Page 116 of Tell Me When It's Over

“That’s not—” My voice cracks. “I mean, it is sort of the reason, but—”

“What?” he demands loudly. “Is it harder for you because you’ve always been a huge fan of him? Is that why this is mortifying for you?”

I’m struck speechless, lips parted at his statement phrased as a question. How does he know about my obsession with Violet Wonders? I never got around to telling him because I didn’t think he’d take it well.

“Yeah,” he says coolly. “Mia didn’t hesitate to show me pictures from over the years. Real cute, the way you practically wallpapered your damn bedroom with my brother’s face.”

Blinking back tears that sting my eyes, I shake my head adamantly at him. Now he’s making assumptions and being cruel. “It wasn’t like that. Yes, I was a fan, but it’s not like I ever used you or anything because of it.”

“Then why are you acting like this?”

Why? I ball up my hands again. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this when we’re both upset.”

His laugh is maniacal. “Wow. Shocker. Instead of talking about things, you want to run away from them. Let me guess. You’ll go home and talk it all out with Kyler, right?”

“We’re not talking now! We’re arguing and going around in circles,” I hiss, trying to keep my voice down even though the damage is already done. I have no doubt people have heard more than they bargained for.

“You’re right. We’re arguing. Couples argue, Leighton. You’d know that if you actually gave us a shot.”

This is all my fault? I’ve blamed myself for a lot, and while I do hold some of the blame here, I won’t accept all of it. “I’m sorry that you’re upset, but I don’t feel like being the bad guy here. We both could have tried harder.”

He actually rolls his eyes. “I did try. My biggest problem with this entire thing is that you can’t see that. It was never me you were going to choose, so what’s the point?”

His words sound so final that my heart squeezes until it tears. “What does that even mean, Chase?”

“It means…” The way his shoulders lift into a tense shrug has me staring at him, trying to read his expression. It’s clear though. Blank. Drained. While his tone shows defeat, nothing else gives away what words come next.

“Leighton, dear,” Mrs. Matthews says quietly from the doorway of the room. She looks between us, then over her shoulder where I’m sure people are eavesdropping over our spat. “I think it’s time you left.”

I don’t miss the apology in her tone. Standing, I nod at her and run my palms down the front of my thighs to get the clamminess off them. When I wait for Chase to say something else and realize he’s not, I know I have to make the next move. Maybe the final one. “Are we breaking up?” I whisper, holding onto the doorjamb before exiting it.

It’s awkward enough being broken up with but having other witnesses—his mom—to see it, makes it worse.

His head slowly rises, eyes finally showing a mixture of hurt and anger when they lock with mine. “I’m not sure we were ever together, so I’m making it clear that way we’re finally on the same page for once.”

All I can do is nod, feeling the brush of Mrs. Matthews’ hand on my back in a strange sense of comfort as she guides me to the door. Before I walk out, I turn to her. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

Her smile is sweet, but somber. “Nobody means to do that, sweetheart.”

She doesn’t tell me to give him time, or that it’ll be okay. For some reason, that makes me feel better. I don’t want any more false hope that things will be fine when I know, in a lot of ways, they won’t be.

Because today I lost my first friend in a long, long time. And that seems more tragic than anything that was said between us.

Chapter Thirty-One

Kyler / Present Day

She’s curled into herself with her hands cupped together under her chin watching Jaws. The smile she gives me when I walk in doesn’t reach her eyes, and I know something happened. Patting her legs, she shifts and lets me pick them up like normal, dropping them, and the blanket, over my lap to cover both of us.

It’s probably pointless to state the obvious, but I do it anyway. “You’re watching a Steven Spielberg movie.”

Humming, she pulls the blanket to her face and covers part of it when the shark appears. She used to try hiding like this whenever we watched other things that scared her. Or that one time not too long ago when we rented Toy Story 4 and she got emotional because it was ending so she used the blanket to pretend she wasn’t crying when the credits rolled.

“You hate Steven Spielberg movies,” I add slowly.

“I don’t hate them,” a tiny muffled voice says through the knit material.

I yank the blanket away to see her frowning. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or do I need to guess?” It’s then a single tear rolls down her cheek. Before she can wipe it away, I curse and reach for it myself, brushing the path with the pad of my thumb. “Please don’t cry. You know I hate it when you do that. I’m helpless here unless I know what to do.”

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