Page 108 of Still Beating

I inch up on my tiptoes to capture another kiss, only this one is brimming and burning with everything that’s in my heart. Passion, possessiveness, love, desire,need. I can taste his hesitation as he goes to battle with himself. Right and wrong. Yes and no. Stay or walk.

Dean envelopes me in a fierce hold, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me to him, our mouths feasting and yearning. His tongue kisses mine, and for a moment, we are lost. We’re okay. We’re still swimming.

But he jerks back with a heaving chest, scrubbing both hands down his face as he retreats. “Goddammit. I need to go, Cora. I need to fuckin’ think about this.”

I step forward. He steps back.

“Dean…”

“I have to think. I’m sorry.”

I lower my eyes, forcing back an ugly meltdown. I fold my hands together, my knee bobbing with anxiety. “Fine. Just go.”

“Cora, don’t make this harder. I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

“Go,” Everything comes bubbling to the surface—rage, disbelief, sorrow, rejection. I confess my love and he still wants to walk away. I feel shredded. Dismantled. “Go, go, go! Just get out.”

I try to avert my gaze, try to keep my eyes off his, but I can’t help myself. I glance up as Dean takes two steps backwards. His head is swaying side to side, his features pinched with conflict, and I swear I see tears rimming his eyes. But he keeps backing up. He keeps going.

He keeps walking away.

And when the front door closes shut, I break down.

Dean said we needed to come up for air, but I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense.

He’s gone… and I can’t breathe.

Chapter Thirty

The ensuing week is a blur.I put my brain in autopilot mode to get through work without a breakdown, slapping an overly forced smile onto my face. My students are restless and distracted with Spring Break quickly approaching, which works in my favor, because I don’t think they notice the dark circles under my eyes and my hands that are constantly shaking.

I make my way through the school parking lot that following Friday afternoon, releasing a long breath when I hop inside my car. My fingers clench around the steering wheel as the tension I’ve been holding onto all day—thefaçade—begins to dissolve.

It’s just me and my emotional demons now.

But we are interrupted when my phone lights up with a new text message. I’m taken aback when I see Mandy’s name.

Mandy:Meet me at the ice cream shop @ 4:30

My brows furrow, my knees starting to tremble as I sit and stare at the screen. I glance at the time, noting it’s already quarter after four, then turn the car on and head into town. I spot my sister’s Kia Soul parallel parked in front of the familiar building, so I pull into the space behind it. I haven’t spoken to Mandy in over a month. She’s refused dinner invitations from our parents, and has ignored the few texts I’ve sent her since my hospital release.

I don’t blame her. Not at all.

Which is undoubtedly why I’m terrified to face her right now.

I inhale a breath of courage as I slide out of the driver’s seat and make my way inside on shaky legs. The sun is shining warm and bright today, melting the lingering patches of sidewalk ice and offering a welcome taste of spring.

I can’t help but hope for another change of season today.

Mandy is sitting at a corner booth on her cell phone, her eyes lifting when the little bells on the door chime, alerting her of my presence. She stands to face me, then approaches the counter to order our ice cream cones—the birthday tradition we missed in November when I was busy being kidnapped and falling in love with her fiancé.

My throat tightens as we stand shoulder to shoulder and give the clerk our orders. We wait in silence while the treats are made, then handed to us over the counter. Like always, we take a quick bite—hers, strawberry, and mine, cookie dough—and head outside towards the nearby playground. We skip the secret handshake and the selfie in front of the building.

Our go-to swings are vacant as usual, likely due to the melting ice chunks dampening the seats. We swipe our hands over the puddles and sit down, then I wait with nervous anticipation for what happens next. I want to say something to break this belly-churning silence, but words are being elusive, stuck inside me like bubble gum.

I glance over at my sister who is swinging at a leisurely pace to my left. Her hair is in a perfectly coiffed bun on top of her head, her makeup impeccable. Her beauty has always taken my breath away. I never understood why she wanted to hide behind all the heavy foundation, loud colors, and fake eyelashes.

“I cheated on him, you know.”

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