"No," I whisper, my heart sinking at the sound of the apartment door opening and clicking shut.

"No. No. No." I specifically remember telling Beckett that Monday was my day to pack up, emphasizing for him not to be around when I arrived.

Of course, this would happen. Of course, he just shows up when I asked him not to.

The tears bubbling up behind my eyes remind me I've had just a little bit on my mind lately. Don't think about how overwhelmed you are, June. Don't think about moving your things to your parents' place. Don't think about how it felt to leave Wells the other day. Don't think how you're going to have to see him tomorrow at work.

Oh god, now my eyes are stinging, and my nose is trickling, and all I want is to sink into the couch in front of me and disappear under my favorite turquoise heated blanket for a very very long time.

"Please, just leave," I plead in a wobbly voice, squeezing my eyes shut as I hear the steps come closer. "If you do, I promise I'll leave the Dyson vacuum."

"There's no way you're giving him the Dyson Vacuum. I bought you that for Christmas last year," Ellis asserts, jolting my eyes open at the sound of her voice.

"You didn't buy it for her, Ellis. You had extras from with they sponsored you," Delaney retorts, shaking her head listlessly.

"Oh, thank god," I breathe out putting my hand to my chest, relief washing over me as I see Ellis and Delaney standing in the kitchen. "It's just you guys," I manage, offering them a watery smile.

"Just us? I took a day off work to come help you pack your shit. I'm supposed to be decorating my classroom right now," Delaney says, grabbing Beckett's portable Sonos speaker off the counter and tossing it into one of the boxes in the kitchen.

"That's not mine," I say, pointing to the box.

"It is now."

"You're not crying again are you?" Ellis approaches, concerned.

I shrug, brushing away my tears. "I wasn't a few seconds ago. That's a new record. Four hours," I attempt to joke, but my laughter comes out too wobbly.

They both cast sympathetic glances my way, prompting an eye roll from me.

"Don't give me that look. I'm fine," I assert, averting my gaze as I continue packing my books into the box.

"No, you're not. You're a mess," Delaney says as she walks in, glancing into the box I'm packing.

"I am not a mess."

There's a grumble of protest in her throat as she heads over to the kitchen. "Yes, you are. Your sweatshirt is inside out and backward, your bun is halfway coming undone, you have two different socks on your feet, and your eyes are puffy."

Instinctively, I touch the collar of my grey crew neck sweatshirt and glance down. Sure enough, it's inside out and backward, there's a coffee stain not only on my sweatshirt but also on my jeans—probably from spilling it on my drive over here. And as if that weren't enough, I look down at my feet, I have one cream sock with strawberries printed on it, while the other is mustard-colored with stripes.

Adjusting the hem of my sweatshirt, I glance over at Ellis. Her expression confirms Delaney's assessment as she scrunches her nose, silently concurring. "Are you ever going to tell us what Wells—" Ellis begins.

"Don't," I interject firmly, raising my voice, making it clear that I'm not ready to discuss him. I'm not sure if I ever will be. It hurts too much. I squeeze my eyes closed, attempting to will the ache away. "Please, don't say his name," I add, my voice softer this time.

"Ah yes, the man who shall not be named," Delaney remarks with a touch of humor.

"Are you ever going to tell us what you-know-who told you?" Ellis asks as she gathers a handful of books from the shelf and passes them to me.

I had briefly mentioned what had happened that day to them, skimming over the details of how we sat on his front porch and what he'd said to me. There wasn't much to elaborate on anyway. I loved him, and he didn't love me back. It didn't extend beyond that, and it wasn't necessary to delve into all the specifics of things.

"I already told you."

"Not really June," Delaney calls from the kitchen, rummaging through the pantry. "You said that he didn't feel the same way, and that was pretty much it."

"Well, that was all that really happened," I say, prompting an exasperated sigh from Ellis, while Delaney tilts her head back and groans dramatically. "It's my fault, really. I shouldn't have allowed myself to get so close to him. I shouldn't have even started this whole thing with him. I should've known better."

"I don't buy it," Delaney remarks, opening a new box of cookies and walking into the living room.

"What exactly did We—" Ellis begins, but I shoot her a stern look, silently signaling not to say his name. She rolls her eyes. "The attractive boy that you fell in love with—what did he say when you told him you loved him?"

"He didn't say anything."

"He had nothing to say to you when you told him? That's a pretty big thing to say to someone and not say anything in response," Ellis remarks.

"He didn't say anything because I never got the chance to tell him, okay? Can we talk about something else now?" I pause, glancing up at them both munching from the box of double chocolate chip cookies. "And can you both please help me pack instead of eating all of Beckett's food?"

"Sorry," Delaney mumbles through a mouthful, shoving one last cookie in her mouth before tossing the box on the coffee table and brushing off her hands against her sweats.

"You never told him?" Ellis asks, tilting her head, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

I let out an exasperated sigh. "I was about to, and then," I say, pausing to scratch my eyebrow. "I don't know. I was on the verge of saying it, and then he started going on about how it was all just sex, how it was just a summer fling, and 'no hard feelings'."

Delaney's nose scrunches together. "Ew. He said 'no hard feelings'?"

I nod in response, and she shoots me a frown.

Ellis hums softly, tapping two fingers to her lips in contemplation. "That just doesn't sound like Wells, though."

I groan internally. Even just hearing his name brings tightness to my chest, like it's about to crack open all over again.

"I mean," she continues, "there's no way that man could look at you the way he did and then tell you the next day that it was just a summer fling."

The groan escapes me this time, no longer wanting to dwell on the topic. "Can we not talk about this anymore?" I had replayed it in my head a thousand times, and each time just made it worse.

Because, God, I just miss him so much—and it's barely been a few days. I had only allowed myself a single day to wallow and move on because it seemed ridiculous to be so affected by someone I'd only been with for just over a month. I even pretended to be fine during the ride back from the lake with Ellis and Delaney, trying to convince myself that I was okay. But, despite my efforts, the truth is that he's left a gaping hole in my life.

I couldn't pretend. I couldn't deflect. I couldn't hide it or shove it deep inside like I did with Beckett. I was heartbroken. I am heartbroken.

He was the person I had spent every day with for the last month and a half. The one I'd texted thirty times a day and spent my nights with more times than not, the one that I fell in love with without even realizing, and now, the only thing that's left is this aching void. And it hurts.

Has it really only been six days?

"Maybe you should try again," Delaney suggests, disregarding my plea to avoid the topic.

"Yes, because the first time went just swimmingly," I retort, walking over to the bookshelf to grab a stack from my Emily Henry collection.

"No, I agree with Delaney," Ellis says while packing the books I hand her. She pauses, gesturing with a book in my direction as she speaks. "Maybe he was just saying that because that's what he thought you were going to tell him. Maybe if he knew, he'd say something different."

"I don't know," I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. "It's already bad enough that I have to see him tomorrow at work. But the thought of having another conversation, telling him I love him, and him not feeling the same way. Again..." I can't even bear the thought of it.

"You should at least think about it," Delaney insists as she starts to remove some of Beckett's books from the shelf and place them in the box. "I mean, you are going to have to work with the guy. It's going to be awkward regardless, so why not just go all in?"

"I don't know," I sigh, watching her as she packs and seals the box shut. "Delaney, those aren't my books. Those are Becketts."

"Do you honestly think Beckett will ever read these?" she remarks, her brows pinched together, shaking her head dismissively. She makes a fair point. I'm not sure I've ever seen him pick up a book before. "And how do you plan on moving this box, anyway? Aren't they going to be too heavy?"

I tilt my head in thought. "Huh, I hadn't thought about that," I admit. She attempts to lift it, wrapping both arms around the box and grunting with effort, but it doesn't budge.

Stepping back, we look at the box, uncertain about moving something of this weight. "I'll call my brother. Maybe he can help," Delaney suggests, pulling her phone out.

"Think about it, June," Ellis says, capturing my attention again.

"Think about what?"

"About telling him how you feel," she says, plucking the last few books from my shelf. "Are you really willing to spend the rest of your life without telling him how you actually feel?"

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