Page 134 of Breakaway Hearts

“What if she doesn’t believe me?” I murmur. “I already tried to tell her how I feel, but there are so many other voices in her head making her doubt that.”

“Then you have to drown out those other voices.” My sister’s voice is quiet and earnest. “You have to make sure that your voice is louder than all of them.”

“How?” I ask, almost desperately.

She gives a soft, rueful chuckle. “I don’t know. I’m notthatwise. But I hope you figure something out, Reese. Because for what it’s worth, I think you and Callie are perfect for each other.”

My eyes burn as more tears spill over my lower lids, and I squeeze them closed, taking a long, deep breath.

“Thanks, Vi,” I say, speaking through the tightness in my throat. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay. I love you lots.”

“You too.”

We hang up, and I wipe my eyes. I stare up at my house, resolved to make sure it’s not empty much longer.

Chapter46

Callie

The green mixes with the red, turning the flower I was painting a thick brown. I stare at it, wincing at the way it seems to bleed into the dark gray background. I’m tempted to throw it out of the window, but instead, I keep painting. It’s my fourth painting in two days, but they’ve all turned out the same.

Gray, black, and brown. Miserable looking things. I can’t seem to paint anything happy at the moment, no matter how hard I try to make them bright and healing.

I haven’t even gotten the rest of my stuff from Reese’s house yet. I know I need to, but I can’t quite bring myself to go over there. The two of us haven’t talked since I left his house five days ago, and with every day that passes, my assertion that maybe we could go back to being just friends seems more and more ridiculous.

A blaring sound from the TV beside me interrupts my thoughts, and the announcers declare that Aces have scored. I look up from my canvas to see Reese getting tackled by his teammates as they celebrate his goal. Theo claps him on that back and Owen crashes into him for a bear hug. My heart aches, even as a bittersweet smile tugs at my lips.

It’s bad, I know. I shouldn’t watch the game. It won’t help me get over him any more quickly, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

When his teammates release him, I get a clearer look at his face. His smile has disappeared, and instead of his usual clean-shaven jaw, he’s got a thick scruff. There are bags beneath his eyes, making him look exhausted and strung out.

My heart clenches like it’s trapped in a vise.

I hope he’s okay. I hate thinking that any of the obvious stress on his face is because of me, but I know it probably is.

Just give it a bit of time, I tell myself.He’ll get over you, and you’ll get over him. And then maybe you can reach out to him again as a friend to check on him.

The word ‘friend,’ even in my head, feels like a punch to the gut, as if I’ve literally gotten the breath knocked out of me. The sensation is so sharp and sudden that I almost bend over in pain.

The summer we first met—working as two camp counselors who had barely entered adulthood, running around with a bunch of kids in the woods and spending nights around a campfire, talking and laughing—I had a huge crush on Reese. For a little while, I thought something might happen between us. But when it didn’t, I settled into the role of his best friend, and I felt happy with that. Over time, my crush faded to the point where I could almost convince myself I’d never had feelings for him at all.

Until I opened that door back up.

Until I let myself peer behind the door and see what it would be like to have more with Reese.

Until I let myself fall for him.

And now, going back to being friends with him after knowing what it’s like to have all of that? It feels like it would be torture.

I stare at my painting, making a face as I take in the ugly, uninspired mess. Then I swipe a giant black brush stroke over the wilting flower.

So much for that one. I’ll try again tomorrow.

After pouring my heart out to my mom the day I left Reese’s house, I decided to start seeing a therapist. I’ve been reading a lot of self-help books too, trying to untangle the mess of insecurities I unconsciously absorbed from my time with Austin, and from before we were together too. I don’t want them to hold me back anymore, and I can’t spend my whole life walking under their shadow.

The whistle blows, signaling the end of the game and drawing my attention back to the screen. Reese’s goal was the winning one, and a little rush of pride flutters through my chest at their win. It’s nice to know I can still feel something besides this ache. That I can be happy for him.

---