Page 117 of Spring Tide

“Okay, well, it’s all I have to offer right now.”

“I understand.” I release a defeated sigh, yearning to reach out and touch her. Just one more time. “But Harper, I-I’ll miss you. So fucking much.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” She perches a hand on the doorframe, signaling for me to leave. “But you should really go.”

I manage a nod, holding back the three words I so badly want to say to her. It’s not the right fucking time. Of course it isn’t, because I fucked it all away. But God, I wish she knew just how deeply I care for her.

Instead, I respect her wishes, hobbling away without so much as another word. At the sound of the door closing behind me, shutting me out once and for all, I have to physically restrain myself to keep from dropping to my knees.

By the time I make it back down to the car, I’m fairly certain Taylor’s gone through LÉON’s entire debut album. She gives me a hopeful look and a thumbs-up through the front window, but I shake my head, letting my shoulders drop. Once I’m awkwardly tucked back inside the passenger seat, she pats me on the arm.

“Sorry, buddy,” she says. “I was really rooting for you and Happy.”

I lean my head against the side window, puffing out a regretful sigh. “Me too.”

She shifts the car into drive, glancing at me out of her peripherals, gaze filled with sympathy. “You still want me to take you over to the athletic training center?”

I scrub a hand across my forehead. “Yes, unfortunately. I have an appointment with Coach in a little less than an hour.”

“And what are you gonna tell him?”

She slowly pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road, headed toward campus. As I watch Harper’s apartment building fade into the background, I pinch my eyes shut, drowning out all sense of desperate longing. If I want to have any hope of making it through the rest of this day, this week, this year, I can’t be solely focused on what I’ve lost.

The only way to move forward is to move through.

“For once,” I say, “I’m gonna tell him the fucking truth.”

35

HARPER

The most challengingpart about maintaining my boundaries is that I have no clue how Luca’s doing right now. I think it’s making me itch. I know that it’s only been a little over a week since we’ve spoken, but it feels like we’re already worlds apart, separated like the highs and lows of a king tide.

I’m so tempted to ask Eden how he’s faring with the team. But I won’t because I’m not so sure I can bear to hear about his suffering, no matter how angry and disappointed I might be with him.

I hate the idea of Luca feeling hurt and alone, physically or emotionally. That still doesn’t mean I’m willing to forgive, forget, and move forward just yet.

His words sliced into me, pierced something deep inside my soul. Knowing he could lash out at me like that again—say things he says he doesn’t mean—has scarred me. It’s bred an insecurity that goes even deeper than the one my parents instilled.

A small part of me worries now that I’m too much for him ... or for anyone, for that matter. That, inevitably, the people I love will start to believe that I’m a girl made of fluff, living in a dream world that doesn’t exist.

But I suppose I can’t live in fear of the unknown. Luca could hurt me again—of course he could, just as I could hurt him back.

It’s a calculated risk, one I have to ensure is worth taking before I dive back in.

For now, I’m throwing my concentration into finishing up the fall term, acing my finals, and putting my best foot forward in this internship. There are only two more weeks left until winter break hits, and all things considered, I’ve had such an incredible experience with the baseball team so far.

The guys have been welcoming and responsive to all my ideas, plus I’ve learned so much from my supervisor, Minh, in such a short time. He’s coming in as a close third to both Professor Gill and Jaqui Nerrie on my list of sports med idols.

I may have started this internship for the wrong reasons—chasing a boy I have no real interest in—but I can’t bring myself to regret how everything panned out. Nate and I have rebuilt our bridges now, anyway. It’s more of a casual acquaintanceship, which I’m more than fine with, although he does still invite me to every baseball party at his house.

All of us are out on the field again today, one of the last outdoor preseason practices before the weather turns. After finishing up a round of footwork drills, Nate comes to rest on the bench beside me, kicking both his feet up.

“I heard your boy’s out for the rest of the season,” he says, casually tipping his chin in my direction.

“What?” I reel back, scrunching up my nose. “Where’d you hear that?”

“It’s going around everywhere.” He furrows his brow, brushing some dirt off the knee of his pants. “‘Ötzi Reynolds got into a fight and tore his MCL.’ Did you ... not know about it? I figured you two were still together.”

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