Time began moving at super-speed.

School assignments took up every minute of every day, and work filled my nights with additional stress, exhaustion, and underpaid labor. To make matters worse, Baker had purposely scheduled different shifts than me, so The Orchard was peak misery right now. And without the spitfire in my life or Theo's warm presence by my side, I felt like I was operating on default mode, completely disconnected from the real world. My days blurred together, and I found myself disassociating every few minutes. Distracted, detached, disengaged.

Then I woke up to a phone call I'd never forget.

"It happened, mija," my mother said, her voice hoarse with grief, and my world slammed to a halt. "...He's gone."

Upon hearing those words, I immediately slumped to the floor and folded my arms over my knees, crumpling in on myself like aluminum foil.

No.

Not yet...

Jay wasn't supposed to leave me yet. He was never supposed to leave.

"...I'm sorry, Romana."

The pain spilled down my cheeks, and I cried for hours and hours, bailing water out of this ship before it sank to the bottom of the sea. I cried so hard I gave myself a headache, and my raw throat and swollen eyes followed me the rest of the day, refusing to gift me a moment of reprieve.

Dammit, Jay.

I'd seen him just a few days ago, and while he'd grown weaker over the past month, I didn't think he was anywhere close to his exit. If I'd suspected he was approaching his final hours, I would have sprinted to his apartment for a long, suffocating hug. I would have told him again how much I loved him. I would have said goodbye.

But it just...happened. Just like that. And nothing—not even a terminal diagnosis and weeks of hospice care—could have prepared me for this horrible feeling. My uncle was gone, removed from this world, from my life. And now my favorite human existed solely in the past tense.

How was I supposed to carry on with a wound so deep and damaging?

How could anyone?

I lay on my bed, staring at my wall as the morning slowly bled into the afternoon. I knew I couldn't stay isolated forever, drowning in the finality of his death. It would be too easy to let myself sink into a depressive state right before the end of the semester; I was already halfway there. I needed to talk to someone about this, someone who understood what Jay meant to me, but Baker was out of the question, and seeing Ian weeping over his father would send me right back over the edge.

Really, the only person I wanted to see right now was Theo. He'd survived the sting of cancer before—he'd know how to get through it.

And I'd missed him.

I'd missed him a lot.

But I hadn't spoken to him for ages, and it was unacceptable to contact him now, only when it benefited me. That wasn't fair, and I'd look like a total douche if I showed up out of nowhere asking for a hug. He'd have every right to turn me away given my aloof behavior.

Then again, he'd spent quality time with Jay, and something told me he'd put his vexations aside long enough to comfort me today—even if I didn't deserve it. And maybe that neutral space would grant us the chance to finally talk things over. Work out the kinks and smooth out the wrinkles.

At the very least, I owed him an explanation for withdrawing. And an apology.

Before Carl could talk me out of it, I splashed some water on my face, threw on a sweatshirt, and drove over to Theo's apartment before sundown. It was Friday, his usual night off from the coffee shop, so I hoped he wasn't hosting a dinner with the gang or Charlie. I couldn't bear the thought of walking in on his friend group like this, so egregiously unwell and dehydrated. The thought was so unbearable, I nearly picked up my phone and called him to gauge his availability, but I wanted to see him first.

I needed to see him.

Twenty minutes later, I was staring at the pentagram on Theo's front door, scrounging for the inner strength to knock. His old truck was here, along with the Jaguar, and I didn't see any familiar cars in the parking lot. Which meant he was very likely home and unaccompanied, and I was out of excuses.

I'd have to tell him how I felt. Tonight.

When the tears dried, and he asked me why I was really here after weeks and weeks of silence, I'd have to look him in the eye and tell him I didn't want to compete for his affections. That somewhere along the way, I'd fallen in love with him, and I couldn't stand the thought of losing him after everything we'd been through. And certainly not because of Carl.

I had to take the leap I'd feared all along.

With a shaky exhale, I knocked hard enough to catch the musician's attention, and a second later, Alyssa opened the door in pajama shorts and one of Theo's gray t-shirts.

"Oh...hi," she said, taken aback by my haggard appearance.

My tongue turned to lead, and the speech I'd prepared withered to dust.

"Jesus, Lyssa. You can't just answer my door like you own the place," Theo said, pulling a shirt over his head as he stepped into view. His bedhead was as wild as ever, and a small layer of stubble peppered his chin.

Then his eyes fell on me, and he blanched.

"Mona..." 

The guilt and alarm that flashed across his face told me everything I needed to know, and I'd never felt so stupid. I spun on my heels without a word and raced back down the stairs.

Not you thinking he'd actually be upset over you!

Classic Moe. Forever the romantic.

Theo followed after me, snatching my wrist as I reached for my car door. "Moe, wait. Please."

I slowly turned to face him, but all my emotions had evaporated. I just looked at him with empty eyes, and he grew panicked when he searched my face and found nothing. Not a single feeling.

"I never expected to see you again, okay? I thought we were done," he insisted, speaking too fast, too hurriedly. "You hadn't talked to me in a month. You stopped coming to the café, you ignored my calls, and when I went to your condo on your nights off, your roommates claimed you weren't home. It seemed pretty clear to me that we were finished." His grip slackened on my arm. "Then Alyssa showed up last night, and we both got drunk, and—"

"I know the rest," I told him calmly. I'd lived it.

He stared at me, his eyes wide and glossy and bruised, as if I were the one breaking his heart today, not the other way around. "This didn't mean anything to me. Nothing. You have to know that." He ran his hand through his hair. "Fuck. I thought we were over, and I was upset about you cutting me off. I just needed—"

"You needed someone to hook up with," I finished. "A rebound with no expectations."

He shook his head profusely. "Don't do that. It was different between you and me, and you know it." 

The pain in my chest finally pierced the veil of indifference. "...I saw the box, Theo."

He faltered. "What?"

"Under your bed. The box of photos and trinkets dedicated to Alyssa." I glared up at him. "I saw your mother's wedding ring and the apology letter you kept."

He closed his eyes, finally putting the pieces together. Finally understanding. "Is that why you disappeared?"

"You were going to propose to her when she got back from Spain, and you couldn't let go of that future. It's like that box was a life you weren't done living." He didn't deny it, and the confirmation burned up any lingering hope I'd nurtured. "Then you drove all night in a blizzard to get Alyssa out of trouble, and it finally clicked for me. Before, I'd thought it was your fear of getting hurt again that kept you from dating, but you were just...still in love with her. All this time."

"That's not true."

I scoffed and gestured to the fourth story of his apartment, where Alyssa stood watching over us. "Obviously."

He stepped forward, begging me to hear him out. "Look. Maybe some part of me wasn't ready to cut Alyssa out of my life completely. I did love her a lot, and I loved how she used to make me feel. But I was there with you, Moe. I was ready to move on. You're the one who disappeared. You're the one who gave up on us."

"...Us," I repeated thickly, bewildered. "Since when was there an us?"

He let out a sad puff of air. "When wasn't there?"

I swallowed, thinking back to the first night he cooked me dinner—back when neither of us could define what we felt for each other. I thought of the day he took me to the Steeple and held my hand as he told me about his mother, or the countless moments outside the bedroom that felt too intimate for friendship and too real for a fling.

Perhaps he'd truly meant it that evening at the pool, that his feelings for me were genuine. Perhaps it was my fear of the inevitable that led to the inevitable.

But it didn't matter anymore. Regardless of his feelings toward me, he'd still taken Alyssa back.

"I'm just complying with the terms of our contract," I said quietly. "Which is apparently void now that you're sleeping with other people."

"Our contract ended with us being friends, and friends don't ghost each other," he argued. "All I wanted was to talk it out and fix whatever I did. But you wouldn't even text me back. What was I supposed to think? How was I supposed to know where your head was at?"

My eyes dipped to the pavement. He wasn't wrong on that account. Distancing myself was cruel, especially after I'd buried his drunken confession and avoided any and all discussion of our feelings.

But...were my reservations that irrational when it had only taken him a thirty-six days to fall back in bed with his ex? Clearly, her intoxicated behavior wasn't all that off-putting if he invited her in and poured her a drink. Clearly, he was still willing to sleep with the girl who allegedly broke his heart and any semblance of trust.

Clearly, he still wasn't over his high school sweetheart.

My intuition had detected his denial all along, and so had Alyssa. She'd predicted their reunion months ago, and she'd been right about my temporary role in his life.

And hell, if she wanted him that badly, she could have him. I wasn't going to fight her over a man who'd built a shrine for her beneath his bed. Fighting for second place was just pathetic, and winning wasn't worth this god-awful feeling in my stomach.

I didn't care what Baker said; this mess wasn't the relationship I wanted. His vacillating devotion wasn't the love I deserved. And maybe that was just Carl talking, but the two of us seemed to be one and the same these days.

"Even now, I still don't know how you feel," he admitted, granting me the chance to correct any misunderstandings, to set us back on course in just a few simple words.

But that path was tainted now, and there was no going back.

"Neither do I," I whispered.

"...You knew before Alyssa opened my door, though, didn't you?" he asked, and the self-loathing in his voice clawed at my heart.

Yes, I did.

Fighting a river of tears, I glanced up at the girl hugging his doorframe. And then I said the one thing that would destroy us for good.

"I think you should give her another chance."

The statement punched the air out of his lungs, as I'd known it would.

"What?"

"She's still fighting for you four months later, Theo. That's worth something, isn't it?" I slipped inside my rust bucket of a car, watching him lose me, watching him mourn the future we might have had. "And you kept all that stuff for a reason. Maybe you need to explore why."

I'd always been an obstacle for these two. Or perhaps even worse, a lesson.

"Stop telling me what I need," he bit out, frustrated with my blatant defense mechanisms. "Last night was a mistake, okay? An attempt to forget about you! I didn't go looking for Alyssa; she just showed up, and I acted impulsively. I never would have done it if I thought you'd be back." Saltwater slipped from those beautiful hazel eyes, and it was almost enough to make me hesitate. "I'm sorry, Moe."

The apology set my tears free for the millionth time that day, and I hated how badly I wanted to leap from my vehicle and embrace him one last time.

"I'm sorry, too," I said, and I meant it.

Severing eye contact—and the beautiful connection we'd forged—I closed my door and drove away.