i would like to remind everyone that this is fictional—trey is a fictional character, the events of this book are all fictional. please be reminded of that while reading this chapter, i, in no way, condone or support police brutality.

also, please help out with BLM and for George Floyd in any way you can. #BlackLivesMatter. Always.

warning: sexual themes!

*

"I can't believe you're studying right after we just fucked. I usually tire you out and then you sleep and don't move for hours."

Andy smiles down at her book, flipping a page. "I have finals, baby, I have to study."

Rhysand, from the bed, hums thoughtfully. "So you came here after school to study but you jumped me as soon as I walked in the room."

She twists around to look at him. Her boyfriend is still naked under the covers, arms above his head, and he looks absolutely handsome. Andy has half a mind to jump him again. "That's why I'm studying now," she says, grinning, leaning her chin against the chair. "I haven't been here in a week, you know."

"Yeah, you were ignoring me."

Andy laughs. "I was studying in the library! You can't distract me in the library."

"And then you missed fucking."

She laughs again, louder this time. "No, I missed you," she says through her giggles. "But I can leave right now and go back to the library."

"Finish that section then come back, I'm not done with you."

Sighing, Andy closes the book. "I knew I wouldn't get work done if I came here."

Rhysand's lips curl upwards. "You still did, anyway."

"Like I said." Andy stands and crawls over the bed. Rhysand sits up, and Andy pushes him down with a hand on his chest, climbing over his lap and threading her fingers in his hair. "I missed you," she whispers against his lips, kissing him.

Rhysand's hands slip under her—his hoodie, shamelessly running his fingers down her thighs. "Your fault," he reminds her, hanging his head back when Andy tilts her own to brush her lips across the curve of his neck and shoulder. "I have something to tell you."

Andy gets rid of her hoodie. "Can it wait until after you've made love to me?"

Rhysand laughs under his breath and squeezes her bottom. "Insatiable," he mutters, grasping her throat with his other hand, toying with her necklace. "Does this hurt?"

A heat rises to Andy's cheeks. "No."

"Good." Rhysand grazes the pad of his finger along the light bruises on her neck, and then slides lower, down to her chest. "And no, I'll tell you right now so I can make it up to you afterwards."

Andy pulls back with a frown. "I'm worried."

Rhysand half-smiles. "I was supposed to tell you when I found out, but you've been busy with finals and I figured you wouldn't want it on your mind. And I was supposed to tell you earlier, but again, you jumped me..."

"That's not what happened," Andy says, blushing, weakly hitting his chest. "But seriously, what is it? I'm getting scared."

Rhysand catches her fingers and kisses each of them, keeping her eyes on hers. "I won't be able to come with you to Parkway this summer."

A sigh of relief escapes Andy. She slumps down, pressing her forehead against his shoulder and exhales heavily. "That's fine," she says, nodding. "I thought it was something else. You scared me."

"No, I—" Rhysand takes a deep breath, and Andy pulls back immediately, blinking at him. "I won't be here, in South Bend, at all."

Andy stares at him. "What do you mean?"

"We have an artist abroad who wants us," he starts, and Andy's heart feels like it's sinking, she can feel it sinking already. "And they're sending me and some other people from Sterling to close the deal. It's huge, it's an international project, and we'd be meeting them about the process and contracts and all that shit."

Andy doesn't like this already. She swallows the lump in her throat and says, "How long?"

Rhysand pauses for a moment, studying her face. Then he answers, "A month or so. Maybe less."

Andy's breath feels like it's stuck in her throat. It's Rhysand's work. It's important. She gets it.

But it doesn't mean she likes it. Rhysand will be gone for a month, and he'll be focused on work.

She purses her lips and says, "I'm happy for you. This is huge."

"Don't bullshit me, sunshine," Rhysand says, sighing. He reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair away from her face. "It's okay if you say you don't want me to go."

If she does, will he stay?

But it's just a month. It's just a month—they'll survive. Andy is overreacting. There are long-distance couples who try to work their relationship given the time difference and physical distance, and Rhysand will only be gone for a month—maybe less.

Andy can do it. They've survived three weeks without each other—with her in Parkway, with him here, in South Bend.

The only difference is that Rhysand will be in another country, with a different timezone, and—and they'll work it out. They can do it.

Don't be selfish, Andy tells herself. It's not permanent. It's not like he's moving there without you. It's just a month—it's for work. Be happy for him.

"No, I—I am, really," she says, looking down. "It's—they're sending you for something huge, Rhys. That's really impressive. And you'll do well, I know it."

Rhysand searches her eyes, waiting for her to continue.

"What's the time difference?" Andy asks quietly.

"Twelve hours."

"Oh." Andy swallows. "That's fine."

"Sanford."

"It's for work, Rhys, it's fine, I'll be fine," she tells him, giving him a small smile. "It's just for a month or maybe less, you said so yourself. Plus, we'll have video calls and all. You'll tell me you're not smoking and I'll tell you that my dad is using the foot massager you got him for Christmas."

Rhysand stares at her. "You're taking this way better than I imagined."

Andy reaches around his neck to hug him. She breathes in his scent, brushes her lips against his skin when she asks, "How'd you imagine I take it?"

Rhysand wraps his arms around her waist. "I don't know, crying."

Andy manages a laugh. "I'll probably cry at the airport," she says truthfully. "But seriously, don't smoke. I won't be around to check."

He huffs. Tightens his hands around her hips. "Sage'll be there."

"Who else?"

"Sophia. Bunch of other people from different departments."

Andy tenses. "The intern is coming? Why?"

She feels him shrug. "Experience, I guess. Not really sure, she's just there to assist Sage and I, mostly."

Or because she asked her uncle so she can spend time with you, Andy thinks bitterly.

Rhysand pulls back to flick her forehead. "I know what you're thinking. Don't."

Andy pouts. "But she—"

"Is not going to talk to me unless it's about work," Rhysand says firmly, drawing his eyebrows together. "You trust me, right?"

Andy nods. "Without question."

"Good. I'll keep it that way," he tells her softly, kissing her temple. "I have one request when I go."

"What is it?"

"Because I'll miss you," he starts, brushing his thumb against her cheek, "send me a picture every once in a while."

"Rhysand!" She blushes, hides her face in his chest, hitting his shoulder weakly. "We're supposed to talk about this in text only!"

She feels him laughing. "Where's all this embarrassment when you send me a pic out of nowhere?"

"You're not in front of me when I do," Andy mutters, clutching his shirt. "And I'll send you pictures. I'll make you regret leaving."

Rhysand is grinning. "You know I don't mean the nudes, right? Just your face will do. Any picture of you."

Andy blushes harder. She whines against his chest. "Please stop."

"I'll stop," he says, gripping her hips. "Still sad? Wanna cuddle instead?"

"No. When you're gone, I want you to make me feel you whenever I stand up." Andy throws away the covers, grabbing his face to kiss him. "So you better start now."

"Fucking hell," Rhysand groans, hands all over her skin, pushing her on the mattress. "You do know you won't get any studying done now, right?"

"I'll do it tomorrow while you're at work," she whispers, kissing him again. "While we're both busy. And then you come home to me until you have to leave."

Rhysand grips her neck, and Andy knows she'll have bruises again tomorrow.

*

Andy doesn't feel well at the airport.

It's just a month, she keeps telling herself, squeezing Rhysand's fingers. It's just a month, then he'll be back to you.

And she was right, she's crying as soon as Rhysand has to board, and it's ridiculous, she knows, it's not permanent, it's just work—but she'll miss him so badly and Andy doesn't want him to leave.

Sage assures her he'll make sure Rhysand eats and doesn't smoke. It doesn't make her feel better.

Seeing Sophia isn't helping, either.

"Sunshine, you gotta let go," Rhysand says, gently sliding his hand down hers, where her fingers are clutching his shirt. "I have to leave."

Jenner places his hands on Andy's shoulders. "Andy, come on."

Andy pushes up on her tiptoes and hugs him, kisses him one last time. "Okay, be safe, don't smoke," she says, stepping back, wiping her cheeks. "Call me when you land. Don't overwork."

"I got it," he says, smiling, pressing a kiss on her wrist. Andy presses one on the sun on his own in return. He looks at his best friend. "Jenner."

"Don't worry," Jenner says, clapping him on the shoulder. "I got it. Go, the plane's leaving, idiot."

"Shithead," Rhysand says, and then he steps back. To Andy, he murmurs, "Love you. Love you so bad."

Andy says the words back, and then he's turning and walking away.

Jenner drives them to a fast food and feeds Andy, and though she isn't really in the mood for nuggets, she finishes them all, and when Rhysand calls her, she breathes out a sigh of relief that he landed safely. It's four in the morning where he is, and he has to go to bed for their briefing the next day.

He assures her that Sage sat next to him on the plane—Sophia sat elsewhere. He's smiling when he says that.

"You're rooming with Sage, too?" Andy asks quietly, sitting on his bed, fiddling with the covers.

"Yeah," he mutters tiredly. "Where are you?"

"In your room. On your bed. Missing you already."

Rhysand laughs softly. "It's barely been a day, baby."

"I know." Andy bites her lip. "Text me when you can tomorrow, call me if you're not too tired. Go to bed, you need to rest."

Rhysand hums. "I'll call when I get back to the hotel tomorrow. Night, sunshine."

"Goodnight, I love you."

It's not so bad, Andy thinks, laying down on the bed. It feels cold. Empty.

It's not so bad at all.

*

MJ graduates. Andy and Sabina are there to celebrate with her.

And then she goes home to Parkway, and her dad asks if Rhysand is doing well. It's not obvious, but Andy noticed he cooked extra servings. The seat next to Andy is empty, and though it's been only the two of them all their lives, Rhysand's absence is so apparent that it hurts to miss him.

He's been texting and calling whenever he can, and as promised, Andy sends him pictures every day. Sometimes, Rhysand responds immediately, with words and promises that make Andy blush, things he wants to do to her, with her, when he gets home.

Sometimes, he doesn't.

Andy understands. It's work. It's a twelve-hour difference, and it's not easy.

So when he finds the time to video-call her, Andy runs to her room, abandoning the television and ice cream, and boots up her laptop. She'd call her dad, but he's already asleep, and she can't help but be a little selfish—she wants Rhysand to herself tonight.

Rhysand's face slides into view in Andy's laptop screen, pixelated and lagging due to bad hotel wi-fi, but it's Rhysand's face nonetheless. Andy smiles so wide as soon as she sees him, and props her legs up to her chest, hugging them.

"Hi, baby! You look tired," Andy says, happy and also worried at the same time. Did Sage break his promise?

"Sunshine," he says, and his voice is choppy, a whole other ocean and continent away, but it's Rhysand's voice, still. "I'm fine, schedule's just been a little hectic. The artist is signing the contract this week, but we're already having meetings for his debut. How are you? How's Trey?"

"We went shopping yesterday," Andy tells him, watching his face. "And we're cooking and baking a lot in the kitchen."

"Ah, I miss the loud kitchen in the Sanford house."

Andy smiles. "Are you eating well? Not smoking?"

"Not a single stick," he says, lips curling up. "Sage is keeping an eye on me."

"Hi, Andy!" his friend chirps, coming into view. He waves at her enthusiastically. "Rhys has been a good boy so far. All lollipops."

Andy grins. "That's great. Thank you, Sage."

"Glad to be of service." He salutes her, then he leaves, but not before he touches Rhysand's shoulder and mutters something to him that Andy can't decipher.

"So," Andy starts brightly, clearing her throat and leaning forward on her desk, "do you guys have day-offs? It's not supposed to be work all the time, right? And you have to go sightseeing at some point, I sent you a bunch of places you can take pictures of—"

Rhysand clears his throat and comes closer to his camera on his phone. Even pixelated, Andy can see that he's wearing glimmering studs in his ears, and her fingers itch, wanting to touch his face. "Baby, I, uh, actually have to go. We have a meeting to get to, then the client's buying us drinks tonight."

Andy blinks. It's barely been five minutes. "Oh," she mutters, brain coming to a stop. "Oh, okay, that's fine. I have to go to bed, anyway."

Rhysand nods. "Yeah, you get some rest. It's three in the morning there, sunshine, what're you doing up?"

I was waiting for you to call, Andy wants to say, but doesn't. Instead, she grins and answers, "I was eating ice cream and watching a show. I'll go to bed after I wash up, promise."

"Okay, good. I'll call you tomorrow morning? Your time."

"I, uh, I have plans with Dad in the morning," she says apologetically, biting her lip. "What about Wednesday? Evening, my time."

"Not sure about that," Rhysand says, scrunching his nose. He sighs, and the camera wobbles in his hand. "We'll see what happens, okay? I'll text you. Send me a pic."

Andy nods. She doesn't want to hang up. "Have you been deleting the, um." She clears her throat. "The explicit...ones?"

Rhysand bites his lip to keep from laughing. "You mean your nudes."

Andy's eyes widen. "Rhys, Sage is in there!"

"He left, baby, don't worry." Her boyfriend is laughing. "And yeah, I stare at them for God knows how long then I delete them. I do whatever you tell me to, you should know that by now."

Andy heaves a sigh of relief. "Okay. That's good. You have to go?"

Rhysand's smile fades. He nods. "Sorry, sunshine."

"S'okay, it's work," she says cheerily. "Do well, baby. And be safe! I love you."

"I love you more," Rhysand says, and then the screen flashed to black. Call ended.

Andy sighs and closes her laptop. She misses him so bad.

*

When it happens, Andy is cleaning the house.

She's clearing out old boxes, clothes she doesn't want anymore, things to give up for donation, and she finds a box of her mother's stuff in her dad's room. She's seen it before, and she doesn't particularly care for her mother's belongings, itching to throw them out—but her dad kept them for a reason. So she wiped the box free of dust and let it stay in his closet, where it has been for the past twenty years.

When her phone rings, Andy jumps for it, thinking it's Rhysand—even though there's no way he'd be calling at this time. He's asleep, she knows, but she dove for it anyway.

It's Colin. Colin Farrow. Andy's eyebrows draw together, wondering why her old lab partner is calling her—but maybe he found out she was staying in town for the summer, and wanted to catch up.

But his voice sounds worried. "Andy?"

"Yeah, hi, it's me. What's wrong?" She sits down on the bed, her legs feel like jelly.

"The hospital tried calling your house phone but it's not ringing," he rushes out in one breath. "Where are you? Are you at home? I'm coming to get you. Your dad's been injured—nothing serious, and they called my dad, they couldn't reach you—"

"My dad's hurt?" Andy manages to whisper, shock coursing through her veins. She can't find it in herself to move. "How is he? How bad?"

"Bullet in the torso but nothing fatal, he's in surgery right now," Colin explains quickly. "Get some bags with clothes and things you might need, I'm on the way to you, I'm bringing you to the hospital."

Andy doesn't know how she did it, but her legs move on their own accord, and her arms are taking everything she can grab—underwear, shirts, sweatpants, toothbrush, toothpaste, towels—anything she can grab, she shoves inside a large bag.

Colin gets there in his car within five minutes, and Andy fumbles with her seatbelt. "Is he okay?"

"Doctor said he'll be fine," he answers, stepping on the gas. "It was an emergency to bring him to surgery—he'll be fine. He just needs to rest in the hospital afterwards."

Andy leans against the headrest and shuts her eyes, her breaths coming up short.

"It's okay, Andy," Colin says, trying to sound reassuring, squeezing her hand. "He'll be fine."

Andy gets the paperwork done quick while her dad's in surgery and she books a room for a few nights, where Colin takes her stuff up. Andy waits outside the operation room, biting her nails.

Colin and his father, Steve, stay with her. Her friend goes to get some food while they wait, and Andy smiles at him gratefully. She doesn't have an appetite, but she needs to eat, so begrudgingly, she swallows down her food.

It's nearing nine in the evening and her father's still in there. Andy calls Rhysand—he must be up by now.

"Sunshine, I'm sorry, I'm running late," he says, panting, before Andy could get a word out. "Slept through my alarm, fuck. I'll call you when I get back, okay? Something wrong?"

Andy swallows the lump in her throat. "I'll text you instead. Be safe, eat well. Don't smoke."

"You got it, bye."

Andy stares at her phone. Her fingers shake when she types her message. Dad's in the hospital—he was shot. Surgery right now, not sure how he is yet.

Rhysand doesn't reply.

Andy shuts her eyes tightly, and her palm clutches her shirt where her heart lay beneath the bones. It's beating fast, but weak, and it's tired, and hurt, and sad, and terrified.

Andy wants to tell it to calm down, that everything is fine, but her heart won't believe her.

The doctors say the surgery went well. Andy's knees almost give out, but Colin holds her steady. He needs to rest, they say, no strenuous activity for a while.

He's brought to the recovery room so the nurses can watch his vital signs and possible side effects. Family members aren't allowed inside. Colin and Steve say goodbye and leave, they say they'll be back tomorrow. Andy feels numb walking all alone, up to the elevators, to get to their room.

Andy feels like she's about to pass out in exhaustion as she brushes her teeth in the tiny bathroom and changes her clothes. It's eerily silent, and curled up in the sofa, Andy can't help her tears.

Andy knows her dad's job isn't easy. He's been in many, many fights, and he's had a gunshot wound before, and he always, always gets back up to his feet.

But it doesn't get easier. Every time Andy gets the call, she needs to go to the hospital, fill out paperwork, book a room. When she was a child, Steve had to do this for her. Steve had to do this while Andy was in school, and she didn't know why her dad was unconscious on a bed. Her strong, brave, and reckless father, who'd jump in front of a bullet with no hesitation if it meant protecting an innocent.

She just doesn't want to lose him.

Her phone buzzes with a call. It's Rhysand.

Andy answers it with shaking fingers. "Rhys," she sobs, curling in on herself.

"Sunshine," Rhysand murmurs. "God, I'm sorry. I just saw your text now. I'm so sorry, how is he? Is he out of surgery?"

Andy's head is swimming—she feels like she's drowning. She needs him here. "Yeah, he's in the recovery room," she manages to choke out, sniffling and sobbing. "He'll be with me when he wakes up. Operation went well, he just needs rest."

Rhysand exhales heavily. "Fuck, thank fuck."

Andy needs him here. "Rhys, I need you," she says pathetically, like a little kid, like she needs someone to hold her.

"Baby, I'm here, I'm here," he says, and Andy cries harder, she needs him here, on this sofa, in this godforsaken room, in this hospital with a terrible, terrible smell, in Parkway. Not an ocean away. "Sunshine, it's okay, you're okay, Trey is fine. He'll be fine."

Andy clutches her shirt again—presses her fingers into the bone in her chest, feels her heart pounding weakly. Tiredly. "He'll be fine," Andy whispers brokenly, wetness coming from her lashes. "He's fine."

"Deep breaths, sunshine," Rhysand tells her, and Andy follows his instructions, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Good girl. You're okay. Trey's okay."

Andy nods. She nods. "I'm sorry, were you busy?" she asks in a small voice.

"No," he answers quickly. "No, I'm free. I'll stay with you until Trey's up. I need to see your old man's face, too."

Andy manages a small, small smile. "Thank you."

"You're okay, baby," Rhysand says, and Andy nods again, like he can see her. "You want me to video-call? Can you tell me what you did today? Have you eaten?"

When her dad's awake and groggy, Andy shows Rhysand through the camera. Trey can't answer him yet, but he recognizes Rhysand, and his eyes crinkle up a bit—the way they do when he smiles. Rhysand takes a deep breath and says, "Glad you're okay, Trey. Please get some rest, don't worry your daughter too much. Or me."

Andy smiles and tells her father, "Hear that, Dad? You'll make Rhys age faster if you don't get better."

Her strong, brave, and reckless dad is on the bed, helpless and unmoving, but Andy keeps her smile, and Trey keeps his on his eyes.

Rhysand tells Andy, "Sunshine, you need to get some rest. I can see how tired you are. Both of you need to go to bed."

Andy know he's right. She can feel her exhausting seeping through her skin. She nods. "Okay. I'll text you updates. Please call me when you can, okay?"

"I will, I need to check on you and Trey," he says, and Andy's smile grows bigger. "Go to bed, baby. I know Trey can hear me, but fuck it, I love you."

Andy laughs. "I love you too. Bye! Dad, say bye!"

Her dad's eyes are laughing.

*

Trey is back to normal in a few days, and he's complaining about being in bed.

"I'm fine, kid, I need to get out of this stuffy room."

"No, the doctor said you're not okay to leave yet," Andy scolds him firmly, pushing his shoulder down as he tries to get up. "You stay here until you're better."

Her dad grunts unhappily, lips pressing into a thin line. "When did you get so bossy?"

"When you got yourself shot," Andy fires back, rolling her eyes. "Colin is coming by in a few with food, okay? So relax, I know you're bored, but just...watch TV or something. Dad, you can't leave yet. Understand?"

"Fine," he huffs, grabbing the remote. "But you need to go home and shower. You stink, kid."

Andy went home yesterday. She scrunches her nose and says, "You stink more."

"I'm bedridden."

"Whatever."

Rhysand calls while her dad's asleep. "How is he?" he asks, and his voice sounds tired.

Andy crosses her arms over her chest, closing the door quietly and stepping out into the hallway. "Better. He's complaining about being in bed, so he's back to his normal self."

"That's good," Rhysand mutters. "That's really good, sunshine. Have you been eating? Resting well?"

"What about you? You don't sound good," Andy says, frowning. "And why are you up? It's two in the morning there."

He sighs through the line. "I'm...we're all up working to get the contract going. The deal's sealed, but there's a lot more to be done. I'll go to bed in a while."

Andy bites her lip and says, "Okay. As long as you're not smoking. Please wash up and get some rest, okay?"

Colin steps out the elevator. He smiles and raises the bags he's holding. "Got you food. Is Trey asleep?"

Andy smiles back at him, pulling the phone away from her ear, and says, "Thank you so much, I'm starving. Yeah, but just go on inside and he'll wake up—he needs to eat, anyway. Thanks so much, Colin, I owe you a lot."

Colin ruffles her hair, and he steps inside the room.

Andy returns her attention to Rhysand. "Sorry, baby, that was just Colin. He's been coming to visit every day since the accident, he's the one who brought me to the hospital."

Rhysand pauses. Then he says, "Oh, that's good. Someone's there to keep an eye on you."

Andy can't decipher his tone. She says, "Yeah. He's been a lot of help. His dad comes by, too. That's when I go home and shower, it's really, really uncomfortable to take a shower here."

Rhysand hums. "I bet. I just heard you say you were starving, so go on ahead and eat. I'll head to bed. I'll call you tomorrow if I can, okay?"

Andy sighs and nods, leaning against the wall. "You're so busy."

Rhysand is quiet for a moment. "It's work, Sanford," he murmurs tiredly. "I'm sorry, I've been calling when I can."

It's true. It's just that—Andy feels selfish. She wants him here, and his 'if I can's are getting less and less. Andy knows it's work, Andy understands that it's important, and the time difference and exhaustion and the situation with her father don't make things any easier.

She mutters, "I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I know you've been doing your best, and I love you for that. Go to bed, okay? Dad and I are going to eat lunch."

"Okay," he says. "Night, sunshine."

"Goodnight."

The call ends.

*

It starts when Rhysand misses her call—her dad can go home, and she's ecstatic about it, and she wanted Rhysand to be the first to know.

But he doesn't answer. Doesn't respond to her text, either.

Andy doesn't know why, but she gets annoyed. She knows it's irrational, she knows he's working, but she can't help but feel irritated when he doesn't answer.

When he does, it's in a club—Andy can tell by the noise in the background.

"Trey's home?" he yells over the music, and then it gradually decreases as he steps away from the club. "That's good, I'm glad, sunshine."

"Where are you?" Andy asks, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Ah, company dinner," Rhysand answers easily. "We've been working hard as shit, the executives thought it was about time to at least treat us to somewhere nice."

"So you had time to get ready and dress up to go to a club, but you didn't have time to answer my call or even reply to my text?"

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, Andy wants to take them back.

Rhysand pauses. Then, slowly, as if choosing his words carefully, he answers calmly, "I didn't have time to dress up for the club. It was a spontaneous thing—right after our meeting. And I don't check my phone during meetings, you know that."

No, Andy doesn't know. "You don't check your phone all the time."

"What the fuck is this about?" Rhysand snaps, and Andy flinches. "I'm trying my best, Sanford. I'm sorry I wasn't able to get back to you immediately, but I answer as soon as I fucking can. Was there something important you wanted to tell me?"

"I wanted to let you know that my dad's going home," Andy says, clenching her jaw. "And I was so happy. And my dad, too, and we wanted to talk to you. I know you were working, but it just baffles me how you're at the club right now—"

"I told you, it was after our meeting, in the car, I was talking to Sage and Sophia about the work needed done this weekend so we can fucking relax while we're with our co-workers and get some rest—"

Andy doesn't know how the argument ends, but it does, because Andy lets it go, and Rhysand does, too, and they're still tense but they're okay.

And then it's Andy who misses his call. Steve and her dad are watching a game at home, and Colin took her out for dinner—said it's good for her to spend some time away from the house.

Rhysand left four missed calls. Andy presses a finger to her forehead and calls him back, and Rhysand picks up. "Sanford."

"Hi, I'm sorry, I was just having lunch with Colin when you called. What's up?"

"Nothing, I just had time," he mutters. "But break's over, they're calling me. Just wanted to ask how you and Trey are doing."

Andy blinks. "Oh." She fiddles with the hem of her shirt. "We're okay. He's fine, getting a lot of rest and eating well."

"Good," he says. "Before Sage tells on me, I had a few sticks yesterday."

Andy's shoulders slump. "And you were doing so well already."

"Stressed," Rhysand answers simply. "I needed them."

"You don't need cigarettes whenever you're stressed, Rhys, that's an excuse. It's bad for your health—"

"Rhys," a faraway voice calls—a girly voice, sultry and high. Sophia. "Boss is calling. You okay? You want me to get you some water?"

Andy grits her teeth.

There's shuffling on the other end of the line, and Andy's heart sinks. "I have to go," Rhysand tells her. "I'll call you when...when you're free."

Andy's eyebrows raise. "When I'm free? You're the one who's busy."

"You're busy with someone else right now," Rhysand bites back. "Sure he's waiting."

She cannot believe this. "I'm with a friend, Rhysand. Who took care of me and my dad. And how can you say that when Sophia's right there—"

"Sophia is a fucking intern."

"Colin is my fucking friend," Andy snaps, hand balling into a fist. "Just...go to work," she mutters tiredly. "Be safe and eat well. Please don't...please don't smoke anymore."

Rhysand is quiet for a few moments. Then, softly, he says, "I'll call you tomorrow. Bye."

"Bye," Andy says, and then she hangs up. Call ended.

It goes on like that. Tension coiling in between them—like a rubber band waiting to be snapped.

Andy's holding on. She's holding on until Rhysand gets back—it's exhausting, and it hurts to be so far away from him, to have this...push and pull. But Andy's holding on. Rhysand is, too, from the other side of the world.

She just wished he were around to talk more. But Rhysand defends himself—says he can't do anything about the time difference and the full-time job.

It gets worse when Rhysand tells her they'll have to extend their trip a week more.

Andy wants to cry, and it feels like the rubber band is snapping in half.

"I'm doing the best I can, Sanford," he snaps, and Andy can hear the frustration in his voice. "I'm sorry for not taking your call, it's not like I'm purposely finding time to avoid talking to you, stop acting like a child."

Andy's jaw tightens. "I'm a child for wanting to talk to you more? For missing you? Why is that the shit argument you always make, I'm twenty-one!"

"I'm working a full-time job, Sanford."

"Yeah, and you said it was going to take a month—you said maybe less."

"I can't control shit that happens!" Rhysand yells. "And just because I'm not there, Colin has to be?"

Andy's voice rises. "I don't need your jealousy, Rhysand, he's a family friend—"

"I don't need yours, either," he hisses. "When will you fucking get it? Sophia is here for work, I'm with her for work, can't you just—"

"Then you should have no problem with Colin—"

"Kid?" her dad's voice says, and he appears near the door of the kitchen. He's frowning. "Are you okay?"

Andy takes a deep breath and gives him a tight smile. "I'm fine, it's nothing, Dad. I'll cook dinner in a while, okay?"

He nods, retreating back to the living room.

"Did I just hear you tell Trey this is nothing?"

Andy leans against the counter and presses her fingers to her forehead. "What, you want me to explain our whole argument to him? He doesn't need to know our relationship's business."

Rhysand pauses.

"This isn't a relationship, Sanford," Rhysand says quietly, and Andy's breath catches. "This is five phone calls and a fight every other day."

Andy...Andy doesn't know what to say.

Suddenly, her chest feels impossibly tight, like it's squeezing her heart, and her eyes are wet. She doesn't know how she manages to choke it out, how the thought even came to her head, but her mind is screaming maybe that's what he wants, ask him if that's what he wants—and she listens, and asks, "Do you want to break up?"

Rhysand is quiet.

Andy is choking on her sobs, pressing her fist to her mouth.

"Do you?" he asks in return.

Andy can't imagine it.

"No," Andy sobs, shutting her eyes, her other hand grabbing her chest where her heart is. "No, I love you."

"I love you too."

Andy hangs her head, hunching over herself. "Please, let's not—" she pauses, takes staggering breaths, hiccups on her cries, "let's just get through this."

"Sunshine," Rhysand breathes. "Baby, come on. Why are you crying?"

"Because I miss you," Andy whispers. "Because we fight all the time."

Rhysand sighs through the phone. "We're fine, sunshine. We're okay. I'm sorry. I love you."

"I love you," Andy says back, feeling the words tug at her heart. "I love you so much."

More than he does.

*

When Rhysand comes home, it's a surprise.

She's not expecting him back for another few days. She and Jenner have been alone in the house, two weeks left before her senior year. Her dad is fine, almost back to normal, and the only reason Andy agreed to leave is because Steve will be checking on him every day, and he's okay to go back to work after a few more nights of rest. Her dorm room is empty, and soon, the two other beds will be filled with new occupants, and Andy doesn't want to see that happen.

So she comes back at the elementary school as a volunteer for a short while before the school year starts, and she stays in Rhysand's place. Sleeps alone on his bed.

Jenner goes to work that morning. Andy is curled up on the couch, a blanket over her body, and the television is playing some show she probably could care less about.

When the door jingles open, Andy turns her head. "I thought you went to—"

Rhysand drops his bag on the floor. Takes off his ball cap. "Sunshine."

Andy's breath hitches, and without thinking, she throws off the blanket, leaps over the couch, and runs to his arms.

Rhysand catches her, grunting with the weight of her, but Andy keeps her arms locked on his neck, and her legs around his waist, and she's clutching his body with shaking fingers, closing her eyes at his warmth, his scent, the feel of him. "Rhys," she whispers, still not believing it. "You're home. I—I thought—why didn't you tell me?"

Rhysand's hug is just as tight. "Wanted to surprise you," he says against her hair, kisses her temple. "We caught an earlier flight, we could leave earlier than planned."

"I missed you," Andy says, voice shaking, gripping his shoulders. "God, you have no idea how much I missed you."

"Have a pretty good idea," Rhysand answers, and Andy can hear the small smile in his tone, and Andy has never been so, so happy to have him back to her. It just feels right. "You're crying again, Jesus."

They're happy tears—this time.

"It was just exhausting," Andy admits quietly, sniffling. "It was really exhausting."

"I know, baby, I know." Rhysand sighs. "You wanna let me go so we can take a nap? I think we both need it."

Andy knows he's right. But she doesn't want to let him go yet—she's afraid...that if she does, he'll slip away again. "Just..." she sucks in a deep breath, and squeezes him tighter, so much so that she can feel his heartbeat. His scent and his warmth are overwhelming. "Stay with me first. I don't want to let go yet."

"Okay," Rhysand says, gripping her thighs where her legs are locked around his waist. "Fuck, I missed you so bad. Couldn't sleep well."

Andy presses a kiss to his neck, and silently promises later. I'll mark you up later.

For now, Andy pulls back, cups his face tenderly, stares into his dark eyes. They're tired, but they're happy, and they're looking at her with so much admiration and love. Her thumbs brush his skin, and she's leaning forward, kissing his forehead, carefully pushing his hair out of the way. Then his eyes, and the bridge of his nose, and then his cheeks, and her tears hit the paleness of his skin but Rhysand doesn't mind—then Andy softly kisses his lips, his mouth, and Rhysand presses back just as sweetly, and God, it feels like summer rain.

"Sunshine, there's no one else I can love like this," Rhysand says quietly. Sincerely. "Don't—don't ask me that again."

Andy kisses him again. Presses her forehead against his and breathes, "Ask you what?"

"Don't ask me if I want to break up," Rhysand says, voice shaking, and it's—it's one of the very rare times that Rhysand is unsure, uncertain, doesn't know what to do or say. "Don't fucking ask me that again. When you did...I couldn't—I couldn't—"

"I'm sorry," Andy says, tears falling, hands grabbing the curves of his neck tenderly, brushing the pads of her thumbs against his jawline. "I'm sorry, we were just—we were tired. I won't—I won't ask you that again. I'm sorry."

"I'll apologize for everything I did wrong while I was gone," he says, taking a staggering breath. He closes his eyes. "Come with me?"

Andy doesn't have to answer. She grabs Rhysand's hand and leads him up the stairs—keeps checking behind her to see if the hand she's holding is real.

It's real. Rhysand kisses her fingers. Kisses her wrist where her pulse is.

Andy doesn't let go of Rhysand. Doesn't ever want to.