Page 91 of Crossing the Line

“Fuck you, Garret,” I hiss as I start to gather my things, ready to walk away from him. I’d give anything to disappear right now. My entire body feels like it’s shaking as my heart pounds in my chest.

Garret beats me to it, leaving me alone sitting at the table. As he walks past me, he mutters, “Yeah, this isn’t going to work.”

“You think?” I ask as he marches down the busy street. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking over my shoulder, I sit back down at the table and try to breathe.

It’s like every cell in my body tingles from the fire scorching through my veins, but at the same time, I don’t feel anything. I’m numb as I stare down at my half-eaten pastry.

I’ve changed.

I don’t know how, or why, but I know that if this argument had happened before Florida, I wouldn’t have stood up for myself. There’s certainly no way I would have cursed at him. That sort of fight has never been in me, but now it is. Maybe something good did come from my time in Florida—my time with Aiden. Because now that Garret has walked away, I only allow myself to focus on the sense of relief that fills me with each of his fading footsteps.

81

Aiden

I’ve never liked the city, but after almost thirty hours on that damn train, I can safely say I hate it.

I hate New York City.

As I walk to Claire’s fancy-ass college again, I start to deflate. There’s no way I’ll find her. I’ve already aimlessly wondered around the campus and neighboring blocks. Even narrowing down the search to Steinhardt, there are still way too many people to comb through. I’m coming up on the crossroad I’ll have to turn at, and I’m considering giving up. I’m exhausted, and the longer I’m here, the more this feels like a fool’s errand.

But then I stop in my tracks.

Some asshole yells at a girl in front of a coffee shop, and I’m not the only one who sees. A few stragglers have stopped to watch this guy tower over his girlfriend like a narcissistic dick.

It isn’t until Claire gets to her feet to defend herself that I realize it’s her. Her back is to me, but after this weekend, I’d know that girl anywhere. Her shoulders tense as I assume she stares Garret down with a look that could kill.

My eyes move back to her ex, and I’m surprised I didn’t recognize him from the picture on her phone because he looks exactly the same—not a hair out of place. The only difference is that instead of wearing a fucking polo shirt, he’s gone full dress shirt for this occasion. He looks like a tool. He was probably one of those jocks in high school that got more attention than he deserved, and now he’ll validate the rest of his life based on those four years.

Prick.

The sight of the two of them at the table brings flashbacks of when I caught Sam with that asshole from her class, but if one thing is clear, these two don’t look like they’re about to get back together.

They don’t even look like they like each other.

When he walks away from the table and heads toward me, there are a lot of things I could say to him. But I don’t even look at him. Instead, I watch Claire carefully, and even though her back is to me, she looks defeated as she collapses back into her seat. Not necessarily in a way that makes me think the love of her life just walked away from her, but the way her shoulders slump makes me think she’s sick of the bullshit. She folds her arms and puts her head down on the table. All I want to do is make her happy again because, as much as Garret is a walking department store ad from hell, I know I’m responsible for part of her pain, too.

And whether intentional or not, she’s responsible for part of mine.

Maybe they had plans of getting back together, but when he got here, she realized she couldn’t forgive him.

Or maybe he said the wrong thing, and she changed her mind.

Maybe she thought she could be happy with him, but after seeing him show up dressed like a fucking dad at a dance recital, she knew it wouldn’t work.

Just because whatever happened at this coffee shop didn’t go well, doesn’t mean shit. She could have still wanted him.

There’s only one way to fucking find out.

82

Claire

“Claire.”

I know that voice.

As much as I feel a groan building inside me, the butterflies in my stomach flutter back to life at the sound. I’m not sure if butterfly traps are a thing, but if they are, I’d like to eradicate the pests in my stomach as soon as possible. Zero part of me should feel anything fluttering for Aiden.