Page 66 of The Love Playbook

She leans back in her chair, her arms crossed. “And how am I acting?”

“Like someone who cares,” I hiss. “Like someone who has feelings for me. More than just friendship, no matter what else you said. Like someone who’s not ready for this to end either.”

“Which is all the more reason it should,” she insists, her volume rising. Glancing around, she leans closer and lowers her voice again. “This was never supposed to be more than what we agreed. I know that I’m your first for nearly everything, and it’s easy to attach more feelings to that than you would if you had more experience. Neither of us have the time or inclination to make a relationship happen. It’s best we end things now before either of us get hurt.”

“Too late,” I grit out. “And I disagree. What I feel for you isn’t about you being my first anything. I definitely have the inclination, and I’dmaketime. Haven’t we been making time already?”

She stares at me for a beat, that steely resolve entering her gaze again. “And we’re entering the part of the semester where things get even busier. It’s best for both of us if we go our separate ways.”

I tap my fingers on the table, considering her words, turning them over, looking for a flaw, a hole, something I can exploit to get her to see the error in her thinking. When it finally sinks in. It doesn’t matter if there’s a logical flaw in her argument. She’s made up her mind. Nothing I say can change it.

Flattening my palm on the table, I suck in a deep breath and release it slowly, letting the oxygen scrub my bloodstream of the stress hormones running rampant.

She’s saying this is best for both of us, but really she’s trying to rope me into whatever she’s decided is best for her.

“You know what I think?” I ask calmly, and continue on without waiting for an answer. “I think you’re scared.” I lean forward so I can keep my voice quiet. She sits stoically in her chair, her eyes never leaving mine. “I think you feel things very deeply—specifically that you have very serious feelings forme—and for some reason that scares you. Enough that you’d rather chase me away than admit anything to yourself.” Picking up my bag, I stand and move around the table, leaning over her again like I did when I got here. “This is a mistake, though, Autumn. This was always more than the stated agreement. And you and I both know it.”

With that, I push away from the table and turn for the door. But her voice stops me.

“You’re wrong.”

I turn around to see her standing next to the table, uncaring that the other couple and the clerk behind the counter are openly staring at us now, hanging on our every word.

“I’m not scared. I just know my limits. I’ve respected your boundaries. Now it’s your turn to respect mine.”

There’s nothing I can say to that. There hasn’t really been anything I could say at any point tonight. So I say the only thing I should’ve said all along. “Goodbye, Autumn.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Autumn

I stand in the middle of my favorite bakery and watch Jackson leave. I should feel … well, maybe not happy, but relieved. Right? It’s over. We’re done. I no longer have to worry about navigating Jackson’s feelings or making sure that they’re safely tucked away.

Don’t you?Accuses the annoying voice in my head.When you see him, won’t you be worried about his feelings?

I mean, yes, obviously. I’m not a heartless bitch, no matter how I may have come across just now.

But regardless, I know this is for the best. Whether or not Jackson sees the truth of it, I’m acting in both of our best interests.

This thing between us would end eventually no matter what. Better for it to end now when we’re still both relatively unscathed than wait until later and we both end up shattered.

An image of my mother crying on the phone to my grandma about the broken state of her marriage to my dad flashes in my mind, steeling my resolve.

I promised myself then that I’d never end up like that. I never want to be a middle-aged woman with a teenage daughter asking her own mother what she’s going to do without a husband. This isn’t the 1950s. Women don’t need a husband in order to survive and thrive.

I’ll make my own path. Men can come and go. Or to be more precise, after we both come, they can go.

The way it’s always been. The way it’ll always be. And that’s what’s best for everyone.

So why does it feel so awful?

* * *

The next week is spent mostly in a haze. I’m operating on autopilot, going to class, doing my homework, hanging out with Ellie and Piper and Dani, and taking extra time to spend meditating and pulling tarot cards and figuring out how to move through these icky feelings faster.

But nothing is working. The cards only seem to tell me I have to sit with this. And sitting with it is the last thing I want to do.

Ending things with Jackson was supposed to prevent this. Not make it worse.

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