living—retirement home nurse. That they’re saving up and hope to move out of Stone Bay in the next year or two. She talks about her nephew, Tucker, and the hardships he’s endured since his mom abandoned him with her brother.

Surprising myself, I tell her I’d like to meet her boyfriend. That we should all hang out together sometime. Make this already awkward situation a little less uncomfortable.

When the suggestion leaves my lips, I immediately think of Oliver. How I wish it was him across the table instead of Abigail. How I wish I could bring him along when Abigail brings her boyfriend.

The rest of dinner is a blur of more one-sided conversation. Unfortunately for her, I don’t feel bad for my silence.

This is all a farce and I don’t need to know her. Nothing more than basics. We can be surface-level friends without spilling all our truths or secrets.

We skip dessert and I pay the bill. Roughly an hour after slipping into the booth, we head for the exit. I hold the door open and let her walk out first.

The wind whips her hair and she laughs, tucking it behind her ears. A few steps into the lot, I turn in the direction of my car, ready to leave.

“Thanks, Levi.”

Not wanting to be a total dick, I turn around. “No problem.”

She takes a step in my direction, but there’s still a solid two or three feet between us. “You’ve made this whole thing a little less weird.” She laughs.

I don’t know what to say or how to react to that, so I remain silent and still.

When she takes another step and reaches for my arm, I inch back. And as I do, movement in my periphery draws my attention. Shifting my gaze across the side street, I freeze.

Just outside the pizza restaurant, Oliver stands impossibly still, his eyes glued to my face. He may be several feet away, but the hurt in his eyes is undeniable.

With a subtle shake of his head, he wilts.

The sight is a jagged knife to the heart.

Abigail forgotten, I walk toward Oliver. When he starts to move, I lengthen my stride.

“Ollie!”

He picks up speed, and so do I. And then I’m running across the street, ignoring traffic and pedestrians and everything else trying to stop me from getting to him.

I just need to reach him.

Please let me make it to him before he drives off.

“Ollie!”

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