Page 17 of Stroke of Fate

Hunter: Bumped into Pia on campus. She said you transferred schools?!

I roll my eyes as I read his words. Here I was, naively thinking I’d finally get the apology I was owed. But no, he’s only curious about my life because he’s no longer privy to the details.

Part of me wants to type back, “Who’s this?” to mess with him. I should have deleted his number the day everything happened, but I didn’t. Somewhere along the line, as the days turned into months, I stopped thinking about him altogether.

Deciding to keep the conversation brief, I send a one-word response.

Bear: Yes.

Hunter: Seriously, Bear, tell me this is a joke??

As if he deserves the effort a joke like that would take to pull off.

Bear: It’s not.

Hunter: You weren’t even planning on telling me?

My irritation goes up a notch. How dare he think I owe him anything after what he did?

Bear: We broke up, remember?

Hunter: That doesn’t mean I stopped caring. We had a good few years. Can I call you?

My phone rings, his name lighting up the screen. He didn’t even wait for my reply. I hate that he still thinks we have that kind of relationship.

There was a time when I’d drop everything to hear his voice. Now, I let the call ring out. As the screen goes dark, I realize I feel…nothing.

The Bear he knew would have thought she at least owed it to him to hear him out, if only for the good memories they shared. She would have answered, even if she didn’t wantto, listening as he rambled on about whatever he thought she wanted to hear.

Not today, and never again.

The thought is liberating, and I have to bite my lip to keep a smile from spreading. A sense of closure settles over me.

When his name pops up again with a text message, I don’t bother reading it. I lock my phone, drop it back in my bag, and lean against the padding of the booth.

Without meaning to, my mind drifts to what—or rather, who—brought on this sudden change in attitude.

Last night, I lay awake longer than I care to admit, thinking abouthim.

He’s somehow wormed his way into my brain and taken root. I remember every little detail of our encounter, no doubt because of how much it’s been churning in my head.

God, did he have to be so annoyingly beautiful? My eyes enjoyed staring at his physical features—a lot. Even now, thinking about how he leaned into me, invading my space, has me squeezing my thighs together.

I immediately slam the brakes on that train of thought.

He had someone showering in his apartment, for God’s sake! And given how quickly he shoved me out, it was clear he didn't want whoever it was seeing me.

Good looks aside, our encounter stuck with me for another reason. I’m not proud of how I snapped at him for calling me Teddy Bear or when I had a go at him for rummaging through my stuff. But a small part of me is glad I stuck up for myself.

For whatever reason, around him, I felt comfortable enough not to keep my mouth shut for once. Which is weird because I hardly know him.

And then there’s someone like Hunter—someone I’d known for years but never once felt like I could have that sort ofoutburst around without being judged for it. Or being told I’m acting irrationally.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts when the front door whooshes open. A girl around my age with dark brown hair walks in.

I slide out of the booth, hoping she’ll notice me.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t.

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