Текст книги "Triangle: The Complete Series"

Автор книги: Susann Julieva

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a wink, and I can only laugh at him, seeing the tease for what it is.

I gesture at his hand a little where I can see his knuckles are a little roughed up, still smiling. “Yeah,

doesn’t look like a very successful date, if it was. What’s the matter, having to fight off all those

groupies lately?” I’ve never even heard of Rizzo getting in a fight, but his hand looks pretty raw.

He shrugs, casual grin still firmly in place. “What can I say? Everyone loves a tortured prince.” He

gestures down at where I’ve tucked the book away, almost seeming interested that I have it here, and

I’m actually a little embarrassed that he’s caught me reading it, thinking back again about the

comparison. I can feel the tips of my ears flush hot and pink, and I try to shrug as casually as he had.

“It passes the time,” I reply to his unasked question, but my answer seems weak even to me,

especially since there’s a million other things I could be reading. I sigh and shake my head. “And if I

ever get out of here… get back to campus… shit’s not going away any time soon, right?” There’s a

pause that I’m starting to recognize as Rizzo thinking before he replies.

“Not even if you want it to, no.” Rizzo’s still smiling, his tone light, but I look over just in time to

catch something else. I wouldn’t even be able to name what it was, but it tells me that something isn’t

right.

“Do you want it to?” The question is out before I can stop it, and Rizzo glances over, seeming

surprised. I’m not sure at what. Maybe that I’m not completely lost in my own head anymore, and can

actually pick up on shit. He shakes his head though.

“Not the whole show. Just certain people in it.” He laughs it off as a joke and changes the subject,

but we both know he’s acting even now.

***

The room’s swimming, and I’m certain that I’ve misheard what Doc’s just said. When I ask her to

repeat it, though, it stays the same.

“We’re releasing you next week, Nick. You’ve been here over a month, your mandatory time here’s

done, your school semester has started, and I don’t want you missing any more classes than you

absolutely have to. Plus, even though we both know that there’s things you still have to work on, you’ve

actually made a lot more progress than I expected.”

I’m already shaking my head, ready to argue, but she talks over it. “Nick, the drugs are out of your

system and you’re responding well to the medication we’ve got you on. From what I can tell, from what

you’ve told me, you’re more stable now than you’ve been in years. I know you’re scared. Everyone’s

scared to get back out there, especially after something like you’ve been through. But hiding in here

isn’t going to make it any easier. We’ll set up appointments for you to come in, lots of them. We’ll keep

you healthy.” She pauses and looks at me so seriously that I can feel my throat go tight at the unspoken

We’ll keep you alive.

She doesn’t usually say shit like that, not with that tone. Even hinting that the overdose was more

than just an accident, and that all the shit leading up to it wasn’t accidental either. I’ve said it in

sessions, we’ve talked a lot about self-destructive behavior and depression and coping, and there’s shit

about it in my official file, but damn if I hate admitting it when I don’t have to.

Everything else she says washes over me, and eventually I head back out to the main lounge, trying

to get my hands to stop shaking. The feeling is familiar, but this time it’s not for the reasons I’ve been

used to. I’m still sitting there when Rizzo shows up. I can tell that he’s in a good mood when he comes

in, an extra energy to his step that I can feel even though I don’t look up. It stills, though, when he gets

closer, and by the time he sits down, he’s serious and quiet.

“Nick?”

I have to close my eyes to try to steady myself against how concerned his voice suddenly sounds.

Now that I’m able to pay attention, I hear the worry and care that’s hidden under everything else. I

notice the little hints of vulnerability. It tugs at me in a strange way when he sounds like this, makes me

wonder more about the parts of himself that he doesn’t usually show, the things he doesn’t usually say,

the things I’ve always missed before and am finally starting to see now. On top of everything else that’s

just happened with Doc, it’s so unsettling. My eyes are still closed when I take a breath to steady

myself.

“They’re releasing me… next week.”

There’s a stillness between us while I wait for a reply, but none comes. I finally open my eyes to

look over at him, and he’s smiling at me. Not laughing, not teasing, just smiling a little. Happy.

“Best news I’ve had all day,” he says, voice warm enough to wrap around me. There’s something

under the words that I’ve never heard before from him, something relieved and relaxed and though I

know I don’t deserve it and never will, it makes me feel like maybe I can handle this.

***

Logically, I know it’s been less than two months.

Logically, I know that nothing’s going to have changed.

But it still feels strange when the cab pulls up to campus and everything looks the same. The

buildings still stand where they always have, winter-bare trees filling the spaces in between. There’s a

fairly new blanket of snow making everything reflect clean and bright as I watch people hurry between

buildings to get out of the cold. Just like they always have.

Everyone’s bundled up in heavy jackets and scarves, covering their faces and hiding who they are. I

wouldn’t be able to recognize anyone out there even if I did know them. The fact that I don’t makes it

even worse. Like I’m a stranger on campus. I have to laugh, because it’s basically the truth. The only

one on campus that I can even claim to know at this point is Rizzo, and no matter that he came to visit

me in the hospital, I know that being on campus is going to be completely different. I know that here

he’s Rizzo, and a messed-up Nick Keller doesn’t have any place in the world of Rizzo.

The cab pulls up in front of one of the dorms, one I’ve never lived in before. Between Doc’s

recommendation and the University needing to shuffle people around at the semester break, I’ve been

moved into a different room, a different building. I pay the cab driver from the cash that my mom had

dropped off along with some more of my things, and head up to my new room. When I get there, I find

all of my old things already there, thrown into haphazard boxes. I wonder who got to sort through it all.

Cops? University administration? My family? I’m sure Rizzo would’ve said something by now if it’d

been him.

Even though it’s a different room, it still smells like a dorm. Like people and books and microwave

food and a mixture of dirty and clean laundry floating in from the hallway. Other than the boxes and the

standard dorm room furniture, the room is empty. I start with making the bed, putting on the clean,

recently washed sheets that I find in the bag from mom. When it’s done, I sort of want to just crawl in

and never look back out, but I know that I shouldn’t, that it’ll be hard to get moving again if I stop. It

doesn’t make it any easier to ignore the temptation, though.

It takes me a few hours to unpack and sort through everything. Most of it I don’t need. Most of it I

don’t even want. It’s all just reminders of a person that I don’t want to be any more. Someone that I

can’t be, if I want to actually have a second chance. There’s a part of me that wants to be someone

better than that guy, and even if I doubt most of the time that I can do it, even if I think that it’s only a

matter of time before everything goes totally ass-up again, I have to try. Even though I know that trying

will just make it harder when I eventually fail again.

If. Not when. Shit, it’s hard to think positive.

I have the clothes that my mom dropped off – jeans and soft shirts in soft colors, everything washed

before she left it there, just like the sheets were, so that everything smelled like laundry and not the

stores. I never saw her when she stopped by, probably just long enough to drop the bags and leave

again, but I figure the fact that they didn’t still have the tags on was a good sign, like she was putting at

least some effort into it. Like maybe there’s still hope there for us. Maybe with a few years I can start to

fix that part of my life too.

But that’s looking too far ahead. One step at a time, just like Doc told me.

I take a good bunch of my shit to the trash, dumping more black clothing and fishnet and eyeliner

than I even realized I had. It’s not easy, but it’s therapeutic, and I can’t help think that Doc might be

proud of me for it. I’m a little proud of myself, to be honest. And I can breathe a little easier once it’s

gone. The room looks pretty empty, only a few things hanging in the closet for me to wear, but I’ve

gotten used to the hospital and how clean it always was. So it’s strangely comfortable. And as cheesy as

it sounds, it looks like the room of a guy that I might like to be. A little boring still, it could maybe use

something on the walls, but it’s getting there.

It’s getting there.

***

Going to class is interesting. It’s… Well, it’s a lot different when you’re sober all the time. It’s a lot

different when you actually go all the time. Doing the reading and the homework helps too. Things

make sense, and it’s easier to follow the professor.

I’d better watch out. I might actually start to like school.

Well. Shit, if I’m being honest, though, there is a problem. I had to rearrange my schedule when I got

back, because of last semester. I pretty much failed all my classes, and there’s some other stuff I have to

make up too. And when things got moved around, I lost my theater classes. So I’m stuck with core

requirement classes, which is actual work, and I don’t have anything in my major to off-set it.

And I’m obviously not in the play any more. I doubt that Jeff will ever let me be in a play at

Woodhaven again.

I have a feeling it’s going to make for a long semester, and a lot of work. Especially since the

administration has put me on some sort of special academic probation. But if I can get through the next

few months and pass all my classes, then I think I might just be able to eventually make it to graduation

too.

***

I have no hobbies.

This, I know, is tragic and sad. But it’s true. I’ve been back for just a few days, been to all of my

classes at least once. They take up a good chunk of my time, and studying and doing homework does

too. But despite the fact that I’ve apparently become a huge school-dork in my quest to survive and not

fail completely, there’s still time left over that I’m having trouble filling. Doc said it’d probably be a

problem, gave me all sorts of suggestions and shit, and that I should call her if it got too hard, but

whatever. I’m trying to tell myself that I’m just bored.

But it’s not just that. Because I also want a drink.

God, I want a drink so bad that I can almost taste it. I got home from class, and it’s a Friday

afternoon, and people are already starting to party for the weekend. And me? For the first time since I

got back, I really want to be out there with them. Partying and hooking up, and shit, I haven’t gotten laid

in months. Not since Rizzo stopped asking last semester and started ignoring me, and we’ll just ignore

how pathetic that sounds. I think about calling him, but it’s weird now that I’m back on campus. I’ve

only seen him from afar, really, and I’m not quite sure what we are here. What I am sure of is that I

can’t call him about this. And I shouldn’t have to. I should be able to get through this on my own.

But this is too much for me to handle today, and I don’t know why it’s so bad right now. I haven’t

had to do this yet, and I feel guilty about interrupting her Friday, but I call Doc’s emergency number,

apologizing even as she picks up the line, but she talks over me, telling me that it’s alright and trying to

get me to stop rambling at her.

Her voice makes it easier for me to breathe, and I’ll never tell that to anyone because it sounds so

stupid. But it’s the truth.

“Get out of your room, Nick. You need a change of scenery, especially on the weekend.” That’s her

advice. Which is great, but Woodhaven’s not a huge campus, and to be honest, there’s a limited number

of things to do.

There’s always the cafe though, and caffeine is one of my “allowable” addictions, so it seems like

the best solution for the moment. I head out of the dorm, grabbing the latest edition of the school paper

on the way. If nothing else, I can make fun of the articles in my head.

***

I never used to go into the cafe on a Friday night, always at some party or another, so I never realized

that it’s actually open on Friday nights. It’s pretty full when I push my way through the door, school

paper shoved into the pocket of my coat along with hands that I can barely feel because I didn’t think to

grab a stupid pair of gloves before I left my room.

The girl behind the counter looks at me like she’s trying to figure out where she knows me from, but

I just smile a little at her as I order my coffee. She says she’ll bring it over to my table, so I slip an extra

few dollars into the tip jar before I go to find a seat. There’s one in the corner, and by the time the girl

comes over with my coffee, I’ve already started in on reading the paper.

It’s, surprisingly, not that bad. This is actually the third edition I’ve read since I’ve been back at

school. I know, I know. Sad that this is what my life has come to these days. How far the mighty have

fallen.

I have to admit though, sitting in the cafe, the school paper spread in front of me, even if it’s on a

Friday night when almost everyone else on campus is out partying – it’s the best way I’ve found so far

to pass the time that isn’t going to class or doing homework. And really, they’ve found someone to write

that doesn’t suck, doesn’t make you want to gouge your eyes out just to save yourself from the

goddamn boredom of it all.

I’ve been checking too. Every article that’s managed to keep my attention all the way through, I’ll

check to see who wrote it. Apparently this “James Foley” guy, he’s a writer and the editor, and he’s

good. Name sounds familiar too, but hell if I know why, because I’ve never picked up the paper before.

For all I know, I could’ve slept with him. I might know if I saw him. Might not.

Still. I wonder what it’d be like to talk to the guy. Hell, if he talks anything like he writes, I might

even be able to have a conversation with him. Make my first friend. Maybe not, but I guess it doesn’t

matter either way. It’s not like I’m going to go hunting him down. That’s a little too stalker for my

tastes, thanks. I’ll keep reading the paper and if I somehow run into him that’s cool.

Probably won’t though. I figure writers for the paper are pretty out there. You know, in a social,

party way. That’s the way I remember it being in high school. And since avoiding the parties is why I’m

reading the paper in the first place, my chances of running into the guy don’t seem very high.

***

Is it pathetic to say that the cafe is becoming my home-away-from-dorm? Because it is. Getting through

the weekend and into my second week back, I’ve been here almost every day. I’m pretty sure the people

behind the counter are starting to know who I am, at least by order, because when I walked in earlier,

the girl at the register just nodded at me and said she’d bring “it” to my table. And she did. A perfect

coffee, just the way I like it.

I’ve also claimed a table as “mine”, where I always try to sit when I’m here. It’s back in the corner,

out of the way of the people just there to socialize, big enough that I can spread out a book or two if I

need to do some homework. It feels ridiculous to be so worried about school when I never was before,

but it’s what I’ve got going for me right now. It’s maybe the one thing I can at least try to be good at this

semester.

God knows I’ve got nothing else going for me right now.

I sure as hell don’t have a social life going for me, that’s for sure. And that’s one of the things about

coming to the cafe. My little table gives me the perfect spot to watch all the people that come in with

their friends, and it’s a nice, masochistic little reminder that no one’s going to come sit by me.

Since I’ve started hanging out here, I’ve seen Rizzo come in with some of the theater kids, and I’ve

seen that guy he used to hang out with come in and be all cozy with two girls. It’s easy for people to

ignore the table in the back corner though.

Especially when it’s just a guy working on his homework most of the time. I keep my head down

and the world moves around me. Even on a quiet night like this, when there’s only a few other people in

the place.

You’d think that the lack of people would make it obvious that someone’s headed to my table, but I

don’t even notice it until a chair is pulled out and someone sits across from me. I’m more than a little

surprised to look up and see that it’s Rizzo smiling back at me.

“Long time, stranger. Haven’t seen you since you got back.” He smiles more as he says it, and I

can’t help smiling in return at the familiarity. “You been hiding from me?”

I shake my head as I set down my pen, and actually glance around the cafe, checking to see if

anyone’s watching us. It’s a strange reflex, and I realize that I’m worried about people seeing us

together for his sake.

“I’ve been right here. You’ve been busy.” I’m not trying to make him feel bad, either. Not like I

maybe once would’ve. It’s just the truth: he’s been busy. Classes and the show and friends. “There’s

only so many hours in the day. You’ve got shit to do.” I quirk a smile at him. “Everyone on campus

knows that.”

He looks at me with that look I’ve gotten so used to. The one that says You are a little stupid

sometimes, aren’t you? He settles into his chair more comfortably, looking for all the world like he’s

going to be there a while, and grabs my coffee to take a drink of it. “So. How’re you settling in?”

I get the feeling that he actually wants to know, and even though it still surprises the hell out of me, I

close my book and start to talk.

Chapter 6

Don’t Tell

JAMES: With a start I wake up from that nightmare, the one where I’m covered with blood and I’m in

the shower trying to wash it off. I think it’s his blood, and I’m filled with terror, shame and disgust. But

no matter how much I scrub, it always reappears, and I start to panic. Then I realize that the blood is my

own, it’s coming out of my pores, but somehow I can’t stop scrubbing. So I scrub and scrub until my

skin turns translucent and I start to vanish, bit by bit. That’s when I wake up, my heart beating madly in

my chest, still trapped in so many layers of fear that I can’t even breathe. It takes me agonizing minutes

to calm down and find my way back into reality.

I let out a deep sigh and rub my face, hoping to shake off the broken feeling. Then I sit up and haul

my sad ass out of bed. I know it’s no use trying to go back to sleep; besides the gray hues of dawn are

already creeping in through the window, throwing long shadows on the floor. The nightmare is still

trapped inside of me, coming to life every time I close my eyes. My mind wanders back home, to how it

used to be, to Simon, to all the years between then and now that never managed to bury that day. You

can swear never to speak of something again, but nothing will keep it from haunting you.

There are things in my life that I’m not proud of, memories of when I failed to be a good son, a good

friend, a good anything. But there is one moment, one defining moment that shattered everything about

the person I’d always thought I was. Since that day, that one moment when I was sixteen, I’ve never

really been the same. You may believe that I’ve always been this jaded asshole, but nobody starts out

that way. When I look back to those days before everything changed, I cringe at how innocent I still was

in many ways. I actually believed that one day, everything would be okay. That I would miraculously

get Mom to leave Simon, and we’d start a whole new life somewhere. I thought there wouldn’t be a

price to pay. I thought we’d already paid more than our share. I was so sick of wearing turtle necks and

long-sleeved shirts every other day in summer. I was sick of pretending. They’re usually careful to only

hit you where you can hide it, but when Simon lost it, man he lost it big time. And that summer things

were worse than ever. There were nights when I lay awake listening to the steady humming of cicadas

outside, skin covered with brand-new bruises, wondering if I’d live to be seventeen. If it hadn’t been for

Mom, I would have run away years ago. But I couldn’t leave her behind. I wonder how my life would

have turned out had I had the courage and cold-bloodedness to just split. You don’t know how often I

wish I would have.

I rub my tired eyes as I sit down at my desk and hesitate a moment before I turn on the little lamp on

it. As expected, it’s way too bright when I do, and everything seems darker now outside the window. I

grab a book and turn on my old laptop, because now that I’m more or less awake, I might as well work

on my literature assignment. I glance around the room while the computer starts up. My eyes come to

rest on Rizzo’s illustrated book on Berlin, and my stomach tightens with a strange yearning. I have so

many mixed emotions when it comes to leaving. I accepted the scholarship, but just between us, I still

don’t really see myself going. Logically, I know that it doesn’t make much of a difference if I’m at

Woodhaven or across the Atlantic; Mom would still be alone, with no-one to look after her but a

detached, overworked social worker. It would be more expensive to give her the usual call every night

to check if she’s taken her meds, that’s for sure. I know she really wants me to go and take this chance.

She wouldn’t be Mom if she didn’t. But I just feel horrible about it all. I’ve been feeling so restless

lately, like I’m waiting for something bad to happen any minute. And I’m not even the kind of person to

buy into this whole foreboding shit. And then I sometimes ache for someone to tell me it’s all bullshit,

and Mom’s gonna be fine, and I’m gonna be fine, and there’s no point in worrying myself sick. And I

ache for that person to be Rizzo, and then I have to hate myself for being majorly pathetic. Welcome to

how my mind works at 5 am.

A little *ping* noise startles me and I stare at the computer screen. I exhale with relief and a sudden

feeling of warmth spreads through me. A chat window has popped up – it’s Casey.

“Hey there, Sleepless!”

I can’t help but smile as I swiftly type a reply: “You’re one to talk, Awake-at-ungodly-hour.”

“Art assignment. Just got back from lame attempt to take pictures of statues in dark park. Teeth still

chattering. Status of ass: frozen off.”

I chuckle to myself. “Now that’s a shame. I liked that ass.”

There’s a little pause and I impatiently wait for a reply. I’m still mildly shocked when it comes. Just

four little words, but they make me swallow hard. Repeatedly.

“I miss you, James.”

* * *

Eleven hours later we sit at what used to be our “usual table” at Cafe Plato, and I’m happy to report that

Casey’s nice little ass is, in fact, still there. Hallelujah. The other good news is that we both look equally

tired, so I don’t have to feel too bad about my whole Dracula getup – pale face, dark shades underneath

my eyes. Feeling strangely self-conscious, I stare at my hand resting beside my steaming coffee mug,

noticing how the veins on the back of it are showing. I think I might have lost some weight.

“You look good, James,” Casey smiles, studying me with kind eyes. “I like your hair a little longer.”

I wince and look up at him from underneath some strands of hair. “I look terrible. And I really need

to get it cut.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He, on the other hand, is wearing his hair really short now. It makes him look more mature, and

brings out the brilliant blue of his eyes more. I want to tell him, but somehow the words won’t come. So

I just sit there like an idiot, not knowing what to say or do. Awkward.

Just as the silence starts to get really uncomfortable, he suddenly reaches over and takes my hand in

his. I’m taken by surprise by this move, but his fingers are warm and wonderfully familiar on mine, so I

don’t pull away.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much lately. I feel like such an ass,” he says softly.

“No, it’s okay. Really. I’ve been pretty busy myself.”

“Well,” he clears his throat, “I wasn’t that busy.” He looks out the window for a moment before his

gaze finds mine again. “I just… I needed that space, for a while. It was tough, getting over everything.

Getting over you.” He pauses briefly. “And I’m not saying that I completely am. Over you, that is. I

guess this sort of thing just takes a little more time.”

I swallow. “Guess so.”

He takes a sip of his cappuccino, eyeing me over the brim of the cup. “But I miss our friendship,

James. More than I can say. I don’t think there’s anyone who knows me better than you do. And I miss

talking, and just hanging out. I miss all of it.” He shrugs. “I don’t know, even though things will

probably continue to be a little weird between us for a while, I’d take ‘weird with you’ over being

completely without you anytime. Does that make sense?”

“Strangely enough, it does.” I try to smile, but it ends up rather crooked. I’m not sure how I feel

about this. It’s so very good to see him, but it still hurts somehow. I’m torn all over again. Part of me

feels the same way – I never wanted to lose him as a friend. If I can just get over feeling so awkward, I

know it would be awesome to hang out again. Because I’ve been missing him too, like crazy. I wish I

could get myself to admit as much, but somehow I just can’t. It takes me a moment to realize that

there’s also a part of me that’s actually still mad with him. For ever getting me to give up Rizzo. Which

was my idea and my choice, not his. He never asked me to do it. It was my doing, mine alone. So how

can I be mad because of it? How schizo is that?

“What’s on your mind?” He looks at me intently, and I may just be squirming a bit in my seat.

“James, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Sure,” is my quick reply. A little too quick, possibly. I sigh a little, trying to beat all the

confused emotions into something that makes enough sense to talk about it. “I guess I just need to get

used to this again, is all.”

He nods, and he’s looking a little insecure all of a sudden. “I understand. If you need more time, then

I…”

I grab his arm instinctively as he already moves to get up. “No! No, stay.”

The smile I get for that warms my heart somehow, and I’m starting to feel more relaxed as he sits

back down.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“For bearing with me. Not just now – through it all.”

I clear my throat uneasily, and smirk at him. “Well, yeah. You can be a bit of an idiot on occasion.”

He laughs. “That makes two of us then.”

I grin. “So it would seem.”

He looks at me with sparkling eyes, then he reaches over. “Come here, you bastard.” And he pulls

me into a hug, and I let him. And then I hug him back. Because I love the scent of his skin, and the

warmth, and it just feels like being… home. And something cold inside of me seems to vanish into thin

air.

After that, we change the subject and start to talk about this and that like we always have, and

suddenly the conversation comes easy. We tell each other about school projects, I get to be snarky about

the lameness of some of my reporters, and he almost pisses himself laughing when I tell him about

Anna kidnapping me for lesbian movie night. He mentions Leo a lot, I notice. They seem to be getting

along pretty well when they work on art projects, and I’m surprised to be glad for him at last. The only

subject we both carefully avoid for an hour is Rizzo.

That’s when Andrea and his usual crew walk in, and we both know it won’t be long before Rizzo

shows up as well. Thursday. Vocal Production class must be over. I feel lame for having his schedule

memorized.

I glance at my watch. “Shall we leave?”

Casey nods quickly. “Okay.”

We’re out of there faster than you can say “chicken shit”, and naturally, it’s just then started to snow

again.

“Crap.” I pull my coat tighter around me, and we both stand under the roof indecisively for a minute,

staring into the big, dancing snowflakes. You almost can’t make out the trees along the paths through

them. The smell of snow fills the air. Wintertime can really kiss my ass. I’m so ready for spring. It’s

freezing, too.

Casey glances at me. “Where to?”

“Listen, I kinda still need to finish an assignment.”

“Okay.”

“But this was nice,” I hear myself admitting before I can stop myself.

He smiles brightly. “Same time tomorrow then?”

“Sure.”

There’s a silence between us again for a minute, but this time it’s not awkward. I used to love that,

our comfortable silences.

“It was good to see you, James.” He pulls me into a hug, and I pull him close.

“I’m not over him either,” he whispers suddenly, close to my ear.

I can feel myself tense noticeably, but Casey doesn’t let go. “You, my friend, need to go tell him,

though.”

“Tell him what?” I hate that my voice sounds all hoarse.

“That you want him back, of course, silly. Because if you don’t, I will.”

I pull back abruptly. “What? No, you won’t!”

He shrugs, almost mischievously, his breath visible in the chilly air. “Someone has to do something.”

“Yeah, and that involves staying the hell away from him!”

“And quietly moping for the rest of your life?”

“As if!” I snort. “Not the entire rest of my life,” I add quietly, and Casey chuckles.

He looks at me with kind eyes. “I knew it. James, you’re such an idiot. Let me talk to him.”

“You try that, and I’ll never speak to you again. I swear.”

“You make a fine drama queen, did you know?”

“Casey, I’m serious. The thing with him… it’s over. End of story.”