Page 9 of From Now On

“Because you told me Rylan had a girls’ night on Friday two days ago.”

“Oh.” Aidan shrugs before he glances at Conor. “What are you doing home?”

“He got kicked out.”

A realization I meant to say in my head, yet accidentally got spoken aloud. Another slip.

Conor and Aidan are both staring at me. I shrug a shoulder, attempting to act casual. “Right?”

Harlow would have wanted to comfort her best friend. As soon as she heard about the breakup, I’m sure she kicked Hart out for girl talk.

“Yeah,” Hart grumbles.

“Shit,” Aidan says. “What’d you do?”

“Nothing. Eve had some emergency and Harlow went to pick her up.”

“What kind of emergency?” Aidan asks the question before I can.

Did something else happen? My brain is trained to always leap to the worst-case scenario.

“Something about her boyfriend, I think. I dunno. I only heard Harlow’s end of the conversation.”

I relax some. It doesn’t sound like anything else happened, and Harlow is with her now.

“Huh,” Aidan says. “Well, since we’re all home, sitting around like losers instead of champions, why don’t we?—”

His phone buzzes, and Phillips snatches it before I can blink.

Conor snickers.

I smile, holding in another sigh. No matter what he says, Aidan is smitten.

“See you guys.” Aidan leaps off the couch, then hustles toward the entryway. He has no jacket on. I hope he stops for shoes, or else he’s going to have an unpleasant surprise when he steps outside.

“You’re a fucking tamed stallion, Phillips!” I call after him.

Conor’s still laughing when the door slams shut.

CHAPTER THREE

EVE

Forty-one months.

Ben and I started dating in October of our freshman year. It’s March of our senior year now. I’m not counting March in the total tally, even though we’re more than halfway through the month, because Ican. And because forty-one sounds slightly better than forty-two.

“Forty-one months,” I announce, flinging my phone away without bothering to close out of the calendar app. “That’s how much fucking time I wasted.”

“You didn’t waste anything,” Harlow says. She’s curled up on the couch next to me, feet tucked under her. My best friend hasn’t left my side since she picked me up on the street thirty minutes ago. “Don’t let the ending ruin the rest.”

That sounds like philosophical bullshit to me. Harlow is trying to be supportive, and I appreciate the sentiment, but how can the endingnotruin the rest? I don’t know how I’ll be able to look back on the past forty-one months with any sentimentality.

I exhale, tilting my head back and staring at the plaster ceiling. There’s a semi-concerning yellow stain I’ve nevernoticed before. Hopefully the roof doesn’t cave in before we move out in May.

Ben isn’t impulsive. This was a decision he thought through. Has he known for weeks? Months? All the planning, all the conversations. Was there a part of him thatalwaysknew he wouldn’t be able to follow through, while I was looking ahead, oblivious and excited?

I don’t want to know the answer.

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