It’s been almost a week since I was last here. Since a brunette bombshell showed up for the second shift. But neither of those things would matter if it was just sex.

Heading inside Beck’s building would be about more than that.

It would be about talking to him.

Touching him.

Simply being with him.

For the first time in my life, I’m worried I might let it show that I care. That’s not a risk I can take for a final frolic in the sheets.

I turn and start to walk back to the Scholenberg house, not caring that it’s begun to drizzle. Appreciating it, actually.

It hides the fact that there was already water dripping down my cheeks.

Chapter Thirteen

My return to Lancaster University for the start of senior year is anticlimactic. The fourth time doing something is never the time remembered. At least, not the time I remember.

Emma harassed our landlord into letting me move in early, so I head straight to our house from the airport when I land.

The drive feels strange. The scenery isn’t what I’ve grown accustomed to seeing. Connecticut looks drab and uninspired after the majestic color of Kluvberg.

The National croons “Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks” in my ears, the melancholy melody matching my mood. I haven’t taken my headphones out since I climbed in the waiting car outside the Scholenberg house fourteen hours ago. I needed to drown out the stupid, dangerous thoughts swirling in my brain by listening to others’ woes. Lacking the motivation to make my own playlist, I selected one entitled “Feeling Blue.” Fittingly, all it’s done is make me feel like climbing in bed and pulling the covers over my head.

The taxi I flagged down at the airport stops outside the tiny Colonial I’ve lived in since sophomore year. I hand the driver some dollars that have sat in my wallet for the past eight weeks. I didn’t bother exchanging my unused euros for American dollars, and the sight of the foreign currency mixed in with the green bills causes a pang in my stomach I fight to ignore.

I climb out of the back seat. The driver is already hoisting my bags out of the trunk of the sedan, and I thank him before heading up the brick walkway. I yank the heavy bags up the stairs. They thump against every step, and I curse myself for packing so much. Half of it I never even wore.

The house is empty and dark when I walk inside. Preseason doesn’t start for another week, and all my housemates are still scattered across the country in their respective hometowns enjoying the last remnants of summer.