Page 118 of Hang the Moon
The way I see it, you can’t rush something you want to last forever.
That had lasted, what? Little more than a week?
Her breath hitched, her lungs constricting. She hiccupped and hugged her knees to her chest.
She wasn’t sure who she was angrier with, herself or Brendon.
There was moving on and then there was—this. She hadn’t even been gone two weeks when he’d posted this picture. This felt like rubbing her face in the fact that he’d found someone new. That Annie had only been a blip on his radar, completely replaceable.
Her lips flattened. She hadn’t asked him to wait for her. She had no right to be upset. This wasn’t—she swallowed hard—a long-distance relationship. They weren’t even on a break. He wasn’t hers.Clearly.
Darcy had warned her this would happen, that Brendon would move on. She just hadn’t expected it to happen this soon. Or for it to feel like someone had carved into her chest with a dull knife, ripping her open from her throat to her belly button. Gutting her.
She jammed the heel of her hand into her breastbone and sucked in a stuttered breath. She’d done this to herself, first by getting involved with Brendon and then by pushing him away. She had no one to blame but herself, because she’d known better than to play with fire.
She always cared more.Always.Why had she thought this would be any different? Because shefeltmore than she ever had? Jesus. She scoffed into the silence of her bedroom and buried her face in her hands. How stupidly naïve, believing this would be different. That this would be the exception when all it did was prove that she was right.
She’d never hated being right this much in her life.
“Never Gonna Give You Up” by Rick Astley blared, making her jump, her head knocking into the boxes stacked precariously behind her. She blinked up, watching the tower sway ominously over her head, and wondered if they’d all come crashing down. If they’d split open at the seams, if everything she owned would spread out around her in a pile as messy and turbulent as the feelings hastening through her veins. If she’d be able to tape them back together or if it would be as impossible as using packing tape to Humpty Dumpty her heart back together again.
She pressed her hand to her mouth and choked down a sob as Darcy’s ringtone continued to blast, Rick Astley promising that he’d never give her up. Never let her down.
For a chunk of cheap plastic, her phone felt a lot like a brick in her hand as she lifted it, thumb hovering over the screen to send Darcy to voicemail.
Butpersistentmight as well have been Darcy’s middle name. She’d call again and again until Annie answered, if the last few days were anything to go off.
Annie prayed her voice wouldn’t wobble. “Hello?”
“Just checking in,” Darcy said. “Elle says hi.”
She sucked in a breath, needing to breathe, but wires crossed and her eyes watered, her nose, too. Her next inhale was noisyand ragged, and she pinched her lips together, face burning, her whole body sizzling with shame at howobviousshe was in her sadness. That she couldn’t be a neater crier, keep her emotions contained for a few fucking minutes to put Darcy off her trail. She justhadto choose this minute to be a wreck and fall apart while talking to the worst possible person. The person who, without fail, saw through her bullshit, her best defenses. Annie wasn’t even playing at 50 percent.
“Annie?” Darcy sounded worried. Typical. Go fucking figure. “Are you okay?”
“Mm-hmm,” she lied, grinding her molars together because it was better than the alternative: Bursting into tears and having to explain herself. Hearing Darcy sayI told you so. Or worse, offer platitudes of condolence. Even though Annie was the one who’d gotten herself into this mess and Darcyhadwarned her. Annie just hadn’t listened. “Just dandy.”
“Want to try that again?”
Annie laughed through her tears, which had started to flow with a vengeance. They dripped down her face and ran down her neck, settling in the hollows above her collarbone. She swiped at them furiously, unable to staunch the flow. “It’s—allergies.” She sniffed hard, sinuses burning. “All this fucking pollen is killing me.”
“Bullshit,” Darcy said.
Annie scoffed and dropped her head back, watching the boxes wobble to and fro like a tree in gale-force winds. “You were right.”
“I usually am.” Darcy paused, clearing her throat delicately. “Care to tell me what I was right about this time?”
Her laugh was watery and weak. “Not really.”
“Let’s try again.”
Annie rolled her eyes. “Just—can wenot? Can you drop it? Please, Darce.”
“If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I’m booking the next flight I can find to Philadelphia.”
There wasn’t a doubt in her mind Darcy meant it.
She pinched her lips together and tried to regulate her heart rate. It was too fast, pounding too hard against her sternum, each beat like a punch against the wall of her chest. Her throat felt raw, gritty, and sore when she swallowed. “Darcy.”
