by Leigh, Tara
I miss Gavin.
So damn much.
I still find myself looking for him around every corner. I’ll see a flash of blond hair sliding against a square jawline or the shadow of sooty black lashes fanning the rise of a cheekbone, and a sharp blade of longing slides right through my rib cage to pierce my heart.
But it’s never him. No one else has the same unruly golden mane as Gavin. No one else has eyes the exact shade of my heartbreak. No one else has sculpted lips that whispered such sweet, sweet lies.
I know I should be moving forward and making friends and acting like a typical college freshman—studying and partying and eating too much late night pizza.
But I’ve never been a typical anything.
And even though Gavin doesn’t deserve my tears, I can’t seem to stop shedding them. Missing him is an ache that never subsides.
Before I can close the door I’ve left ajar, it flies open, hitting the adjacent wall with a slap. Holding a bottle of tequila in one hand and a folded slice of pizza in the other, Tucker Stockton—Wren’s closest guy friend who finds a reason to stop by at least once a day—walks in, trailed by one of his lacrosse team buddies. “Thought we’d pre-party here.”
Wren’s glossy lips curve into a smile as she sets her enormous art history textbook aside. “It’s about time.”
“Hey, Poppy.” Tucker sits at the end of Wren’s bed while his friend yanks my chair from under my desk, spins it around, then straddles it.
“Hi.” I give an awkward wave from my side of the room.
Tucker holds his pizza a few inches from Wren’s mouth and she takes a small bite from the edge. “You brought the shot glasses, right, Sully?”
“’Course.” Tucker tosses Sully the bottle and he catches it midair.
I stand up, throwing my backpack over my shoulder before this gets any more awkward. There’s no need to wait until I’m the only one without a shot. “See you later. Have f—”
I spin around, almost knocking the glass out Tucker’s hand. The one extended toward me. “Oh.” I feel my cheeks turning pink. “That’s okay, I don’t want to impose.”
What I want is to hide in the library until I’m certain they’re gone. Tucker and Wren finish each other’s sentences and laugh at shared jokes I don’t understand. I asked Wren if Tucker was her boyfriend, but she just replied, There’s no label for what we are. Being around them is like taking a salt bath with open wounds.
“Impose,” Tucker repeats softly, looking back at Wren with an amused expression on his face. “I like your roommate, Wren.”
“She’s a keeper,” Wren responds, her tone droll.
I take the glass from Tucker. “Um, thanks.” I’ll just have the one and go.
Sully lifts the bottle overhead. “Let’s get drunk!”
Let’s not. After Gavin left, I’d occasionally broken down and retreated to my bedroom with a bottle of my mom’s wine. And I regretted it every time. I don’t want to be the kind of person who drowns their sorrows with alcohol, and I know I’ll never find solace at the bottom of a bottle.
But tonight, I swallow the tequila gratefully. It burns a path down my throat, exploding into flames inside my stomach.
I cough as I wave a hand in front of my mouth, my eyes watering.
“For God’s sake, be quiet,” Wren hisses. “You’ll have Michael running in here any minute.”
Michael is the resident advisor assigned to our floor—an upperclassman who gets free room and board in exchange for keeping an eye on about thirty freshmen. He seems nice enough, but if he spots us with alcohol, he’ll have to confiscate it and make a report to campus security.
I grab for the water bottle beside my bed. “Sorry. That one just… went down wrong.”
Sully refills my glass. “Here, have another before we head to The Hill.”
“Oh, no thanks.” I gulp at my water. “I’m going back to the library.”
“Of course, you are,” Wren says, managing to look both pleased and irritated at the same time.
“On a Friday night?” Tucker asks. “You should come with us.”
Wren’s hand closes over Tucker’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “I don’t think it’s really her scene, Tuck.” And then she slants a look at me, one eyebrow raised in challenge.
Something inside me bristles at my roommate’s dismissive tone, at her scornful glance. But I shrug it off. “I wouldn’t know,” I admit. “I’ve never been to The Hill.”
“Never?” Sully’s dumfounded expression is almost comical.
“It’s only been a month. I’m still settling in.”
“Then you definitely have to come with us.” Tucker turns to Wren. “Tell her.”
Wren arches a perfectly plucked brow, her lips flattening into a thin line. “Tell her what?”
“Tell her to come with us. That she’ll have fun.”
She squirms slightly, then glares at me. “What he said.”
Sully saves me from responding when he taps the rim of his shot glass against mine. Without thinking, I pour the tequila down my throat, coughing a little less this time.
“So,” Sully moves his chair closer to my bed, “if you haven’t been partying at The Hill, where do you go?”
I can already feel the alcohol slowing down my brain. “Go… ?”
“Yeah, to party.” Sully looks genuinely interested, his eyes only flicking away from mine long enough to pour refills for everyone else.
Tucker kicks his legs out in front of him. “She’s probably hanging out with her boyfriend, dumb-ass.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, pain slicing through me at the reminder of Gavin. Sometimes, I miss him so much my bones pulse with loneliness. This is one of those times. “Um, no. No boyfriend,” I mumble, flushing with embarrassment even as I continue babbling. “Not anymore. I did though. He was supposed to be here with me at Worthington. But he’s not. He just… He left.”
I finally stop talking, mortified. And sad. So very sad.
For a moment, the room is quiet. And then Sully, Tucker, and Wren all burst into laughter. “Seriously, where did you find her?” Tucker eventually asks Wren.
She lifts her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “I didn’t. She was just here when I arrived.”
My cheeks burn as they laugh—at me—again. I can’t believe I opened up to them about Gavin. I haven’t told my own sister about him and tonight, with people I barely know—and in Wren’s case, don’t even like—I open up like I’m at a high school slumber party. The kind I’d never been invited to.
Before I can change my mind, I make a decision. If on-campus parties aren’t my scene, then why am I here? I need to move on. Try to make actual friends. Worthington isn’t a big school, but it’s certainly bigger that East Sackett. There has to be someone I can connect with. Someone who will distract me from missing Gavin.
The serene smile I force onto my face contradicts the defiance in my gaze as I meet Wren’s stare. “Actually, I think I’ve studied enough for today. A party sounds fun.”
Tucker tips the edge of his glass at me. “Good call,” he says, before tossing it down his throat.
I mirror his actions. And this time, I manage to hold back the cough.
Chapter 12
Worthington University
Fall Semester, Freshman Year
Buoyed by the tequila buzz warming my blood and the cold autumn breeze at my back, I’m feeling excited about this unexpected turn of events. My first party.
A fraternity party, to boot.
Tonight will be a good night. Maybe even a fresh start.
This is what I’ve been missing. Not Gavin.
College life. Parties. Hanging out with friends.
Well… Wren, Tucker, and Sully aren’t my friends. But maybe tonight I’ll meet someone who will be.
It’s about a fifteen-minute walk from our freshman dorm to the row of fraternity houses on The Hill, and we head straight to the one with lights and music blaring. Tw
o kegs are set up behind it and within minutes I’m holding a beer. I like beer about as much as I like tequila. But it’s comforting to hold on to something—even if that something is a red Solo cup.
Sully lingers by the kegs and I follow Wren and Tucker inside, where the press of too many bodies crammed into a narrow, low-ceilinged space makes the house hot and humid. Jackets and sweatshirts are piled on a couch pushed up against a wall, and a guy wearing medical scrubs works the room, doling out “shots” of Jägermeister.
“Want one?” Tucker asks.
I grimace. “Isn’t that the stuff that tastes like black licorice?”
“It’s fucking awesome,” Scrubs yells, holding the bottle over my head until I tilt it back. I almost fall, but Tucker steadies me with an arm around my waist. I hate black licorice and the mouthful makes me want to gag. I manage to swallow it, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand in the hopes of erasing the horrible taste. It doesn’t work.
Scrubs moves on to his next “patient” and I frown at Tucker. “Where’s your shot?”
He lets go of me and grins. “I hate black licorice.”
I should be mad at him. Or at least annoyed.
But I am so tired of feeling.
Mad. Sad. Annoyed. Abandoned. Betrayed.
Feeling sucks.
It’s painful, and pointless.
I find myself instinctively reaching for the pendant that sits just inside the hollow of my collarbone, sweeping my thumb over the smooth moonstone like a talisman.
Tucker notices. “What is that?” he asks, peering closer to get a better look, his fingertips brushing mine as he takes the necklace from my grasp.
“It—it was a gift.” I stumble over my words, taken aback by his interest. And his closeness.
Tucker’s face is just inches from mine, his dark gaze scrutinizing first my pendant, then me. “From that guy? Your boyfriend?”
I can’t move away. If I do, the delicate chain will snap. I manage a shallow nod. “Yes.”
He finally lets go, straightening to his full height. “You said he left you. Why are you still wearing it?”
I blink in surprise. Why am I still wearing it? How could I possibly take off Gavin’s necklace? The moonstone represents June, the month he was born. It’s like having a piece of him with me at all times. I hate not having it around my neck when I shower, but to just stop wearing it altogether… No. Just, no.
A memory flashes in my mind. The day Gavin and I hiked to the cemetery just beyond the northeast corner of the preserve, to check out the gravestones dating back to the Civil War. It had been a bright, sunny spring afternoon and the burial ground wasn’t creepy. It was peaceful, actually. Surrounded by towering oaks almost overgrown with blooming mountain laurel. We read the epitaphs that hadn’t been eroded by time and weather, making up stories about people they commemorated. We left later than we should have, at dusk, and I’d tripped over a small headstone. An infant, likely stillborn. The birth date and death date the same.
The pain that shuddered through me had nothing to do with my scraped knee, and Gavin had dropped to my side, his face a mask of concern. He took one look at my wet eyes and trembling chin and pulled me into his arms, kissing away my tears. And later, when he noticed me limping, he got down on bended knees, pulled me onto his back, and with my hands wrapped around his neck and my ankles crossed at his waist, he whistled the sweetest, saddest melody as he carried me home.
“I love him. And one day, he’ll come back.” I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol talking, but in this moment I’m certain my answer is the truth. One day, Gavin will come back to me.
Tucker’s expression is indecipherable. “He’s a lucky guy.”
“No,” I blink away the memory even as the haunting echo of it swirls inside my ears, “I’m a lucky girl.”
A shadow falls over Tucker’s face. It’s Sully, being dragged by an irritated-looking Wren. “Poppy, entertain Sully,” she orders, then reaches for Tucker’s arm. “Come on, Tuck. I want to dance.”
“Time for a refill,” Sully says, tilting his empty cup toward me as if I need verification. “Want to come with me?”
I glance back toward Tucker but my eyes find Wren instead. She is at the fringes of the dance floor, a small disco light flashing pink and blue from the ceiling above her head. When she meets my gaze, not even the spastic lighting can disguise her triumphant expression.
“Sure.” I join Sully outside, the transition from sweaty hothouse to frostbitten tundra making my head swim. He catches me as I stumble on the steps. “You okay there?”
I brush him off. “Someone spilled beer, just a little slippery is all.”
“You sure? Wren told me to take care of you—I can’t have you falling and cracking your head.”
More like, she told you to get me out of her way.
He refills his cup from the keg and then I follow Sully back into the house, where he heads to the basement. A speaker near the stairs pumps in the same music as on the main floor but it isn’t nearly as crowded. Another set of inebriated undergrads are playing beer pong and flip cup, and in the corner, a few girls are stirring the contents of a lobster pot with a metal spatula, the kind used to flip burgers on a grill.
I eye the empty Crystal Light canisters and fine yellow powder dusting the countertop behind them with relief. Lemonade is exactly what I need. Anything that doesn’t have alcohol.
“Can I have some of that?” I pour out my beer into a garbage can.
“We’ve got ourselves a guinea pig!” one of them chirps, grabbing my cup and dunking it into the mixture. She hands it back to me, still dripping. “Tell us, is it too strong?”
I prepare myself for the overwhelming taste of sweetener, but it’s not nearly as noticeable as I would have thought. “It’s good. Thanks.” I take another sip. “What else is in this?”
“Just Everclear and ice,” she says, lifting her own Solo cup.
Everclear? Is that a new energy drink I haven’t heard of yet? I take another sip. It doesn’t taste like alcohol, but it doesn’t taste like a soft drink either. Whatever it is, it has to be better than straight shots.
I walk back toward Sully, who has migrated from the ping-pong table to a dartboard. By the time I’ve finished half the cup, I’m leaning against the nearest wall.
One of Sully’s darts flies smoothly through the air, jutting out dead center. Scott hikes a fist in the air. “Yeah-ah! Bull’s-eye!”
I squint at the dartboard, the colored circles moving in front of my eyes.
Jesus, Poppy. Pull yourself together.
The girl who gave me my lemonade saunters over, running her hand possessively along Sully’s back. “I call winner,” she says, pointedly glancing my way.
I’m not interested in Sully, but it still chafes to be shoved aside. Again. “He’s all yours,” I say, deciding that it’s time to call it a night.
I make my way upstairs and head for the front door. By the time I get outside, I can’t focus on any of the faces around me. I’m just grateful that the ground rises up to meet my feet as I put one in front of the other.
I haven’t made it very far when I hear my name from behind me. I stop, turning carefully.
“Hey, there.” Tucker jogs over. “I was wondering where you went.”
I take another sip of lemonade, then peer behind him. “Where’s Wren?”
“She got sidelined by some chicks from the sorority she’s planning to pledge next semester,” he says. “You’re heading back already?”
“Yeah.” I turn away, toward the dorms.
“If your boyfriend was here, I bet he wouldn’t let you walk home alone.”
I flinch at the unnecessary reminder. “Well, he’s not here, is he?”
“His loss.”
Exactly. His loss. I take another sip of lemonade, feeling almost belligerent.
I turn away from Tucker, toward the dorms. I’m not worried about walking back alone. Worthington is one of the safest schools i
n the country, a fact they extoll in every campus tour and marketing packet.
In two strides Tucker catches up. “Mind if I come with you? I feel bad. I convinced you to come to the party and you obviously didn’t have a very good time.”
“Not your fault. Wren was right. It really wasn’t my scene, after all,” I say. “And you don’t have to babysit me.”
“I’m not babysitting. I’m just looking out for you.”
“Don’t tell Wren that. She wants you all to herself.”
Tucker reaches for my free hand, entwining his fingers through mine. “Don’t mind her. She’s a little possessive, I know. But she’s not who I want.” He glances at my drink. “What’s that?”
“This?” I extend the red cup in his direction. “Lemonade and… something else. Eversomething.”
He sniffs it, then takes a healthy swallow. “Jesus, you don’t mess around.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing. You’ve just got a hell of a tolerance, is all.” He gives the cup back to me, grinning. “Pretty impressive, for a girl.”
Alcohol and elation buzz through my veins. Impressive. I like the sound of that. It’s the same word that comes to mind when I look at people like Tucker and Wren. They have a confidence about them, an assuredness that surrounds them like a protective bubble.
Next to them, I’m just so… insignificant.
I down the rest of the lemonade mix, toss my cup to the side.
Drunk Poppy is a litterer.
Is that even a word? Before I can ask Tucker for his opinion, he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into his side.
I forget all about my misdemeanor. One moment there is a cloud of vapor between our lips, the next he’s swallowing my sigh. Tucker tastes like beer with just a hint of sweetness from the lemonade.
Not like Gavin at all.
Damn it. Stop thinking about Gavin. No matter how many good memories I have, nothing can change the fact that he left me. It’s been months, and he hasn’t come back. Maybe I won’t get over him—but I have to at least try.