Page 102 of Nothing Like the Movies

“I could’ve been there for you,” I said, hiccupping out a sob that should’ve embarrassed me, but I was too emotional to care. “I could’ve supported you while you dealt with all of it. God, was I so self-centered, you couldn’t tell me?”

I said it more to myself than to him, honestly.

“Was I so tied up in what I was doing at school that you felt like you couldn’t say anything?”

“No,”he insisted, stepping a little closer to me, shaking his head.“That wasn’t it at all. I was dealing with so much shit, spiraling and hating who I was everyfuckingday, and I didn’t want to take you down with me.”

“But you wouldn’t have,” I said, shaking my head as grief shookme. Grief for the boy he’d been and the people we’d been together. “You said it yourself, that I was away at college. Youcouldn’thave taken me down.”

“It was already happening, Liz,” he snapped.

“What? No, it wasn’t,” I argued, irritated by whatever case he was trying to make. Because there was no reason he couldn’t have told me. Maybe it was a guilty conscience, but I felt defensive, for some reason.

“Oh, really?” He raised his eyebrows and said, “Remember Jack Antonoff?”

“What?” I looked up at him like he was crazy becausewhat the helldid that mean?

“You were invited to an industry event at Antonoff’s house,” he said, looking angry now. “Do you remember that?”

“Yeah. Sort of…?” Ididremember that I was invited but I couldn’t remember why I hadn’t gone.

Why wouldn’t I have gone?

“You and your roommate Bushra were invited. She went, but you stayed home because you said you’d rather talk to me.”

“Okay…?” I said, unsure of the point he was making. I was also surprised I would’ve done that, to be honest.

He looked pissed that I didn’t remember. His voice was a little louder when he said, “You had this incredible opportunity to dosomething that could help your career, but you chose to stay home and talk to your grocery-stocking boyfriend, in fucking Nebraska, on the phone, instead.”

“So?”I said, unsure why we were kind of yelling at each other now.

Unsure, yet it was right. I was full of rage and sadness and angst about everything that’d ever happened with us, and it was boiling over as he spoke like freshman Liz had been a lovesick idiot.

“So I was already taking you down—don’t you see?” His voice was loud with frustration when he said, “God, Liz, you blew off Jack fucking Antonoff for me!”

“Oh, comeon, Wes—”

“Seriously,” he said, cutting me off. His dark eyes were flashing when he added, “Who does that? Who has the chance to meet their idol but chooses to take anothingphone call instead?”

“Are youmadat me for not going to Jack Antonoff’s party?” I asked, confused by whythisrecollection from back then seemed to anger him.

“Yes!”

I looked up at raging Wes and had no idea what to say.

“Don’t you see? That waswhy,” he bit out in frustration, shaking his head back and forth while his eyes were hot. “That was when I knew I had to br—”

His mouth snapped shut. He stopped talking and scratched his eyebrow.

“Had to what?” I said, watching him censor himself.

“Nothing,” he said, his Adam’s apple moving around a big swallow. “I just—”

“No, Wes, what were you going to say?” My heart raced as I asked the question that I suddenly knew the answer to. “That was when you knew you had to…?”

His jaw flexed and unflexed, his eyes on me, before he said, “That was when I knew I had to break up with you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

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