I wait as long as I can before heading into the gym. I’m praying Asher isn’t there. I’m not ready to face him, and I can’t believe what he did. It’s so unlike him. I really hope he wasn’t trying to tell me he loves me by what he wrote on his shirt. If so, I might just burn the shirt. I don’t want to know that way, and I sure as hell don’t want an apology. What is he apologizing for? Not loving me? Or admitting that he loves me? That’s silly. I don’t want that; I want him to look at me and tell me he feels what I feel. I want his forever.
I slide his mom’s ring down onto my finger, and my heart aches. I don’t even know what to think about it. He lied about the ring, and for what? It all makes no sense, and I’m unsure what to do. Do I face him, get some answers, and then decide how to proceed? Or do I wait it out? What am I waiting out, though? I’m just so confused, and I don’t want to act based on the fact that I miss him. That I love him and want to be with him. I want to know I’m as important to him as he is to me.
I must be different because I don’t want his actions—I want his truth.
I head out, my heart in my throat, and decide I’m hoping he is with my parents. We need to talk; I can’t do this anymore. When I get out in the gym, though, he’s not there. Just my mom and dad. Disappointment chokes me as I go into my dad’s arms, hugging him tightly. “Great game, sweetheart.”
I nod against his chest. “Thanks, Daddy.”
He lifts my chin, grinning down at me. “You okay?”
I search his eyes. “Did Asher tell you?”
He nods. “Told me that he was in a relationship with you, but things are in limbo and he’s tr
ying to fix it, but you shut that down very quickly.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat as my mom says, “I think you two need to talk.”
“Did he leave?”
“Yeah, before the game started.”
That hurts, but I made sure not to look up in the stands. I wasn’t sure I could handle looking into those wounded eyes. “Oh. Okay.”
“Maybe call him?”
I nod. “Yeah, maybe.” Though I say that, I don’t know if I will. I’ve probably hurt his feelings with the way I handled his grand gesture, but nobody has ever done that. I didn’t know how to act or even what to do. I know what they do in the movies, but this isn’t a college romantic comedy; this is my life, and I gotta figure this shit out. “I’ve got an early morning. I’m going to head back to the dorm. Get some sleep.”
Mom wants to argue, but Dad squeezes my shoulders. “Sounds good, honey. Call if you need anything.”
“Swallow your pride, Allison. He’s hurting.”
I don’t respond to my mom or even acknowledge what she says. I know he’s hurting—hell, I’m hurting, but I don’t know if space or his declaration can fix this. I don’t even know if it is fixable. I don’t want to believe my toxic thoughts, but I’m terrified they’re right. I need to sleep on this. Or go to his place and kiss him.
I’m so confused.
I head out with tears filling my eyes, and I cuddle deeper in my jacket once I’m outside. The walk to my dorm is quick, thankfully, but on cold nights like these, after games, Asher would keep me warm. The same could be true tonight, but my impatience, pride, and need for three words may have ruined that. I really didn’t think crossing that line with Asher would be this complicated, but then, is it? Or did we—or, really, did I—make it complicated? This very well may be my fault, and I don’t know how to handle that.
But seeing him made me recognize how badly I missed him.
I take out my phone and stare at my wallpaper. It’s a photo of Asher and me on our “first” date. We’re lying in front of the fireplace, my mouth is full of s’mores, and he’s kissing my cheek. It reminds me so much of when we were younger at camp, minus the kissing part. Some of my greatest memories are with him. Not just at camp, but everywhere.
Just being with him made for amazing memories, no matter what we were doing.
Without really thinking, I hit his contact in my phone. When his voice comes over the line, my whole body catches on fire.
“Hey.”
I hold back my sob. I’ve missed him so much. I hold my student ID to my dorm’s entrance keypad and push the door open as I say, “Hey, um… You left.”
“Er, yeah. I was embarrassed.” His voice is rough, low. “The romantic movies of the world set me up for failure. If I had done that in a movie, you would have run up the stairs and kissed me.”
I can’t help it, I grin. I should have done that. “You caught me off guard. I didn’t know what to do.”
“I understand. It was very out of my norm,” he says as I head up the stairs to my room.
“Very much so. But it got my attention.”