Page 111 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
I drag a hand through my hair, forcing out the only words that feel true. “I just needed to see you. Needed to make sure you were okay.”
He exhales, the sound small and tired. “I’m not. But this—” He gestures between us. “This isn’t going to fix it.”
I nod, staring at the floor because looking at him feels impossible. Then I swing my gaze around his room, still avoiding looking at him. It’s bare. As bare as mine, with the exception of that photo of us he gave me for Christmas. I have that on my nightstand.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I know.”
For a second, neither of us moves. Then he sighs and rubs at his eyes. “You should go, Max.”
My throat tightens, but I don’t argue.
I back toward the door, one slow step at a time, memorizing the way he looks standing there—sleep-rumpled, heartbroken, still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“I’ll go,” I manage, voice low. “But I’m not done.”
His eyes flick up, searching mine, something unreadable in them. “Goodnight, Max.”
“Night, Eli.”
I leave before I can break again, the door clicking softly shut behind me. And for the first time since I met him, I realize wanting him isn’t enough—I have to earn him back.
The morning comes too fast.
I don’t sleep—not really. I just lie there staring at the cracks in the ceiling, hearing the echo of his voice.You disappeared. You told me you loved me and did the opposite of what someone who loves you would do.
He’s right. Every word of it.
By the time I drag myself out of bed, it’s past nine. My body feels like I played three back-to-back games. Coffee seems like the only thing that can keep me upright, so I pull on a hoodie, shove my hands in my pockets, and walk across the courtyard to the small café by the library.
The place smells like espresso and winter sugar—peppermint, vanilla, cinnamon. It’s too cheerful for how hollow I feel. And it reminds me of Eli. He’s all I can think about while I stand in line, and I almost bail because of it.
The line isn’t long, but it moves slowly. I’m attempting to distract myself by scrolling mindlessly through emails I don’t remember opening, when someone bumps my shoulder.
I look up, and there he is—Luke.
Perfect hair, eyes outlined with charcoal, loud voice, confidence radiating off him like a spotlight. His grin’s all teeth. “Didn’t expect to see you slumming it with the students this early. Didn’t think brooding types drank peppermint.”
“Black coffee,” I say automatically.
He laughs, low and sharp. “Of course. Figures.”
He steps up to the counter beside me, tapping his card on the reader like he owns the place. “One large peppermint latte,” he tells the barista. Then, looking at me, adds with a wink, “For Eli.”
My stomach tightens. “You seeing him this morning?”
Luke smirks, clearly catching the edge in my voice. “Maybe. We’re friends. You know, the kind who actually answers when he calls.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Right.”
He tilts his head, studying me. “You look terrible, by the way. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“Good, because it’s impressive. You’ve got the whole tragic, sleep-deprived anti-hero vibe going.”
I should walk away. I should not stand here and trade words with him. But part of me wants to know—needs to know—what Eli said after last night.
“Did he tell you?” I ask finally.
