“I screwed up, Gabs,” I say, choking up as I admit it both to her and myself. “I screwed up, and I don’t know how to undo it.”

She rests her head on my shoulder and takes my hand.

“I love her. I can’t lose her.”

“You won’t.”

“You didn’t see her face.” I turn my head and look Gabby in the eyes. “I’ve disappointed a lot of people in my life. My dad used to lecture me for hours when I’d get a bad grade or fight with my brother, my mom would send me to my room or ground me when I was in trouble, Coach yells out his disappointment, but Chloe she was calm, resigned even. You know who reacts like that? Someone who has given up on you.”

“Then you have to believe in yourself enough for the both of you.” She stands and tugs on my hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going for a run.”

“Now?”

“Endorphins, Payne. I’ve got world domination and a wedding to plan and you need to figure out how to win back your girl.”

32

CHLOE

My mom calls me the next morning to let me know she and my dad are in town. Their timing on a spontaneous visit couldn’t be worse. My mother sees through my bullshit like a dollar store shower curtain, and right now, I’m about as confused and emotional as I’ve ever been. Still, I haven’t seen them in months, so I shower and put on some makeup, prepared to go about my day with some sort of normalcy.

That is until I get to communications class. I’m not sure if he’ll show up after how we ended things last night, but he does looking as handsome as ever and hesitantly takes the seat beside me.

“Hi.” His voice washes over me like a rogue wave, slamming into me and pulling me under. He drops a brown paper bag from the café on the desk. I don’t even have to open it to know there’s a bran muffin inside.

“Thanks.”

He nods.

Class starts and the first of the presentations are slated to start. A trio walks up to the front of the room and begins. They start in on their sales pitch for adult diapers, and I shudder and tune them out. Easy to do when Nathan pushes his notebook in front of me.

I miss you is scribbled in his small messy penmanship. I want to run my fingers over the words and trace his letters. Instead I stare down at it and wonder how those words can possibly make me feel sadder. When I don’t move to write back, he adds another line. I’m sorry.

I take my pen and write, I miss you, too.