Page 85 of Play Fake
Ezra’s hand slips into my free one as we both stand on the sidewalk, the cold air nipping at my cheeks as he gives me a look that almost makes my heart ache for everything that’s broken between us. I want to pull my hands back, but I hesitate because transitioning from exes to friends feels like a delicate dance requiring a whole lot of give and take if we’re going to make it work. And I want so badly to have my friends back, especially now I have to worry about losing my new ones too.
His hair falls into his face as he looks down at the crack in the sidewalk between our feet.
“I know I don’t deserve it. I know you’ve been pretty clear, and I have to respect that. All I’m asking is please listen to the rest of the songs,” he nods his head toward my phone in my free hand, where Ally uploaded the songs to my playlist.
“I will listen, but—“
“I know,” his voice cracks, and it’s so raw. I almost feel like I need to apologize to him, but I choke back the urge.
“I should get inside. It’s cold, and I’ve got a lot of studying to do tomorrow.” I take a step back and let his hand drop from mine.
“Yep.” He nods, his eyes drifting up to the sky, like there might be answers to the universe up there if he just looks hard enough.
“Thank you for the ride home. I appreciate it.”
“Of course.”
“Goodnight, Ezra,” I say softly and turn away.
“Zie?”
“Yeah?”
“I will always love you. No matter what.” He reaches forward and kisses my cheek softly.
“Some part of me will always love you too Ez. I’m sorry things ended this way.” I whisper back.
He nods, his eyes are glassy, and he jerks his head around like he doesn’t want me to see.
“Night.” He waves behind him as he heads down the walk back to his car.
“Night.” I say, too softly for him to hear.
I walk slowlyup the sidewalk to the house, listening to his car drive away and wondering how the hell I got here. How so many things I thought were good in my life could be destroyed in such rapid order. My phone dings while I’m still thinking, and I look down to read the text there.
Waylon:I miss you.
I glare at the three little words. I don’t have it in me to confront him tonight. I don’t have the right words yet, and I’m still too torn open to think logically. So I tuck the phone back in my purse and make my way up the stairs. The house is dark, and I’m guessing Olivia and Wren have probably already been in bed for several hours. I rifle through my purse to find my keys.
“Not gonna answer?” A voice I know questions me through the dark, and I nearly jump out of my skin, grabbing my chest to keep my heart inside my rib cage where it belongs.
I look to where the voice came from on the porch, and I see a male silhouette rise off the old wooden swing. A familiar outline once he rises to his full height.
“Christ, Waylon. You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack.”
He grunts out half of a self-deprecating laugh, and I realize he probably just saw that whole long goodbye between Ezra and me. My heart dips into my stomach with guilt and apprehension. But then I remember why Ezra was even the one taking me home tonight. Why I even ended up having a heart to heart with him in the first place. And I steel my spine to whatever Waylon is about to say. I would love to hear him try to make me feel like the asshole.
“Got back on the team bus and I couldn’t wait to see you. I texted Olivia when you didn’t answer. Thought maybe you forgot your phone. She said Ally was giving you a ride home, so I decided to wait. Brought you a milkshake, the one with malted milk balls like you like, though it’s melted.”
He pauses, as though he’s waiting for me to say something, but I stay silent.
“Gotta say though, Ally’s changed a lot since I saw her last.”
The accusation is thick in his voice, and he levels me with a look that almost makes me feel guilty again despite the fact I know I’m the last person on this porch who should.
“Ally had something come up, so Ezra brought me home. I stayed late because he—they had some new songs they wanted me to hear. Not that it’s any of your business.”
He smiles at me, but I see the anger rise behind his eyes even in the dim glow of the porch light. That makes two of us, then.
