Текст книги "When the Stars Align"

Автор книги: Jeanette Grey

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Two years now, Jo had lived in her apartment alone. Hell, the vast majority of her life she’d spent pretty much all by herself in her father’s house.

Now she’d been back for scarcely a week, and she was ready to go out of her mind.

She tossed her magazine to the ground and dropped her head into her hands. So much of this summer she’d longed for one goddamn minute of silence. Now she had days of it, stretched out on end, and it was the last thing on earth she wanted.

She missed the crowd of people at that awful cafeteria. They might not have all liked her at first—maybe not ever—but they’d always welcomed her and let her sit with them. She missed the smiles of the observatory staff. She missed having someone on the couch in the living room at nearly any hour of the day. Hell, she missed Carol in the bed on the other side of the room. She missed noise and activity and things to do.

She missed Adam. But at least that particular ache she’d seen coming.

Growling beneath her breath, she scrubbed at her eyes. She’d given him so much grief about not being able to let go, and yet here she was, no better than he had been. Sitting up straighter, she lowered her hands to her lap, then cursed aloud. Unconsciously, her gaze had flickered straight to the darkened alert light on her phone. Just like his had every three freaking seconds those first weeks they’d spent at the observatory.

Shit. She was worse than him.

At least he’d had some hope that his girlfriend might get in touch with him. Nearly a week, and she’d gotten the odd text from Carol and Kim, but from Adam, there had been only silence. And it was her own damn fault. She’d been the one to end it. Worse, that last night, when he’d looked like he wanted to try and talk it out again, she’d shut him down, and so they’d never had the conversation about staying in touch. About ever hearing a thing from each other at all.

Well, fuck this. Pocketing her phone, she hauled herself off the couch. Beyond her window, darkness had fallen. It was only a Wednesday night, but in a city like Chicago that didn’t matter. By the time she was ready and could get downtown, things would just be getting fired up.

She crossed her shoebox of an apartment and threw her closet doors open. Her club clothes were in the back. She grabbed out an old standard that had worked well enough the last time she’d gotten an itch. Before Adam and before everything else this summer had changed.

It’d be great. Precisely the thing she needed to move past this. She’d drink and dance and find somebody to take home. It’d be just like it had always been, a release and an escape and—

Empty.

She stopped, her hands at the nape of her neck, set to unclasp the necklace Adam had given her. The one she hadn’t taken off except to shower. Her fingers fumbled, again and again, and she closed her eyes, breath stuttering. The room around her swam.

By the time it righted itself, she’d fallen to sit in a heap beside her bed, her spine propped up against the frame. Her dress lay beside her, and she pressed a palm to the center of her chest, right above her breasts. Stroked her thumb across the stars Adam had given her and shuddered.

She didn’t want to do this. At all.

But she had to do something.

The next morning, she suited up in the closest thing to fitness clothes she had and dug up a ratty old pair of sneakers she’d never gotten around to throwing away. She thought of Adam, slipping into the house after a morning lap of the telescope dish, covered in sweat, skin gleaming, smile exhausted and energized and gorgeous.

Running. It seemed worth a shot.

Running sucked.

Which left her with only one thing. Heaving for breath, chest and legs aching, she collapsed onto her couch.

One thing she was willing to consider, in any case.

With one hand on the door, Jo braced herself. This wasn’t settling for less, and it wasn’t kowtowing to the patriarchy. It wasn’t anything she’d always assumed it would be. She wasn’t lowering herself. Hell, for all she knew, she was about to get laughed in the face.

She put that thought straight out of her mind. She might deserve it, but she had to go into this hoping for the best. After all, you don’t ask, you don’t get. She nodded to herself one final time, then pushed through the door.

The soles of her boots made dim thudding noises on the tile of the hallway. More than one face looked up from a computer or a lab bench as she passed, curious expressions peering out at her through open doors, and for a moment, the déjà vu of it shivered through her spine. The last time she’d gone out on a limb like this, beating down Dr. Galloway’s door, it had bitten her on her ass.

Finally, she arrived at the office she’d been looking for. Rehearsing the words she’d been psyching herself up to say all morning, she raised her hand and knocked.

Ever so slowly, the chair behind the desk swiveled around. The woman who faced Jo was in her late forties, her short, dark hair going gray, the lines around her eyes and mouth just beginning to stand out. She raised one eyebrow.

Jo straightened her posture and lifted her chin. “Dr. Jung. I’m—”

“Jo Kramer. Yes.” Dr. Jung nodded. “How can I help you?”

Well, that was either a really good sign or a really bad one, that her reputation preceded her. “I know it’s an awkward time.” A week and a half before the start of the semester. A week and a half early. Or maybe, three years too late.

“Not at all. Have a seat.”

Following direction, Jo took the chair beside Professor Jung’s desk and folded herself into it.

Three years ago, Jo had gone to the head of the department and requested a research position, only to have the smug bastard roll his eyes. He’d had no interest in an overly ambitious freshman who would probably end up switching to the humanities anyway. Maybe Jung’ll be able to find something for you to do, he’d told her, already turning away.

He’d looked at her like she was a maggot, or worse, like what she was. A girl. Rather than go crawling to the lone woman in the department, Jo’d gone looking elsewhere. She’d focused on her coursework and left her research goals for summer programs. She didn’t need any second-rate castoffs. She didn’t need anyone.

She’d made a mistake.

This time, instead of going in guns blazing, pretending she knew everything and deserved whatever she demanded, she forced herself to be calm. It didn’t come easy, and she almost laughed, envisioning Adam in front of her, asking if she wanted to role-play this out.

He would’ve helped her so much, if he’d been there.

But he’d already helped her—already changed her enough. She could do this herself now. She took a deep breath and asked, “I was wondering if you had any work an undergrad might be able to help out with.”

And Dr. Jung smiled.

Two hours later, Jo left her office with her arms full of background reading. They’d talked about Jo’s experience from this past summer and the summers before it. Her interests and her history. Her ambitions to go to graduate school next year. About why she hadn’t come to Dr. Jung as a freshman. Jo had answered her honestly and noncombatively.

At the end of it, Dr. Jung had offered her a project of her own.

Heading to the “L,” Jo felt like she had her feet under her for the first time since the van had driven her away. Away from Adam and her friends and the first place where she’d ever really belonged.

But maybe, just maybe, she could find a place here.

She kept that thought right up until the moment she strode through her apartment door. She closed it behind her and set her collection of articles and books and papers down, and—

And the same four walls that had been haunting her for the past week still surrounded her. Still threatened to close in. And it wasn’t fair. She’d made a positive change in her life, goddammit all. Maybe even made a real connection with another human being.

She wasn’t still supposed to feel like this. Alone.

Sinking to her haunches against the wall, she tipped her head back and gazed at the ceiling. Her ribs squeezed in and her throat thickened. Because who the hell did she think she was kidding? She knew exactly what she wanted to do.

But it was a disaster waiting to happen. The worst idea in the world.

Reaching her hand into her pocket, she closed her fingers around her phone. She tugged it out and stared at the alert light that had yet to blink, the message that hadn’t ever come through.

She’d always thought, eventually, Adam would be the one who’d want to talk to her.

She turned on the screen and pulled up his contact. And stared.

“Hey. Bro.”

Adam darted his gaze away from the screen, mashing buttons on the controller as he did. No way that zombie was taking him out because he wasn’t paying attention. Not this time. “Yeah?”

“Mom’s heading to the store. Wants to know if you need anything.”

“Think we’re out of chips.” Okay, he knew they were out of chips. He’d finished them off himself at one in the morning the night before.

“That it?”

“That’s all I can think of.” On the screen, his character’s hatchet swung wildly, and he groaned as the bad guy snuck in a good hit.

His brother said something else, but it probably wasn’t important, considering he only said it once. By the time Adam thought to look up again, he was gone.

Huh. Maybe he was a little overinvolved.

Spending the last week at his parents’ house had been just the break he’d needed. He was getting a little too old for this shit, but there was nothing like plopping down on your mom’s couch and eating all her food and playing video games all day. He was surrounded by people who loved him unconditionally and unreservedly. There wasn’t any tiptoeing around anybody’s emotions or constantly having to hold back what he was feeling. Everybody talked about normal stuff like TV shows and politics, not scientific journal articles. He didn’t have to work or arrange meals or anything.

It was…

Actually starting to get kind of boring.

But that was okay. He’d be heading up to Philly soon to start the semester. It’d be good to see his friends again. He had an ass kicker of a course load ahead of him, one that would keep him plenty busy and distracted. Plus he had to take the GREs and start figuring out where he was applying for grad school next year. He’d hoped maybe he’d be figuring that out with Jo, but… he’d decide on a list of schools on his own. It’d be fun. Exciting.

He covered the twinge the thought evoked with a particularly vicious sideswipe of his ax, and zombie gore splattered the screen in a satisfying arc. “Yeah. Take that.” He braced his elbows on his knees, sending his character full-tilt toward the end of the corridor and the big boss fight and—

Where it sat on the coffee table, his phone buzzed. Through sheer force of will, he ignored it, attention firmly on the screen. Just because he’d let himself get maudlin there for half a second between kills didn’t mean he had to turn back into the sap Jo had basically accused him of being. She hadn’t been in touch with him, not even once since they’d left the tropics. He could still hear the pity in her voice. He held on too long. He settled. Accepted scraps of affection.

Well, he’d shown her. This whole week, he’d scarcely looked at his silent phone. He hadn’t sent her any pathetic texts or left any embarrassing messages. It’d killed him, but he’d respected her wishes. To the best of his ability, he’d moved on. Taken up more healthy pursuits than moping.

Like playing video games for fifteen hours straight. In his boxers.

He furrowed his brow in confusion when his phone kept buzzing. Not a text then—this was an actual call. Which was weird. Despite his misgivings, he tore his gaze from the TV to steal a quick peek at the vibrating screen.

Jo. Holy shit, it was Jo.

He stabbed at the button to pause the game, then muttered, “Fuck it,” when it didn’t work. Tossing the controller aside, he dove for his phone, managing to pick it up before it stopped ringing, sliding his thumb across the screen to take the call. Around him, his character made a horrible noise as he got torn in half by a zombie horde. Tucking his phone between his shoulder and his cheek, Adam plucked the remote off the ground and turned the TV off. Everything went blessedly silent.

Except the breath in his ear. The voice. “Adam?”

“Jo.” His whole body seemed to sag in relief. “Hi.”

“Hey.” She sounded like she was smiling, and God, he missed her. All that stuff about moving on had been a joke. Deflating, he flopped against the couch and slung his arm across his eyes.

“How are you?”

“Okay. I guess.” The tension in her voice made him pause.

“Just okay?”

“I don’t know.” She hesitated, and it had him sitting up straighter. What if something was wrong, or she was in trouble? Chicago was a hell of a long ways away, but he could be on a plane or in his car in an hour if she needed him. If she wanted him. “I guess I just…” When she trailed off again, he held his breath. “I missed you.”

Jesus. Those were the best words he’d heard in… maybe ever. He curled in closer around his phone. His voice went soft and raw. “I miss you, too.”

On the other end of the line she laughed, but it was grating. Harsh. “Guess I got used to having someone around to talk to.”

His chest panged. “Just someone?”

He’d have liked to think he’d been a little bit more than that.

But instead of rising to the bait or giving him shit, she sounded smaller. “This is hard for me, okay?”

And that didn’t make him feel like crap. “I know, baby. I know.”

One quick beat of silence, and then, “Baby?”

She would call him out on that. He shrugged.

“I’m trying it out.”

“Oh.” She didn’t tell him not to call her that. Even if they weren’t… what they’d been to each other. Not anymore.

He let out a long, slow breath. “Tell me what’s going on.”

And then, to his surprise, she did. Like she’d been bursting with it, she let the story of her last week pour out. Everything she’d done and everywhere she’d been. The words sped up as she went, like she was remembering how to use her voice again, and God, had she talked to anyone since she’d gotten home?

When she got to the part about going clubbing, his heart sank. Sure, they’d agreed to move on, but he hadn’t been ready for that. If he wanted to hear any more from her, though, he had to be cool about it. He couldn’t freak out.

“Except I couldn’t,” she said.

And the heavy waters that had closed over his heart parted. “You—”

“The idea of picking up someone else. It just… I couldn’t.”

Oh. Oh. “Jo…”

“What are we doing?”

Hell if he knew. “Right now?” He closed his eyes and tried so damn hard not to fuck this up. “Being friends?”

Another huff of pained laughter came through the speaker. “Being friends sucks.”

“It’s better than some of the alternatives.”

“And a hell of a lot worse than some of the others.”

“Tell me about it.”

It was what she’d chosen, though. Not that he was enough of a dick to remind her of that.

For a long moment, they were quiet. When they spoke again, it was quieter. She told him about her new research project and how she’d handled it. “That’s great,” he said.

She hummed. “And what about you?”

It was sad, the prospect of telling her he’d spent the whole week in his underwear killing bad guys on a screen. But as he shrugged and started to relate it anyway, she encouraged him. Asked him questions, getting him to ramble about his family and his parents’ house and this swamp of a town where they lived.

“I can’t believe we never talked about any of this. Before,” he said.

“Guess we were busy with other things. But I was always interested, you know.”

He hadn’t doubted it. Still, it was nice to have her ask these questions. Show an interest in his life.

Being just friends sucked, but maybe…

Maybe it was a gateway to being a hell of a lot more than they had been before.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“What’s got you smiling so much?”

Adam looked up from his phone, squinting against the sunlight at the face in silhouette above him. His grin shifted, becoming less the soft, private one he reserved for conversations with Jo and more the public one that everybody else got to see. Including his ex-girlfriend.

Funny how much could change in a couple of months.

“Nothing much,” he lied. Looking down again, he finished typing out his reply and blanked the screen of his phone before tucking it in his pocket.

Dropping her bag, Shannon plunked herself beside him. He was camped out on a bench, killing time until his next class and soaking up the sunshine while it lasted. The sky shone a crisp, clear blue, the leaves barely starting to hint at changing colors. Autumn would be descending for real, soon. He shook his head at himself. At the time, he’d never thought he’d miss Puerto Rico’s heat, and now here he was, longing for it. Among other things.

Shannon nudged his foot with hers. “Was wondering when I’d run into you.”

He’d only been back for a week and a half, and most of that had been spent settling into his apartment and getting ready for classes to start. Still, any normal semester, he would’ve seen her by now. He hadn’t exactly been avoiding her, but he hadn’t been seeking her out, either. Not the way he would’ve in the past.

He shrugged. “Been busy, I guess.”

“Busy with that girl you’re texting?”

He stretched his legs out in front of him and rested his arms on the back of the bench. “Who says it’s a girl?”

“Please.”

“What?”

“I know that look.” She stopped, and there was a sudden heaviness to the air.

She knew that look because he used to wear it around her. Because of her.

He cleared his throat. “Maybe it’s a girl,” he conceded.

The girl.

He’d thought that was true over the summer, when Jo had woken his body and heart, but now he was even more sure. Ever since she’d made that first overture and picked up the phone, they’d fallen into a routine of exchanging messages a few times a day and talking every couple of nights. They caught up on all the stuff they hadn’t gotten around to learning about each other in their time together. Sometimes they just talked. Normal stuff about their days and her research and his apartment mates. Stuff about life. Nothing felt real anymore until he’d viewed it through the lens of her perception, the sharp filter of her wit.

Shannon’s mouth went soft around the edges. “The same girl from this summer?”

“Lucky guess.”

“Luck didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Adam raised his brows at that. “Excuse you?”

With a sad smile, she said, “You don’t exactly give up easy, you know.”

Right. Of course he didn’t.

He shook his head and shifted his gaze, a low grunt of a laugh scorching his throat. “So I hear.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“Not a very happy one.”

“Tell it to me anyway?”

For a long minute, Adam stared off into the distance, across the quad.

Then he turned to Shannon. He shrugged, sadness like a weight on his shoulders. “I fell for her. We only had this handful of weeks, and I knew that, right? Stupid.” He bit off the word. He brought his hand to his face and worried the edge of his thumbnail with his teeth. “She was just…”

Amazing. As brilliant as the stars they studied, only—

Only she’d been a comet. Flaring into his life one minute and gone the next, never to return. Not in his lifetime.

He shook his head. “This is weird, right?”

“No weirder than it was this summer.”

Well, she had a point there. Only… “It gets weirder.” He dropped his gaze and his hand, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his spread knees. Jiggling his foot up and down. “Because she… she saw how things were. When you and I were drifting apart.” He glanced to Shannon and then back to the ground. “And she saw the same damn thing you did. I don’t let go. She said I—” This might be cruel. But Shannon had asked. “I was settling. With you. Waiting for you to call instead of moving on. Worst part is, she wasn’t wrong.”

He had to give Shannon some credit. She didn’t interrupt to apologize or make this about her. Because it wasn’t.

Sighing, he let his shoulders fall. “At the end of the summer, I told her I wanted more. She said she didn’t.”

“She’s an idiot.”

“Says the last girl who broke my heart.”

She cast her gaze skyward. “I didn’t break your heart. Not the way this girl did.” Her smile went strained. “I didn’t have as much of it to break.”

“Shannon—”

She waved him off. This still wasn’t about them. “Is that really what she told you? That she didn’t want more?”

“Not in so many words. It’s all circumstances, you know? We even said, maybe someday, if the stars aligned, you know?” He made vague hand gestures toward the sky before giving up. “But long distance sucks, and she just…” He worked his jaw fruitlessly. “She didn’t trust me.”

“Not to cheat?”

“What? No.” The closest he’d ever come to giving in to that temptation had been with Jo herself, and if he’d been able to resist her, he could resist anything.

“Okay. Because that’s totally not you.”

“It’s not.”

She’d known him better than that.

He took a deep breath, and said, “She didn’t trust me not to do the same thing to her I did to you.” His throat ached. “Hanging on too long. Settling.”

“And so now you’re settling again?”

He twitched his head up, twisting his neck to the side. “Wait. What?”

“You just said. She’s afraid you’re going to settle for her. But instead you’re sitting here, alone, looking at your phone like it’s the most precious thing in the world, settling for not her.”

“I—” Whatever protest he’d been about to make died in his lungs.

Jo wasn’t feeding him scraps of affection to string him along. If anything, she was withholding them to keep him at bay.

Never, not once, had she said she didn’t want him. Only that she thought she couldn’t keep him.

“Oh my God.” He scrubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Sitting up straighter, he dragged his palms down his face. “Oh shit.”

He’d let her push him away. Let them become just friends, not even daring to fight for fear of losing what little he had.

He was settling.

“Lightbulb,” Shannon said, opening her hand above his head, fingers starbursting out.

He batted at her, moving to perch at the edge of the bench. “What am I going to do?”

“I don’t know.” With a knowing, fond expression, she darted in past his defenses and ruffled his hair. When he gave her an unimpressed look, she drew away. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she stood. “But I’m guessing you’ll figure it out.”

Three days. There was no reason to panic, because it had only been three days.

Jo’s stomach turned over all the same. She flipped her phone so it sat facedown on her desk. The lack of a blinking light was too much of a distraction. Too much of a reminder.

Sure, she’d gone more than a week without talking to Adam right after they’d left Arecibo. But since then, the calls and texts had come more and more regularly. They’d been the best parts of her day. Perfect breaks from classes and studying and research.

And now she hadn’t heard a thing from him in three days. She rolled her eyes at herself, then kept her gaze trained skyward against the pressure behind her eyes. Okay, fine, after the second voice mail she’d left and the third unanswered text, he’d fired off a quick message letting her know he was fine, just busy, and he’d be in touch soon.

Busy. She’d heard that before.

It wasn’t even fair. She might be sitting here alone with nothing but her books and her laptop to keep her company, but he wasn’t like her. He’d proved that often enough. He had his family, his friends. Shannon. He went to parties and left his goddamn room sometimes.

Even if it wasn’t his ex. A guy like him, single on a college campus? They’d eat him alive, and fuck knew he hadn’t waited long between things falling apart with Shannon and jumping into bed with Jo. That he hadn’t hooked up with anyone until now was the miracle.

The worst part of it all was that this was what she’d wanted. Him moving on was a best-case scenario, and she’d be fine. She was always fine.

Who the hell was she kidding?

She took the time to mark her book before slamming it closed and shoving it aside. Adam had waltzed into her life and gentled her open. He’d been the best damn lay she’d ever had and the best friend—

And she’d pushed him away. Why? So she didn’t have to watch when he eventually walked off?

All her reasons came rushing back. She’d been protecting him, from himself and from her. Letting him tie himself to her was cruel, when she knew how he was. How faithful and constant and…

She shoved a hand into her hair and tugged hard.

Fuck. Was that really the worst she could come up with?

She was a coward. The worst kind. And now she was alone. Maybe he’d be nice enough to let their… whatever this was fade off quietly. Maybe he’d call at some point to tell her he’d moved on.

Crazy thoughts flooded her mind. Leaving voice mails, trying to keep him in her atmosphere, hadn’t worked. She shook with harsh laughter at the idea of showing up at his apartment. Did they even make boom boxes for idiotic jilted lovers to hold over their heads anymore? She could wave her goddamn Bluetooth speaker at him. Something.

She was losing him.

She’d already given him away.

Pushing back from her desk, she rose to stare at this tiny apartment she’d locked herself away in. All this time, it’d been her refuge, the place she’d escaped to. Now it felt like a prison.

She had to get out of there. Maybe she wasn’t driving to Philadelphia tonight to make a fool of herself. It was a Saturday night, but she sure as hell wasn’t trying the whole losing herself at a club thing. But she couldn’t stay here, brain circling and circling, returning again and again to the same point. She’d fucked up. Made a terrible mistake.

Her gaze caught on the sneakers she’d tossed near the door in disgust a few days prior. She’d tried running a handful of times now, and it hadn’t gotten any better. Credit where credit was due, though. It left her wrung out and sick to her stomach with shaking muscles, but it blanked her thoughts, at least for a little while.

Pulling up an angry playlist, she tucked a pair of earbuds in. With her keys clenched firmly in her hand, the jagged edges sticking out between her fingers in case anyone decided to fuck with her, she made her way downstairs. She did a couple of perfunctory stretches in the entryway of her building.

The cool, early autumn air enveloped her as she spilled out onto the sidewalk, scanning it for anyone coming her way. Cranking up the volume on her music, she set an easy warm-up pace toward the corner.

She made it barely a dozen strides before, out of nowhere, a hand closed around her arm.

And it was instinct. Jesus Christ, but it still was. She kicked her leg out to get into a solid crouch, had her weight just right to lay the guy out on his ass, only…

Only fighting her way out of every situation wasn’t her only option. Not anymore.

Not yielding an inch, she tore her earbuds from her ear. The roar of thrumming bass subsided into a tinny echo as the speakers fell, letting the rest of the world seep in around her again. The voice.

“Goddammit, Jo, I am not letting you do this to me again.”

Her heart stopped.

It was impossible. There was no way.

She shook free, pulse thundering to life again as she tried to get her head around the concept. The hands on her retreated, but she didn’t let her guard down. Twisting away, she got a foot of space between herself and the person who’d taken her by surprise.

And she might as well have been the one who’d gotten flipped. The one flat on her back and gasping for air.

He’d taken her by surprise all right. Here and now, and at every single turn. With his kindness. His attention and his patience, and the fact that he wouldn’t let her push him away. Even when she thought she’d managed it for good.

Because there, hands up in front of him, looking like the best thing she’d seen in her entire life, was Adam.