Page 86 of Faking Summer
His father's muffled voice filtered through the door. "Reese, we need to leave so we have time before your flight takes off."
"Last chance, Chaos."
"I'll see you in a few weeks," I whispered. The reality that he was really leaving was starting to settle in.
How was I going to find the strength to let him go? I hoped that this goodbye was only temporary, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Anything could happen in a few weeks, and long distance had never been known to be easy. His thumb traced the line of my jaw, and I tilted my face up to his as our lips met again. "Knew you'd say that," Reese murmured against my mouth.
I drew back slightly, my heart pounding in my chest as I met those penetrating green eyes. "You're always so strong and calm," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Do you ever freak out? Worry?"
His fingers lingered on my chin, his touch soft yet impossibly steady, like he was trying to memorize me with his hands.
"Nah," Reese murmured. "But I’m not always strong. You wanna know when I’m weak?" His eyes locked onto mine, stealing the breath from my lungs. "When it comes to you."
Without thinking, my arms pulled him closer, until I could feel the steady beat of his heart again. "Okay, never mind," I pouted, burrowing my face into the fabric of his shirt, seeking comfort. "Maybe I'll just go in your suitcase."
Reese's laughter vibrated through his chest. "You, baby, would get a seat next to me in first class," he teased.
I drew back slightly, looking up at him. "You're just making this worse," I whined. “You better get going.”
"Alright," he said reluctantly. "Bye, Chaos."
A tear escaped even though I fought it. I whispered a choked, "Not a goodbye… a see you soon," as the tear traced a path down my cheek. His fingers brushed ever so lightly against my skin, capturing the tear.
“See you soon,” Reese said, then let me go. And just like that, I watched him turn away, gripping the handles of his luggage.
Just before stepping through the door, he hesitated. One last glance over his shoulder—a look that said all the words he didn’t. Then, he was gone—disappearing into the car, then down the street, making reality slap me in the face.
His empty room felt too still, too quiet. My gaze landed on an envelope sitting on his desk, my name written across it.My fingers trembled, tracing the letters before finally tearing it open. Something familiar spilled into my palm—his necklace. The one he never took off. The one he'd worn for as long as I could remember.
A folded note rested inside, his handwriting slightly smudged.
You know how much this means to me. But you mean more. Bring it back to me. -R
My breath caught. My heart tore open.
He was gone, but he wasn’t letting me go. He left me the one thing he knew I would have to return to him. This wasn’t just a necklace. It was a piece of him. And now, it was in my hands. I’d have to find him. I’d have to return it. To put it back where it belonged—around his neck, right next to his heart. Right where I belonged, too.
I sat on the edge of his bed and I ran my fingers through my hair. His scent lingered there, something I wasn’t quite ready to give up. Finally, after I don’t know how many minutes—I found the strength to stand. I let out a long sigh and I walked out of his room and into the hallway.
"Caroline?" The voice, soft and sweet, got my attention.
"Hi," I murmured through the tightness in my chest. Reese's sister stood beside his stepmom. "I was just saying goodbye to Reese… and was heading out."
"Come here," Lo beckoned with a gentle tilt of her head.
Making my way to the kitchen, tears blurred my vision as I clutched at Lo's hands. "I'm so sorry about everything."
"It's okay… I know that plan was more Reese's idea than yours." She paused, offering a gentle smile. "But the next time Wendy Clark tries to attack my skills, I might need you again."
"Anytime."
"Reese told us PB&J’s were your favorite. Well… that and manicotti, but Mom isn’t the best at Italian," Lo said, her words bittersweet. "Want one?"
"He said you like them without the crust," his stepmom added, opening the fridge just behind Lo. “I may not be great at pasta but I can make a mean PB&J.”
Tears fell from depths I didn’t know existed. "They are my favorite," I sobbed, my voice catching on the laughter and sorrow that raced through my mind. Reese remembered that from high school—I used to toss my leftover crusts and trash into the bed of his truck.
"Used to have them every day for lunch," I whispered, almost to myself. A sudden embrace pulled me in—Lo’s arms tightening around me, not just in comfort but in understanding. No words, no questions, just quiet solidarity. The space Reese once occupied so vibrantly was now so empty, and all that remained was this dreadful ache—the kind that settled deep, heavy, and unshakable.
