Page 66 of Untruly With You

I can’t bear to think of her name, even though it whispers in the back of my mind, boring into my skull. That perfect, vibrant color of her lipstick clouds my vision, painting my world in a beautiful, terrible wash of red.

Before her, my life in the city was all work. Long hours. Internships. Letters of recommendation. LinkedIn updating. Ambition and goals and drive.

After her, it felt like I could live again. Her presence eased my guilt about leaving my family, and I could laugh and breathe again.

No matter how hard I try to stop it, mental snapshots of the last four months shuffle by, as clear as if I were seeing printed photos. Her pink hat on the first day of class. Her smile at the date auction. Morning coffee runs. Late-nightstudy sessions. Literature discussions with Cyrus and art lectures from Althea. Thrifted red cowgirl boots.

Hank, Sutton, and I ride in silence all the way back to the barn. After putting Duke’s horse away, I shuffle back to the house, each step taking mindful effort. The stairs inside look as long and steep as Everest, so I take them one by one, dreading the inevitable.

I stand for a long time outside the guest room door. Then, unable to go another second without seeing her, even if it kills me, I open the door a crack.

Laine left one of the bedside lamps on, allowing me to see her splayed out on the bed, on top of the messy covers. She still has makeup on, and it’s a bit smudged. Her short black hair and bangs are just as wild, and her brows are knit, even while asleep. Beside her on the bed, my worn copy ofPeter Pansits face down, only a few pages left.

I wince at the sight of her in my sweater, already knowing I won’t be able to stand wearing it again.

After a mere look at Laine, I feel my will crumbling. Everything in me wants to join her, to tuck her under the covers with me. I could kiss along her neck and draw lazy circles on her arm as she drifts deeper into sleep. Maybe she would stir enough to smile up at me, and everything else could fade away, even if just for a moment.

But if I go to her, I won’t be able to tear myself away.

Even unzipping my bag to find a pair of sweats and a fresh shirt would risk waking Laine. So, after retreating to the hallway and closing the door behind me, I walk to Wells’ room and knock at his door. When he opens it, I see Cassidy on his bed behind him, under the covers, her cheeks pink. Her smile fades when she sees me, sees the layer of blood and mud across my clothes.

“Uh, sorry,” I stammer, shaking my head and averting myeyes to the floor. “I was just going to see if I can borrow some clothes to sleep in.”

“Yeah, of course,” Wells says, ducking back into his room before reemerging a moment later with a small stack for me. He doesn’t hand them over right off, though. Instead, he holds them under his arm, raising an eyebrow. “What happened to the clothes you brought?”

“They’re in the guest room.”

Wells’ silence tells me that wasn’t enough of an answer.

“I can’t go in there tonight,” I mutter.

Coward. I hear Wells’ voice echo back through my mind.Coward. Coward. Coward.

“Wells?” Cassidy calls from the bed. We both look at her. Those familiar emerald eyes are wide, questioning. “Does he…”

“Yeah,” Wells says, “he knows.”

She looks at me then, years of friendship and love clear across her face. “I’m sorry,” she says, barely loud enough for me to hear.

No response feels right, so I just give them a weak nod and shuffle to the bathroom. After peeling my muddy, wet clothes off, they fall to the ground with a heavy thump.

In the shower, my body tingles, thawing from the rigid, cold hours we spent on the mountain. The water runs dark for five minutes, cutting slowly through the blanket of dirt and blood. I scrub my entire body, wash my hair three times, and finally, when the water comes off clear, I dress in Wells’ clothes. All the while, I think about my father.

With Laine in the guest room and my old bedroom still full of storage boxes, I’m left with no choice but to lie out across the living room couch and pull the wool blanket over me. I rear back at the smell of Laine’s perfume, all too familiar, laced into the fibers. I throw the blanket to the ground. Before setting my phone down for the night, I pull up a newemail, typing and sending it to Imagineer Books without bothering to mull over the right wording or even check it for errors.

I regret to inform you I must turn down the offer to work at Imagineer Books, effective immediately, due to unforeseen family matters. I am grateful for the offer. If the situation was different, I would be eager to join the team.

Sutton Davis

29

LAINE

I fallin and out of sleep all night. Each time, I search the sheets beside me. And each time, there’s nothing to find.

When I wake to a hint of pale sunrise seeping through the curtains, the absence of Sutton guts me. Mind racing, I throw myself from the bed and jog downstairs and through the house. There’s no one. No sign of Frankie or Magnolia. No Wells or Hank. And certainly, no Sutton.

My heart pounds in my ears, and I rake through my hair, grabbing fistfuls of it.

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