Trying to stay positive for her, I say, “I’ve heard sometimes people receive them later. Maybe it comes in a formal letter and not a text.”

“I have a bad feeling about this.” I reach over, taking her backpack and swinging it over my shoulder, and then take her hand as we walk toward the elevators. She stops suddenly, tears filling her eyes. “What if I don’t get it?”

If I have my way, I’ll give her the whole world and more like she gave me the universe. I wrap my arms around her and kiss the top of her head. “You will.”

If I only knew then what I know now, I would have savored the kiss I placed on her head that day.

36

Harbor

Four months later . . .

I didn’t know how to fix it . . . to fix us.

For months, Lark sat with the commitment letters from Yale and the four medical schools where she was accepted spread across the island for hours each night. Those nights turned into weeks and months. “Baylor’s a great school,” she says, looking at me over her laptop.

“Baylor is a great school,”

“But I don’t want to be in Texas without you.”

What? I shift on the couch and angle to face her. “Why would you be in Texas without me?”

“Because Yale is in New Haven and Grossman is in New York.”

“I can go to Baylor with you. I’ll go wherever you go.” She’s staring at me. I mean, she does that sometimes, but there’s something more than lust in her eyes this time. There are questions. “What?” I ask, sitting forward.

“What do you mean what, Harbor? How would you go to Baylor? You didn’t even apply.”

“Well,” I start . . . not sure how to break it to her. It’s a secret I’ve kept hidden for a reason. Some days I’m still surprised that she hasn’t called me on it. Makes me wonder if that’s on purpose. She’s a smart woman, but she conveniently avoids talking about my family’s money and my access to it as much as possible.

I’ve overthought this for so long that I’m ready to rip off the bandage and just deal with it head-on. I know it will upset her. How can it not? Life’s not fair. I’ve learned that the hard way. But I’ve never had to worry about finances. She’s never asked me for a penny or a loan. But she’s stressed about her future, and it’s time for me to get involved.

“Well?” Her eyes are still on mine, the interest building in her expression when she tilts her head and starts chewing on the inside of her mouth. “How?” she presses again.

I blow out a long breath and then run my hand over my head. “We’re together. We’re together because we love each other—”

“Do I need to be nervous? That opener worries me.”

“You don’t need to be nervous. That’s my point. I’ll go wherever you go because I love you so much. This, you and me, we aren’t temporary, baby. We’re the real thing.”