Page 71 of Our Hearts to Break

But the first time someone called me a fag, my blood boiled in my veins. I snapped and punched the asshole, laid his ass out in front of the entire cafeteria. He slid across the floor, blood dripping from his nose, and scrambled back to his table.

I gazed around the room, daring someone else to fuck with me. No one did. After studying me like a specimen under a microscope, they all returned to eating lunch. That was the last day anyone said that word to my face.

River overhears the words whispered behind his back. Some fans have voiced their dislike of him being gay. But for the most part, people are supportive.

“River has a game this weekend,” I tell Parker. “He’s on the road until next week. Sure, we can go to Glitter together. Do you want me to text Dean to let him know?”

“Yes.” A big smile stretches across his face as he rises from the chair. “Wanna playFortnitewith me?”

I shake my head. “Nah. Just because we’re friends now doesn’t mean I’ll let you turn me into a nerd.”

He rises from the chair and snickers. “You’re such an asshole, Brooks.”

The second he leaves the room, I text River since I haven’t heard back from him.

* * *

After another therapy session,I sit on River’s bed, back pressed to the wall. The room still smells of him. Even though the sheets need washing, I can’t bring myself to strip them from the mattress.

I miss him too much.

Knees bent into my chest, I prop the journal on my thighs and flip to a blank page. I promised to continue my therapy journey. And I’m glad River insisted. Talking to Dr. Swanson and writing down my thoughts helps me work out my past and all these intense feelings about River.

Today, Dr. Swanson explained how my attachment style impacts my relationships. I have an anxious attachment. I’m so afraid of losing River that I cling to him… and she’s right. Even before we were boyfriends, I couldn’t fathom not being with River every second of the day.

Our lives feel worlds apart when only miles separate us. Most nights, I go down to the shoreline and sit on the beach. Just so I can see the light on the back porch.

He never turns it off.

River told me to go there to feel closer to him. Sometimes, I call him on FaceTime, and we sit there in silence—me on the beach and River reclined in a chair on our veranda. At our house.

I still haven’t visited our new home, where River says we’ll start our lives.

Four more months.

The wait might kill me.

I drop the pen into the book’s fold and toss it onto the bed. Without thinking, I slip on sneakers, grab a winter jacket, and head downstairs. My feet take me straight to River, to the exact spot on the beach I sit every night.

The light blinks in the distance. A twinkle that calls to me like a beacon of hope.

I pull out my phone and call River on FaceTime. He answers on the third ring, his dark hair flopping onto his forehead as he comes into view. His green eyes practically pop off his face, and they are so beautiful that my chest aches.

“Hey, babe,” he says. “You okay?”

He’s been calling me that a lot lately. I like having a nickname. River can call me anything he wants.

“I miss you,” I confess. “Needed to see your face.”

The phone moves as he walks, and I hear him open the French door. “How was therapy?”

He steps outside, the light in the background quickly swallowed up by the darkness. River plops into a chair and licks his lips.

He asked me a question.

I’m too distracted by his face.

The sound of his voice.

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