Page 135 of Any Second Now
It’s Atticus.
A dull buzzing sound fills my ears and I struggle to make my body function. I’m tempted to rub my eyes to make sure he’s really there, but I blink a few times instead.
He’s still standing in front of me.
“Hey, Raleigh,” he says as if he’s supposed to be here to pickme up for one of our early summer dating coach dates or go out on the lake.
“Hey.” I grip the side of the doorframe.
“I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your texts last night.”
“It’s okay.” He looks so gorgeous. My heart can’t handle it.
“It helped me get through. Thank you.”
It’s a warm morning, so he’s wearing a short-sleeved Blizzard t-shirt with athletic shorts that show off his thick thighs and sculpted calf muscles. Honestly, professional athletes should come with a disclaimer on them as they walk around the world. One that saysdon’t mind me, I work out for a living.
There might be an interesting cross-stitch quote in there somewhere.
“I thought you were staying in New York City after the game?” I manage to say, though my voice sounds strangled. The opposite of chill.
“I was going to. That was the plan.” His serious green eyes hold me captive as a beat of silence rests between us.
“Good game,” I say to fill the quiet. “I watched it with Lucy.”
He nods and his neck ripples as he swallows.
“Raleigh—”
“Atticus—” We talk over each other and I press my lips together.
He’s here in front of me. The man I realized maybe I could’ve fought harder for. The one I’ve been questioning whether it’s possible to be with.
The one I fully regret breaking up with.
“You first,” I say.
“I changed the plan.” He nods. “I realized I had to come back here and talk to you. Before you left.”
Atticus’s eyes remain locked on mine, his baseball cap holding his red curls back from his forehead. There’s a fluttering in my belly, like I felt when he kissed me on New Year’s Eve. Sweet anticipation and excitement.
“I’m so glad you did.”
It feels like a hundred years ago that I showed up at his apartment door and broke up with him, but it was only last Sunday. Six days ago.
I’ve lived and died so many times since then.
I’ve regretted my decision.
I’ve double downed on it.
I’ve rewritten that day too many times to count.
And in the past twelve hours, I’ve tried to come up with ways to fix it.
“You are?” He puts his weight on one foot, and then the other.
“I am.” I nod. “What did you need to talk to me about?”
