Chapter 43
Bree
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Leaving Gage behind was the hardest thing I had ever done. My chest still ached from it, like something vital had been torn out of me and left back at camp. But I knew I needed it. I knew I had to figure out my own demons before I could give myself to him fully.
I needed to figure out how to overcome Oliver–how I would deal with him once we started
attending the same college. I needed to decide whether we were going to pursue legal action
against him, and against Jenna. I needed to work out how I was going to live my life-
whether I wanted everyone to know the truth, or if I was going to keep it hidden like a secret scar. And beyond all of that, I had to figure out how to love without being utterly terrified of
the fallout.
When my mom picked me up at the train station, all of those walls I’d tried to build shattered instantly. I collapsed into her arms and sobbed like a child, my body shaking as if grief itself was breaking me open. She didn’t scold me, didn’t tell me to calm down or be strong–she just held me, her hands rubbing my back, her silence saying more than any words ever could.
But when we got home, the silence broke. Words spilled out of me like a floodgate had been ripped open. I told her everything there was to know about Gage. About his life, his football dreams, the way his laugh filled a room, the way his green eyes always seemed to find me in a crowd. I told her how utterly gorgeous he was–not just his body, though God knew that was breathtaking–but his soul, the way he always put me first, the way he treated me like I was precious when no one else ever had.
I told her about us. About how we had grown together, how we had stolen moments in between classes, how we had kissed under the stars and whispered secrets we hadn’t even dared to tell ourselves before. I told her about our last night–about the way he described our future with such certainty it made me believe in it too. About how we came together, body and soul, and how afterward he still held me like I was his entire world. I left out the details, the ones too raw and intimate for a daughter to confess, but I told her enough.
And then I told her how I walked away. How I left him a letter instead of a goodbye.
She listened without interrupting, her gaze fixed on me, her face both soft and tense. When I finally fell quiet, my voice hoarse, she reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear,
just like she used to when I was little.
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“I wish I could tell you what to do, babe,” she said quietly, her thumb brushing my damp cheek. “But this is your decision. If you feel like you can’t be with him right now, that you aren’t ready for it, then that’s the truth. That’s where you are.” She hesitated, her eyes shining with something like sorrow. “But… I will say this. This Gage fellow sounds like an amazing guy. And I hope that one day you’re strong enough to let someone like him love you. To
believe him when he says you’re his everything. Because you deserve that kind of love, Bree. Everyone does.”
Her words sank deep, but they didn’t soothe the ache. Because here was the problem–the
major, impossible problem. Even if I did get stronger, even if I figured myself out and healed
from everything Oliver had done… there weren’t any other guys. There wouldn’t ever be anyone else who could compare to Gage. He was it. He was everything I could have ever
wished for. And all I wanted was him.
That thought only made me hate Oliver and Jenna more. Made me wish they could be erased from existence, because their shadows had bled into everything. I couldn’t help but wonder- what if I had never fallen for Oliver? What if I hadn’t taken that path, hadn’t let myself be pulled into his orbit? Would Gage and I be together right now? Would we be packing for
college side by side, laughing at stupid inside jokes, sneaking kisses, already missing each
other before we’d even said goodbye?
Instead, I was a coward. I told myself I left for the right reasons, but every time I replayed it in my head, it felt like weakness, like running away. And then, two days after camp ended, the
universe threw salt in the wound.
A notification appeared on my phone. Gage Simmons has sent you a friend request. I just
stared at it, frozen.
After the whole nightmare with Oliver and that f*******: group, I had locked down my account
completely. No one could message me unless we were friends. No one could see a single
post, picture, or scrap of information unless I’d already approved them. I’d erased myself
from view, hidden away where no one could reach me.
But somehow Gage had found me. I knew how–Caleb.
Caleb had already reached out, my reluctant tether back to camp. He didn’t sugarcoat anything. He told me flat–out that it was wrong to leave the way I did. That I should have at least considered Gage’s feelings, that I should have considered his feelings too–Caleb’s. He told me about the aftermath, about how Gage came into the hut afterward, silent, broken.
About how he packed his things without a word, his body shaking, his eyes wet. How he
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hadn’t been himself since.
How he wasn’t Gage anymore. And that was what gutted me most. Because I had done that.
I had taken away the fire in him.
But even though he reached out, even though his name sat there like a glowing invitation, I
didn’t accept the friend request. I couldn’t. My finger hovered over it more times than I could
count, my heart begging me to give in, but my fear always won.
Instead, I lurked.
Gage’s account was wide open, nothing hidden, nothing locked away. Every night, I’d curl up in my room, silent tears soaking into my pillow as I scrolled through his pictures. Smiling at every one of them like he could somehow feel it. Most of them were of him with his teammates, his arm slung around them, that easy grin stretched across his face. A few were with his parents–his mom’s proud eyes, his dad’s firm hand on his shoulder. And then there was one very old photo.
It almost broke me.
Little Gage, maybe five or six, his blonde hair sticking out in every direction, his smile crooked but pure joy. His tiny arms were wrapped tightly around a little girl who looked exactly like him, her pigtails sticking out as she grinned at the camera. That was how I knew he had a sister. That was how I realized just how much of his life I didn’t know–and how much I
wanted to.
Because while he didn’t hide his account, while he shared plenty, none of it was truly personal. No hometown listed. No high school tagged. Not even where he went to college. A blank canvas where the most important details should have been. And yet I knew–if someone wanted to, if they dug deep enough–they could piece it all together anyway.
The night before I had to leave again, before boarding a plane that would carry me across the country to start college, I sat awake staring at one of his pictures. He was in full uniform, helmet under one arm, grin cocky, green eyes sharp even through the screen. I traced the curve of his smile with my fingertip like a fool, imagining for one second what it would feel like to have him here.
And then my phone vibrated. A new message slid across the top of the screen, covering his face. The name froze me where I sat. Oliver. Cold dread spilled through my veins, as if my body knew even before my brain caught up.
O
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Oliver: Can’t wait to see you again, baby. We’re gonna have so much fun the next four years together. Are you taking the four o’clock plane as well? Maybe I’ll let you suck me off in an airplane toilet.
My stomach twisted violently. My thumb trembled as I pressed into the contact info, his name bold and familiar, a reminder of everything I hated about myself.
I despised how much power he still had over me. How a part of me had once wanted him to
be forever. How many scenarios I had spun in my head where Oliver was the one, the
endgame, the person I could trust my heart with. But six weeks at camp had unraveled all of
that. Six weeks with Gage had shown me just how fake everything had been.
With Oliver, it had always been surface level. His pleasure first. His wants. His ego. He took what he wanted and left scraps for me to cling to.
But with Gage… God. With Gage it had been everything. Every touch had been a promise. Every kiss had been worship. Every whisper had carved itself into my soul. He hadn’t just
made love to me–he’d wrecked me, drowned me, cherished me until I forgot what it felt like
to be used.
Compared to him, Oliver was obsolete. A shadow. Nothing but noise in the background.
And still, as I sat there, my heart begged me to press accept on Gage’s request. Begged me to text him. Begged me to throw myself at him and plead with him to come here, to save me from myself. But I couldn’t. Not like this. Not until I was sure.
If I was going to be with Gage, I had to do it right.
Which was why I made the decision that night to ask the Dean for help. She had already offered a meeting, a chance to talk through everything that happened, and I would take her up on it. But I wanted more. She could give me access to the campus counselor, maybe even the psychiatrist. Someone who could help me peel back the layers of fear, who could teach me how to breathe again, how to believe in myself, how to one day love Gage the way he deserved to be loved.
And the first step toward that future? Cutting Oliver out. Completely.
My thumb hovered over the screen, the red lettering glaring up at me. Block contact. Confirm?
It felt terrifyingly final. But also freeing.
So I screenshot the message, proof of his harassment, tucked it away. And then I pressed confirm.
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His name disappeared.
I deleted the thread.
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I went through every app, every note, every account, and erased him. One by one until he was
gone. Until his shadow no longer reached into my life.
And when it was over, when my hands shook and my breathing was ragged, I shut off my phone, placed it gently on the pillow beside me, and closed my eyes.
I thought of Gage. Of his arms around me. Of the way his warmth had seeped into my bones, of how safe I had felt pressed against his chest. I clung to that memory like a lifeline.
And slowly, with the faintest ghost of his scent in my mind, I drifted into sleep. For the first time in a long time, it felt like I had taken a step forward–one step closer to maybe, just maybe, deserving him.
”
Emilia M
I don’t know why, but these last two chapters just makes me think of the song “Hold Me While You Wait” by Lewis Capaldi
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