Page 40 of The Probability of Us

I splash water on my face and check the cut on my cheek and am pleased to find it’s receded and is only a small pink line that’ll be completely gone in another day or two.

I stay in the bathroom longer than I should because part of me is scared he won’t be there when I walk out. That itwasjust an elaborate dream my mind concocted to heal my broken heart. I never wanted to believe that Warren could still want me because it only made the hole in my heart larger, but he’s there, waiting for me at the door when I leave the bathroom, and he kisses me again—long and slow—before heading in himself.

My heart settles in my chest and I breathe easier. Not a dream.

This is real.We’re real.

I walk over to my drawers and open the middle one on the right-hand side, this time smiling instead of crying when I see what’s inside. I grab one of the old shirts and slip it on.

When he comes out of the bathroom, I’m sitting on the bed in an oversized T-shirt and his eyes widen when he sees it, recognizing it immediately.

“I wondered where that shirt went,” he says, a grin growing on his face. “You’ve had it this whole time?”

I bite my lip and my face scrunches up as I nod. “After you told me you took the job in D.C., I started stealing your T-shirts so that I had a stockpile in case you didn’t ask me to come with you and we had to do long-distance.”

His mouth drops open. “How many do you have?”

I point to the drawer, and he opens it. He pauses before he slowly starts pulling them out, one by one. His voice is quiet when he finally says, “Why did you keep them?”

There has to be at least fifteen of his shirts in there. It’s kind of embarrassing, but I knew I was going to miss him like crazy and wanted to prepare. “I still wear them to bed.”

“Really?” He turns to look at me and there’s a rawness in his eyes that I’ve never seen before.

“At first, it was because I couldn’t sleep well without you beside me, and they all smelled like you, so it helped.” I smile nervously but his eyes are endless pools of love. “And then after we broke up, I realized it was one of the only things I had of yours and I was never ready to let go of you, of us.”

“That’s why you kept the picture too?”

I nod and can’t stop my smile at the memory. “That was one of the best days of my life, even if it was a chaotic mess of a moment.” We both laugh. “I could never get rid of it.”

“Remember that first night, when I was telling you all about D.C.?” He sits on the bed behind me and pulls me into him so my back is against his chest and his arms are wrapped around me. I feel safe here—happy, in his arms. “All those things I love are things I know you’d love too. I see you all over D.C. I find myself picturing what your reaction would be to everything. Everything I do, I wish I was doing it with you.”

“You couldn’t let go of me either?” I whisper, the vulnerability of the question coming forward in a way that I don’t usually show.

“I know from your side it felt like I did let go, but I swear I never did.” He kisses my temple. “I was a stupid kid back then who was scared of a good thing. Scared that it was too good to last, so I broke it before it could break me. But I ended up breaking my own heart in the process. I don’t know how to begin to ask for your forgiveness, how to begin to make up for it.”

My heart tightens for that boy—the one that existed before he met me. The one who lost trust in love because of his parents’ divorce. The one I didn’t know about until after he was gone. The one I still hope he’ll tell me more about one day, so I can tell him I love that part of him too. For now, I just keep it light and revel in the happiness of being in his arms again.

“Just never leave me again.” I rotate in his arms and kiss him.

His hand comes to rest on my cheek, and he sighs. “Deal.”

He leaves soon after that to meet up with Peter before joining me and the old Triniti group at The Dizzy Acorn again tonight, so I begrudgingly kiss him goodbye. Only after he’s gone do I question the deal he just made me.

He’s only here for another week. Am I setting myself up for another heartbreak? Because I might love him more now than I did back then, and I don’t think I’ll survive him leaving me again.

What’s the probability it’ll work this time? The probability that we’ll be anusagain?

I’m so used to having all the answers. I’m used to being sure and confident. I’m used to knowing. But I don’t know the answer to this question—maybe the most important question I’ve ever had—and it scares the shit out of me.

Fifteen

NOVEMBER 8 YEARS AGO

“Remember that presentation you gave weeks ago?” Warren asks, suddenly at my cube. He must’ve just gotten out of his meeting, but he doesn’t look happy.

“I’ve given a few presentations in the past couple of weeks.” I laugh a little bit. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

He leans against the wall of my cube, and I can’t help but run my eyes down his body. He looks so good in dress pants and long-sleeved button-up shirts; I’ll have to send a thank you card to whoever decided the dress code because they’ve allowed me this view every day. When I look back up at him, his eyes are dark with desire, but there’s still a frown on his face. I tilt my head in question.

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