“I . . . couldn’t. I didn’t wanna . . .”
She kissed my forehead. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it, okay? Why don’t you get some sleep? We’ll figure it out when you wake up.”
That was not what I expected. My head popped up and I scanned her face. “What do you mean? That we’ll get through it?”
Her eyebrows pulled in. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m here.”
“You’re here? As in you’re staying? With me?”
Her expression scattered in different directions. “Yes. I thought we discussed this last night?”
“We did.” I probably looked like a total tool, but I nodded emphatically.
Abby’s eyes narrowed. “You thought I was going to wake up pissed at you, didn’t you? You thought I was going to leave?”
“That is what you’re famous for.”
“Is that what you’re so upset about? You stayed up all night worrying about what would happen when I woke up?”
I shifted. “I didn’t mean for last night to happen like that. I was a little drunk, and I followed you around the party like some fucking stalker, and then I dragged you out of there, against your will . . . and then we . . .” I shook my head, disgusted with myself.
“Had the best sex of my life?” Abby said, smiling and squeezing my hand.
I laughed once, astounded at how well the conversation was going. “So we’re okay?”
Abby held my face and kissed me tenderly. “Yes, dummy. I promised, didn’t I? I told you everything you wanted to hear, we’re back together, and you’re still not happy?”
My breath faltered, and I choked back tears. It still didn’t seem real.
“Travis, stop. I love you,” she said, using her thin fingers to smooth lines around my eyes. “This absurd standoff could have been over at Thanksgiving, but . . .”
“Wait . . . what?” I interrupted, leaning back.
“I was fully prepared to give in on Thanksgiving, but you said you were done trying to make me happy, and I was too proud to tell you that I wanted you back.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? I was just trying to make it easier on you! Do you know how miserable I’ve been?”
Abby frowned. “You looked just fine after break.”
“That was for you! I was afraid I’d lose you if I didn’t pretend to be okay with being friends. I could have been with you this whole time? What the fuck, Pigeon?”
“I . . . I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? I damn near drank myself to death, I could barely get out of bed, I shattered my phone into a million pieces on New Year’s Eve to keep from calling you . . . and you’re sorry?”
Abby bit her bottom lip and nodded, ashamed. “I’m so . . . so sorry.”
“You’re forgiven,” I said without hesitation. “Don’t ever do it again.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
I shook my head, grinning like an idiot. “I fucking love you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Panic
LIFE HAD RETURNED TO NORMAL—MAYBE MORE FOR Abby than for me. On the surface we were happy, but I could feel a wall of caution building around me. Not a second with Abby was taken for granted. If I looked over at her and wanted to touch her, I did. If she wasn’t at the apartment and I missed her, I went to Morgan. If we were at the apartment, she was in my arms.
Returning to school as a couple for the first time since the fall had the expected effect. As we walked around together, holding hands, laughing, and occasionally kissing—okay, more than occasionally—the gossip spiked to an all-time high. As always at this school, whispers and tabloid-worthy stories continued until another scandal rocked the campus.
On top of the unrest I already felt about my and Abby’s relationship, Shepley was growing increasingly irritable about the last fight of the year. I wasn’t far behind. We both depended on the winnings from that fight to fund our living expenses for the summer, not to mention part of the fall. Since I’d decided the last fight of the year was also my last fight for good, we would need it.
Spring break inched closer, but still no word from Adam. Shepley had finally heard through multiple lines of communication that Adam was lying low after the arrests following the most recent fight.
On the Friday before break, the campus mood felt lighter, even with the fresh batch of snow that had been dumped onto the state overnight. On our way to the cafeteria for lunch, Abby and I had barely escaped a public snowball fight; America, not so much.
We all chatted and laughed, waiting in line for trays of God-knows-what, and then sat at our regular seats. Shepley comforted America while I amused Brazil with the story of how Abby hustled my brothers on poker night. My phone buzzed, but it didn’t register until Abby pointed it out.
“Trav?” she said.
I turned, tuning everything out the second she said my name.