My parents were completely silent and obviously eavesdropping as Drew packed up the rest of his things and rolled his bag to the front door. So we were silent too, and I waited until we were outside before blurting, “Don’t go. I need you here.”

“I’ll stay if that’s really what you want, but I’m in the way,” he said gently, caressing the side of my face with his hand. “I may not be able to pop back in, but I’m still here for you. You can call or text anytime.”

I managed a nod. “I thought you’d want me to tell them about you. Your art.”

“Not like this.” Then, with pained eyes, he surprised me by saying, “I think when you tell them—not just about me, but more so about your dad’s cancer—it should be when you’re sure, calm, and ready. If you want to tell them now, okay, it’s your choice, but…” His gaze dropped. “When I talked to my parents, it was in a ball of emotion, and sometimes I wonder if that’s why it spiraled out of control. This is obviously not the same thing, but I don’t want you to be chewed up by regret.”

“Okay,” I said, with little emotion. I was too spent.

“Okay,” he said, equally devoid of sentiment. Maybe he was in operative mode, assessing my situation and churning through data.

But then he leaned down and scooped me into the air, which, ironically, grounded me.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispered next to my ear.

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re that strong.”

In one swift movement, he put me down, pressed his lips to mine firmly but quickly, and then rolled his way down the driveway. He didn’t have to leave my side yet—he hadn’t even called an Uber—but I let him go because I didn’t want him to see my face. Because the tears were falling falling falling. And no one was there to catch them this time.

Drew

I wanted to hold her close. Dry her tears. Shield her from everything that caused her stress and pain.

It took all my nerve to keep walking down her driveway and not run back. I hoped I was right that her confusion was because of my presence, not in spite of.

I’m helping her I’m helping her I’m helping her…

Then why did it feel like the opposite? Why did it seem like all the options now and in the future led to misery for everyone involved?

They’re not happy even with Andrew, said a voice in my head, one that sounded like a mash-up of my mother’s and father’s voices. Good luck impressing them as Drew. Maybe that’s why you ran, not because you’re trying to help her.

By the time I looked back, Chloe was gone.

Chloe CHAPTER 48 HOURGLASS