Hazed (Palm South University)

Her eyes jet over to the door Gavin walked in, and I assume he either went to the bathroom or to get them a drink, since there’s an open container pass as long as you stay within the block.

Either way, my time alone with her is limited.

“You look good,” I say.

Again, stupidly.

“Oh, thank you,” she says with a blush, looking down at her dress.

“Get lots of time at the beach over break?”

She frowns, confused.

“You’re tan,” I comment. “More so than usual.”

So stupid.

“Ah,” she says. “Yes, actually, but not here. Um… Gavin and I, we… we took a trip.”

“Oh.”

“We went to the airport and just let two strangers pick our gate letter and number.”

At that, I balk genuinely. “Wow. That’s… that’s ballsy.”

She laughs, and the sound is so sweet, so familiar and yet such a distant memory I almost question if it’s real. “It’s okay. You can say what you really think — it was crazy. And very unlike me.” She pauses then, filling up with a fresh inhale. “And amazing in every possible way.”

My stomach twists with jealousy, but I shove the emotion down. “Where did you end up?”

“Ecuador, if you can believe it.”

“Wow,” I say with another bulging of eyes.

“I know! I know,” Erin says, shaking her head. “It was some city we’d never even heard of. Guayaquil? But some quick research while we waited to board and we found this gorgeous beach town. The water was so blue and beautiful, and there were giant turtles and exotic birds, and the music was… oh, and the food!”

She can barely contain her smile as she talks about the place, the name of which I miss because I’m too busy telling myself to smile like I mean it, and it takes all my effort to do so.

After a while, she falls silent again, and I know my time is running out. It’s now or never to say what I have to say.

“Erin, I’m really sorry about what happened at Friendsgiving.”

She winces like I’ve struck her. “It’s ok—”

“No.” I stop her, holding up a hand. “It’s not okay. I know it and so do you.”

She rolls her lips together, crossing her arms even tighter over her chest as she waits for me to continue.

“I was an asshole. I acted out of line and I’m sorry for it. I don’t blame you for ignoring my calls and my texts. I’d be pissed if I were you, too. But…”

Don’t you fucking get emotional, Bear.

But it’s useless. My throat nearly closes on itself as I try to fight back the tears stinging the corner of my eyes, and I still a breath before I continue.

“Look, I don’t have an excuse, other than I had my own shit going on. But it doesn’t matter. All that does is that I’m genuinely sorry that I hurt you.” I find her gaze then, and when I see her eyebrows pinched together as she watches me struggle with my emotion, I nearly fall apart. “And I’m glad to see you happy, Erin. I truly am. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

She sucks in a stiff breath, and I don’t miss the glossing of her own eyes. “Bear…”

Behind her, I see Gavin in the bar, making his way through the crowd and back out to the street.

“I just wanted you to know,” I say with a sniff, and then I turn and bolt without another word, steering myself back toward the bar where my brothers are. I don’t look over my shoulder to see if Erin is watching me leave, or if Gavin is giving her a kiss now that he’s reunited with her, or if they’re walking hand in hand in the opposite direction.

I can’t do anything but forge on.

And as I reach the bar again, ducking inside and welcoming the greeting of smoke and music, I have the most disturbing moment of clarity.

I finally understand why I feel tethered to this place, why it feels impossible to leave.

It’s not PSU that’s keeping me here. It’s not my brothers or the parties or the nostalgia of being a college kid. It’s not the bars or the three-story gym on campus or the mostly responsibility-free lifestyle.

It’s her.

And now that I see it, I know one thing for sure.

I can’t leave here.

Not yet.

And not without her.

“WHAT IS IT?”

“Open it and find out.”

I stare at the giant box Gavin just took out of his car and sat between us in the parking lot, questioning its safety with an arched brow. Other people from therapy are still filing out to their own cars around us, and Gavin tips an imaginary hat at them when they stare at the box with just as much confusion as I am.

“I don’t like surprises.”

“It’s not a surprise,” he says on a laugh. “It’s a gift. Open it.”

I should be used to this kind of behavior from Gavin. I mean, if him suggesting that we take a spontaneous trip where we let strangers pick our destination hadn’t proved that already, I’m not sure what would. Still, my stomach is a mess of butterflies as I stare at the gift.