Page 128 of Gamebreaker

"I'm proud of you," she said finally. "You're allowed to be devastated even though you made the right choice."

I leaned my head against her shoulder. "When does it stop hurting?"

"I don't know. But you'll get through it. You always do." She squeezed my hand. "Also, you should call your therapist."

"I haven't seen her in a year."

"I know. That's why you should call her."

"I'll think about it, Mia."

She let it go, but she gave me the look that meant she'd bring it up again tomorrow, and Monday, and every day after that until I either called or died.

We sat there for a while, her shoulder under my cheek, her thumb rubbing slow circles on the back of my hand, the string lights glowing. Eventually, she had to leave for dinner with Laine, which I absolutely refused to let her skip. She made me promise to eat the leftovers, to try to sleep, to call if I needed her. I promised all three and meant maybe one of them.

After she left, I put on clean pajamas, piled my curls into a loose pineapple on top of my head, and tied on my satin bonnet, the green one with the little gold stars that Mia got me for my birthday. The stars sat a little crooked. I didn't fix them.

Then I crawled into bed with a heart that felt like shattered glass, and I let myself cry one more time. Not the shocked, gasping crying from the bathroom floor this morning, and not the quiet, steady crying over the knot at my nape. This went deeper. I cried for her hands. For the way she'd checked under the belt with two fingers to make sure it wasn't too tight. For good girl and I've got you. For the version of herself she'd let me see for a few hours that she'd never let the rest of the world see.

I cried for the girl on the pillow between her mother's knees too. I hadn't cried for her in a long time.

When I was empty, I made a decision. Probably the hardest one I'd made in years.

I wasn't going to text Cam again. I wasn't going to show up at her games. I wasn't going to make this harder by orbiting her and being a walking reminder of what we couldn't have.

If Cam wanted me, she knew what she needed to do.

And I wasn't going to wait around hoping she'd change. I'd waited twenty-six years to live in the light. I wasn't going to step back out of it for anyone.

Monday, I'd go to work with concealer on my neck and a high-collared blouse like a Victorian widow. Monday, I'd answer Addie's questions and laugh at Mia's jokes. Tomorrow, I'd start building a future that didn't include waiting for Cam to be ready.

But tonight, I was just going to be heartbroken.

I closed my eyes, and finally, mercifully, exhaustion dragged me under.

I dreamt of amber eyes and rough hands and a voice calling me good girl like she actually loved me and chose me.

I dreamt of a world where morning never came.

Where I got to keep her.

16

That's Not Jealousy

Cam

The ceiling hadn't changed since dawn.

I'd been lying under it long enough to know every imperfection in the plaster, every hairline crack running toward the crown molding, every variation in the white that no one would ever notice unless they had no reason left to get up. The bed under me was freshly made. Clean sheets, tucked corners, the pillow on the left side squared and undisturbed. It looked like a performance, like if I erased enough evidence of last night, I could convince myself it hadn't happened.

The house smelled like lemon cleaner and, underneath that, so faintly I kept thinking I was imagining it, Harper's perfume.

I wasn't imagining it.

Trish's voice was still in my head from our call an hour ago. What did you lose this morning? When you let Harper walk out that door?

Everything that mattered.