Page 4 of The Summer We Played Pretend

“I know.” I take another long breath and wipe my eyes again. “I should probably go to his house. See if I can at least get an explanation as to why I’ve been dumped by text.

“Asshole,” Jackson says again.

“Agreed.” I attempt a smile as I stand up and brush off my jeans. “Thanks, Jackson, for…” I wave vaguely.

He stands too and cocks his head as he retrieves the casserole dish and hands it to me. “Should you be driving in this state?”

I shrug and cradle the dish close as though it can somehow soothe away the pain burrowing deep into my heart.

“I'll be fine. I just need some answers.” Taking a deep breath, I turn to face Jackson, his concern palpable in the furrow of his brow.

“Text me when you get there, okay? Just so I know you're safe,” Jackson insists, his tone gentle yet firm.

The gesture catches me off guard, a warmth blooming in my chest at his unwavering support. “I will,” I promise.

“I mean it, Chlo. Anything you need, just let me know.” He turns on the step, then pauses. “And he doesn’t deserve you. I mean that too.”

I can’t absorb the words in my current state, though they echo in my head when I get home after no one answers the door at Brendan’s. The rest of my texts and calls have gone unanswered, and I don’t know what else to do apart from climb into bed, my throat raw from crying and my stomach grumbling because I couldn’t force down any food as I tried to pretend everything was all right to Mom and Dad.

After Jackson walked away earlier, I didn’t think I’d hear from him again that night. I messaged briefly like I promised, then told myself I didn’t need a reply. After all, I’d already fallen apart on him, sobbed my way into his T-shirt, and unloaded the world’s most awkward breakup story. What else could I do but cry myself to sleep?

But that’s the thing about Jackson—he surprises me.

The soft buzz of my phone breaks through the fog of exhaustion. I fumble for it on my nightstand, my fingers still clumsy and shaky from crying. The screen lights up, and my heart skips when I see his name.

Made it home in one piece?

It’s such a simple message but, somehow, it says more than it should. He cared enough to check in. That thought alone makes my chest feel a little lighter.

I hesitate before typing back, trying to find the balance between gratitude and my usual awkwardness.

Barely, but I’m home. Thanks for checking.

The response is almost instant.

Good. Get some rest. You need it after today.

A smile tugs at my lips despite myself. It’s the first time I’ve smiled all day, and it feels strange, unfamiliar, but good. I settle back into my pillows and type another reply.

Easier said than done. Not sure sleep is in the cards tonight.

This time, the reply takes longer, and I imagine him thinking, debating what to say. When it finally buzzes through, I blink at the screen.

Want me to call? Sometimes it helps to talk.

My fingers hover over the keyboard. I know I should say no. It’s late, and I don’t want to be that girl, the one who clings and overshares. But the idea of hearing his voice feels like the lifeline I didn’t know I needed.

Okay. Just for a bit.

Not even a minute later, my phone vibrates, and I pick up, heart pounding for reasons I don’t entirely understand.

“Hey,” Jackson’s voice comes through the line, soft and steady. “You good?”

I let out a shaky laugh. “Define ‘good.’”

“That bad, huh?” There’s no judgment in his tone, just a quiet understanding that makes my throat tighten all over again.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to—”

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