Page 66 of The Break-Up Pact

I understand now just why it was different. It was my choice. My tree to climb, my fear to decide to feel, my limits to test the edges of without anyone pushing or pulling them.

I’m thinking of that tree when the sun comes up the morning after the interview and I open the door to my apartment to catch Levi already sitting eagle-eyed on his porch, clearly waiting for me to come down.

He meets me halfway between Tea Tide and the condo, eyes red from lack of sleep, looking every bit as spent as I feel. His expression is another shade of the one he made before the taxi pulled away—streaked with a sincere regret and a restlessness just under it, soft in his eyes but tight in his jaw.

I wonder what I must look like to him. Guarded, probably. Exhausted. Confused.

But more than anything, relieved that he’s here. That when we’re close enough to see everything brewing in each other’s eyes, for a moment, we see down to the bottom of it. The part that’s just us without the noise of the rest of the world. I lean into him, pressing my head into his shoulder, and his arms wrap around me so steadily that I close my eyes, tempted to stand here forever. To pretend that yesterday didn’t happen, that I’m not already worried about what comes after today.

“I’m sorry, June,” he says, his voice low in my ear. “If I had any idea Kelly would say anything, I never would have told her.”

Then why did you?

I know I have to ask, but I can’t make myself do it. Not yet. I shake my head against his chest, raising my own arms to press my hands into his back, to sink further into the steadiness of him. I just want this right now. I don’t want the storm on the horizon. I want to stay here, right in the eye of it, for as long as we can.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “At least not in the grand scheme of things.”

Levi pulls back from me, keeping his hands settled on my waist. “Of course it matters. It’s my fault Griffin sprung that on you.”

I shake my head. “It was my fault for being there in the first place. I thought I was one step ahead of him, but it turns out he’d taken one hell of a leap.”

I try for a slight smile, but Levi doesn’t return it. “I wanted to talk to you after, but you just… took off,” he says.

I take a slow step back, prying us apart. As far as shutting this conversation down goes, so far, I am not doing a very good job. “Sorry. I just had to get out of there.”

“You know I would’ve gone with you,” he insists.

I nod. I knew it then, but I especially know it now—he must have taken the late bus in last night, the one that lived up to the Drunk Bus name. “It’s really okay, Levi. We’re okay,” I tell him, because maybe it’s best if we don’t examine this too closely. If I don’t ask him why he told her, then he doesn’t have to give me a reason that might shake us.

He doesn’t acknowledge it with a nod or a follow-up. He just takes a breath like he’s steeling himself and says, “What are you up to right now?”

I look down at my sneakers, barely even remembering that I must have laced them up. I woke up so tangled in texts and calls and links to articles about us that it was the only move left that made sense.

“I was going to go for a run,” I say.

He nods. “All right.” And then he starts following me down to the beach without so much as putting on his shoes.

As we reach the part where the loose sand gives way to the damp, hard sand under our feet, I can tell he’s working his way into breaking the silence. I break it before he can.

“How about this,” I say. “We race to the next pier. And if I win, we never talk about what happened yesterday again.”

I try for another smile, my eyes glancing at his bare feet. Even at full speed, there’s no way he’ll beat me without sneakers. I dig my toes into the sand gamely, feeling the relief of the run before it even starts. The relief of this conversation being over before it even has to begin.

But then Levi reaches out and settles his hand around my wrist, gentle but firm. “I want to talk about what happened.”

I keep the smile as intact on my face as I can. “And I’m saying there’s nothing to talk about,” I say lightly.

Levi doesn’t let me go. Just traces the pad of his thumb on the soft skin of my inner wrist, stepping in closer. “We’ve been running away from a lot of things, June. I don’t want to run anymore.”

He’s right. Even if I can’t accept it in my heart, I feel it in my body. I’m exhausted in a way that goes deeper than muscle, deeper than bone. I’ve been running from my feelings since this whole thing began. Literally running any time Levi and I had a conversation that felt like it went too deep, that gave away too much—challenging Levi to a race when a conversation got too real has been in the June playbook since we were kids.

I pull my wrist out of his grasp and start walking down the beach slowly until he falls into step beside me. It’s quiet this morning, the way it always is toward the end of the summer. A settled kind of heat that’s waiting to break.

“What do you want me to say? That I’m embarrassed?” I tilt my head at him. “It already happened to us before. We’ll get over it.”

Levi is quiet for a few paces. Thoughtful. The wait feels like wobbling that tightrope again, wondering if our next words will tilt me over or set me right.

“At the beginning of this we said the only real rule is that we’d be honest with each other,” says Levi. “And that means about everything, June. You’re upset. I know you are because you just keep shutting me out. Pushing me away.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want us to sweep things under the rug. If you’re mad, be mad. Talk to me.”

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