"You want me to make you a bed?" Roxy asks.

"No, she's coming."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know Lucy. And I know that she loves me, even when I don't deserve it."

Twenty minutes later, she's here.

*

She hasn't said a word. She hasn't even looked at me. Not until she stops the car and nudges me to wake me up. "You're home," she deadpans.

I sit up and look around. We're at my dorm. "Stay with me tonight?"

Her eyes stay fixed on mine.

My breath catches and a slow burn forms in my chest as I watch her eyes fill with tears. She doesn't blink. She doesn't let them fall. Instead, she nods and makes her way out of the car and toward my room. I follow behind her, not speaking, not knowing what to say so that I can bring us both back to this morning, after we talked shit through and everything felt like normal. Nothing feels like normal lately, and right now, I need normal.

I open my door and wait for her to get into bed. She lies on her side, facing the wall. We face each other when we sleep. That's the way it's always been. So this is more that just her lying in my bed. It's a message. A form of punishment—one that I deserve. I get in behind her, push one arm under her pillow and the other around her waist, and I pull her close. "Lucy, can I at least explain?"

Her breathing gets faster and her body tenses. "Dylan enlisted in the Marines. He didn't want anyone knowing so tonight was his last night. He wanted to say goodbye to you, that's why we were calling."

My eyes drift shut when I hear the disappointment in her voice. I get it. I'm disappointed in myself. I should have been there for him. And I shouldn't have kept it from her. I should have been honest from the start. I should have done what she fairly asked and thought about her feelings.

I know she's doing everything she can to keep it together because I can feel her chest heaving, and then stopping. Starting. And then stopping. "Maybe you should try to remember your old friends. The ones who've always been there for you."

And now I'm pissed because I know who my friends are. She doesn't need to fucking remind me. "You think I wanted to miss out on saying goodbye to him? He was one of my best friends. Now he's gone, Logan's gone and Jake's always busy. I have no one left."

"You have Roxy."

My voice rises. "You don't even fucking know what happened, Lucy."

She flinches and drops her chin to her chest, like she's physically shrinking in my arms. I roll onto my back, and pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping to God it relieves the pounding in my head and the ache throughout my entire body.

"Your mom called," she says quietly. "They want to come here on Friday after your last final. They want to take us out for dinner. I said you'd call her back."

"Why? You could have just yes."

"Because," she answers, her voice strained. "I didn't know if you'd be up to faking it."

"Faking what?"

"Faking us."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

-LUCY-

He shakes my arm gently. "Lucy," he whispers. My eyes drift open, expecting to see his chest, the way I've woken up more times than not in the past. But I don't see him. All I see is the blank wall of his room. I feel the bed dip, and then his hand on my arm again. "Luce."

I flip onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. My emotions from last night flood my mind and I don't want him to see the tears already forming.

"Baby." He clears his throat. "I made you something."

My eyes snap to him, and my heart breaks at the look on his face. His brows are drawn and his jaw's clenched. His eyelids are heavy as he blinks. Once. Twice. His breaths are long, slow, like it takes everything in him to keep it together.

Sitting up, I put my hands on my lap, palms up.

I close my eyes and I wait.

I whimper when I hear the sound of paper unfolding. The sound that reminds me of how much he loves me.

And I let the walls between us crumble.

My heart thumps against my chest, waiting for the moment he tells me to open my eyes.

"Open them," he whispers.

I do.

But I don't look down at his sketch. I look at him. And for once, I try to read him. Because he's always been an open book. He's always been so raw, and so sure about what he feels, and what he wants. But now... now, I have no idea. I have no idea what he wants. Or if I'm even part of it.

"Are you gonna look at it?"

My gaze drops to the sketch in my hands. It's not of me. Not just me. It's of us, from above, lying in bed. My face to his chest, our arms around each other, holding on. "You're my art, Luce. My heart."

A tear falls. I feel the warmth of it slowly trickle down my cheek, onto my chin, and finally land on the sketch.

"What do you think?" His voice is so low, I barely hear him.

I watch as the tear soaks into the paper, the wet stain getting wider and wider.

He sighs, pulling me from my trance. "I have to go," he says, leaning in toward me.

My eyes squeeze shut.

His lips touch mine for what feels like eternity.

And I do nothing.

"Kiss me," he says shakily against my lips. "Please."

"I can't, Cameron."

"Why?"

"Because I love you so much, and it would feel so good, but it would hurt so, so bad."

***