Page 69 of Only Ever You

Ash knew. He had to. And he was going to tell me, but then Mr. Coleman walked into the classroom. It’s why Ash had his mom pick him up. He didn’t want to be the one to tell me.

And Turner? With the way he reacted today, he has to know too.

She said goodbye to both of them, but not me.

I grip my phone so hard, my knuckles turn white. A hot, ugly feeling claws up my throat—hurt, anger, embarrassment, all of it choking me.

“Stupid,” I mutter, smacking my forehead with my palm. “I’m such a stupid fucking idiot.”

Here I am, panicking because I forgot her birthday, while she didn’t even bother to say goodbye to me.

That’s enough evidence alone. She’s done with me and our friendship. She was done long before I even realized something was wrong. It all started when I didn’t tell her about that stupid dare, when she found out about it but decided not to come out and ask me.

My chest squeezes so tight, I swear, my ribs are cracking.

I stand abruptly and toss my phone onto the blankets.

“Whatever,” I say, voice trembling. “If she didn’t care enough to tell me she was leaving, then why the hell should I care that I missed her birthday?”

It sounds pathetic, even to me. But if I don’t hold on to this anger, I worry devastation will swallow me whole.

I pace around my room, feeling like a caged animal, desperate for anything that might make me stop caring.

My gaze lands on the table where the custom hockey tape she gave me for my birthday sits. Dark blue, covered in her handwriting—little messages like “you’re the best” and “go win.”

I snatch it up and head for the trash can. My hand hovers over it for a second. Then, I curse under my breath, turn around, and shove the tape into my drawer instead, pushing it all the way to the back before slamming it shut.

The moment I turn around, my focus is fixed on my phone. I grab it again. Her contact card stares back at me. Her beautiful blue eyes. The full lips I’ve dreamed of kissing one day. Our years of messages, stupid photos, videos, gifs, and memes.

My throat closes.

“Fine,” I whisper. “If she doesn’t want me in her life, then we’re done.”

I delete her profile picture, delete our chat history for both of us (thank God the messenger app allows it), and change her name in my contacts to “No One.”

It’s fucking childish. Petty.

But I refuse to consider that losing her feels like I’m losing part of myself.

I hit Block before I can think twice, just in case, so she can’t slip back into my life whenever she feels like it.

If she wanted me in her life, she wouldn’t have walked out of mine without a word.

Isla Walker is dead to me.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

like we never existed

ISLA

Sixteen years old

“Dammit,” I curse as I search for my phone. Why did I throw it inside?

“Gotcha!” I pull the ringing device from the bottom of the bag and swipe right to accept a FaceTime call from Mom. “Hey.”

Eyebrow quirked, she takes in my disheveled state. “Is everything okay?”