Page 5 of Exes That Puck
She can fight me in front of her friends. She can cry, scream, run. Doesn’t matter.
I felt the way she kissed me tonight.
She’ll come back. She always does.
The night winds down, guys peeling off in groups, some heading to another house, some stumbling toward Ubers. I stick with Carter and Brad until we hit the lot, then break off, heading back to my apartment. The buzz is wearing thin, and the only thing left is the sour taste of beer and the ache in my chest.
Dylan’s already home when I push through the door, slouched on the couch with his laptop open and ESPN muted in the background.
“You going hard tomorrow?” I ask, dropping my keys in the bowl by the door.
He doesn’t look up. “What?”
“Training. You’ve been doing those extra sessions. Lifting at six, skating drills after. You mind if I tag in?”
Dylan just shrugs, eyes still locked on his screen. “I don’t have another gym pass. I go to the gym off campus, remember?”
Shit. That’s right. “Never mind,” I say, grabbing a water, drain half of it, then walk to my room and fall onto my bed, phone glowing in my hand.
Kara.
I scroll through our old texts, the streak of fire and heart emojis, the nights she couldn’t sleep without calling me. My thumb hovers before I finally type.
Zeke:You make it home okay?
I wait. Five minutes. Ten. Nothing.
I wake up late the next morning, head pounding, mouth dry. First thing I do is check my phone. Still nothing. No reply.
Instead, I open Instagram. She’s posted a couple of Stories. Smiling selfies with Payton and Tori, lip gloss shining under the dorm lights. Cute. Carefree. Nothing about last night. Nothing about me. No captions. No quotes. Just her pretending like I don’t exist.
I remember when she would post those quotes. It was an insight to where her mind was at. Today there’s nothing.
My stomach twists, partly from the beer, partly from her silence. I hit the bathroom, sit longer than I’d like, then drag myself under the shower spray. Steam fills the room, washing away the worst of it, but not the gnawing in my chest.
I towel off, check my phone again. Still nothing.
Zeke: You okay?
Message sent. No dots. No reply.
I curse under my breath, shove on shorts and sneakers, and hit the pavement. The morning’s cool, the sun just starting to burn through the haze. I run the block, lungs stinging, heart thumping harder with every step.
Not from the workout. From her.
From the fact that she’s out there pretending like I don’t matter, when we both know I do.
3
The sound of a clanking keyboard wakes me. Sunlight pries my eyes open, sharp and cruel. My head throbs. My mouth tastes like beer and regret.
Payton’s already up, sitting cross-legged on her bed with her laptop open. She glances at me over the screen. “You’re alive.”
“Barely,” I mutter, dragging myself upright. My sheets smell like stale liquor, so I peel them off the bed and toss them into a pile. Sunday reset. If I keep moving, I won’t think too hard about last night.
But Payton doesn’t let me get away with anything. She closes her laptop, eyes narrowing. “You kissed him, didn’t you?”
The air in my chest stalls. I’m too tired for this.
