Page 87 of Cold Front
Asher: And yet, am I wrong?
I hesitated. If I told them what was wrong, I’d have to tell them about Niall, and that wasn’t my story to tell. And Asher, observant as ever, had probably noticed the shift between me and Niall in the Marketing Principles class the three of us shared. If he’d put two and two together, he wasn’t saying it outright, but I could tell he was nudging at it. I dodged.
Me: Just tired, okay? Midterms, life, you know how it is.
Gigi: Fine. But don’t think we won’t keep annoying you.
Asher: I’ve already scheduled daily check-ins.
A string of ridiculous GIFs and memes followed—cartoon animals crying dramatically, a tiny stick figure being hugged by bigger stick figures labeled ‘Us,’ and an aggressively sparkly heart with ‘WE LOVE YOU’ flashing across it. My lips twitched, and before I knew it, I was snorting at Asher’s latest GIF of a skeleton lying in a grave with the caption ‘Waiting for Eli to tell us what’s wrong.’
For a few minutes, it worked. I forgot I was sad.
Then the doorbell rang.
I frowned, pausing mid-scroll on my phone. I wasn’t expecting anyone. And Niall? He was usually at practice this time of the morning, not dropping by, knocking on his own door.
The doors had peepholes, so I leaned in and took a quick glance. A courier stood outside, shifting his weight from foot to foot, a slim package tucked under his arm.
I wasn’t expecting anything. Maybe it was for Niall? It wouldn’t be the first time something of his got delivered while he was out. If that was the case, I’d just sign for it and leave it on the counter for him to deal with later.
I pulled open the door, offering a polite, “Hey.”
The courier barely glanced up from his tablet. “Eli Foster?”
That gave me pause.Myname?
“Uh… yeah.”
He extended the package. “Sign here.”
I hesitated, my fingers tightening slightly before I reached for the tablet. My name came out in a quick, uneven scrawl, and I took the package, suddenly aware of the weight of it in my hands.
Not heavy. But enough to feel… significant.
I shut the door and turned it over, checking the return address asI walked to the kitchen counter.
Not familiar. But I didn’t need to recognize it to know.
A cold, creeping feeling crawled up the back of my neck.
Was it from Chase?
The box blurred in my vision for a second. I swallowed hard, pressing my thumb against the tape, my heart pounding like it already knew something I didn’t.
The cardboard gave way, and I peeled back the flaps.
Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a framed photo.
Chase and I, back when I thought I was happy.
His arm was slung around my shoulders, his grin too sharp, too practiced. I knew that look too well now. The kind that fooled people into thinking he was charming, attentive.
I looked younger in the picture. Naïve. Like someone who hadn’t yet learned what loveshouldn’tfeel like. I sucked in a breath, trying to push back the memories threatening to crash over me.
Something slipped from the tissue paper and landed face-up on the counter.
A note.
