The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries, #1)

“I know I have no right to say that. I just…I miss you. I can’t help it.” He hesitates. “Do you miss me at all?”

He gives me that earnest expression, and it’s another hit to my already aching heart. It sucks because Case is a genuinely good guy. He wasn’t being malicious when he did what he did. I truly don’t believe he meant to hurt me. He made a mistake.

No, corrects the sharp voice in my head. He didn’t make a mistake.

He made a choice.

“G?” he prompts.

“Of course I miss you,” I answer, because I’ve never been able to lie to him. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we broke up.”

That brings a stricken look to his face.

Letting out a defeated breath, Case walks to the black leather couch my roommate’s parents bought for us when they realized the prior sofa we were using had come from a garage sale in Hastings. Mya’s parents are…snobs is putting it nicely. But they’re snobs with great taste.

Case sinks onto the couch and drops his head in both palms.

It takes all my willpower not to go over there and wrap my arms around him. I’ve always hated seeing Case upset. It’s just such an unnatural state for him. He’s generally a positive person, taking everything in stride. And like I said, he’s a good guy. With a truly good heart. That makes it impossible to hate him.

Finally, he lifts his head. “I want you back. Please, baby.” His voice cracks slightly. “I hate not being with you.”

Little fissures form in the armor I’ve erected around my heart.

“I know you hate this too,” he pleads. “Being apart. Like this summer, not being with you? It was brutal. Just fucking unbearable.”

Yes and no. I did miss him this summer. I’m not going to deny that. But I also wasn’t crying myself to sleep and composing lovelorn messages in my Notes app, paragraph after paragraph about how much he hurt me and what it would take for us to be together again.

The truth is, I don’t know if it’s even possible. I’m not a cold or rigid person. My friends tell me I forgive way too easily. And I have forgiven Case, truly.

But I also can’t forget what he did.

“You cheated on me,” I remind him. My tone is flat.

“It was just a kiss,” he says miserably.

A rush of anger and indignation heats my throat before I can stop it. I open my mouth, but he’s quick to speak before I can.

“I know, I get it. We don’t agree on what cheating is. I don’t think what I did is exactly cheating—”

“You made out with someone else! That’s not ‘just a kiss,’ Case. And it’s cheating.”

“It was stupid, okay? I fully acknowledge I fucked up.”

This is the same fight we had in June after he confessed what he’d done. The same fight we kept having when he tried to win me back. I’m sick of it.

“You want to get back together, and yet you won’t even admit that what you did was cheating.”

“It was a mistake.” His features become strained when he clocks my inflexible expression. “All right. I cheated. Okay? I cheated, and I’ve regretted it every second of every day since it happened. I was drunk, and freaking out because it was getting so serious with us, and I…freaked out,” he repeats, hanging his head in shame.

I feel awkward standing there in front of him, so I walk over to sit down. I keep a couple feet of distance between us, but he turns, shifting his body so he’s angled toward me. His legs are so long that one of his scuffed-up sneakers grazes my socked foot.

“You told me you would think about it,” he reminds me in a soft voice. “About trying again.”

I release a weary sigh. “I did think about it. But like I told you the last time we texted, I don’t want to get back together.”

His face falls. When he reaches for my hand, I let him take it. He laces his fingers through mine. His hand feels so familiar. Warm and dry, the pads of his long fingers callused.

He implores me with his eyes. “Please. I just want to prove that I’m not messing around here or playing games. I made a mistake and I own it. But the only thing I need you to know right now, the thing that matters most, is that I love you.”

My heart flutters at that. He has no idea how long I’d waited for him to say those words. The entire year and a half we were together, in fact. I fell for Case so fast, but I forced myself not to say it too early, afraid to scare him off. And then, when I finally uttered those three words for the first time, he didn’t say them back. Sure, he was suddenly throwing them around after he kissed someone else. But the night I said I love you, he didn’t say I love you too.

The reminder turns the fluttering of my heart into a deep sting.

“You’re skeptical,” Case says, eyeing me.

“I don’t know what I am. I…can’t give you any answers. We broke up.”

He nods slowly. Runs a hand through his golden hair, drawing my attention to the strong line of his jaw. Any girl would take one look at that perfect face and throw herself at him, tell him, Yes, of course I’ll take you back!

But I’m not so quick to let him back in. Not after everything that happened.

“Okay. I understand,” Case says after a long silence. “I’ll get out of your way then.”

Guilt trickles through me. I squeeze his hand before he can pull away.

“Hey,” I assure him. “I’m still your friend. You know if you ever need me, ever, all you have to do is call, right?”

“I know, and I’m always here for you too.” He tugs me to my feet. “C’mon, I should go. And you’ve got Whitney waiting for you.”

At the door, Case lets go of my hand and holds out his arms. I can’t resist stepping into them. Letting him wrap them around me in a hug that feels like home.

For a moment I’m tempted to tilt my head up. To let his lips come down on mine and just lose myself in his kiss.

But then I think about his lips on somebody else’s, and the urge dies.





CHAPTER FOUR


GIGI



Is it Carl?


EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, I HIT THE RINK FOR A SOLO SKATE, ducking out just as the men’s team arrives for their second day of training camp. Then I manage to squeeze a run in afterward but keep it short because it’s more humid outside than I expect. On my way back to the dorms, I get a phone call from my twin, and soon I’ve got Wyatt whining in my ear about our mom, who didn’t appropriately fawn over the new song he sent her. I guess she didn’t love the arrangement, but the way he’s ranting, you’d think she told him to forsake music altogether and get a job in pharmaceutical sales.

I slow to a jog, enjoying having the campus all to myself. Once classes start on Monday, Briar will be buzzing with life. The cobblestone paths will be teeming with students and faculty, the wrought-iron benches crammed with bodies. There’ll be people sitting in the quad for as long as the weather permits. Blankets strewn on the grass while students throw Frisbees and footballs around. Even when the weather changes, the campus will still be beautiful. A blanket of snow, frost in the trees. I love every season in New England. This place is in my blood.

It’s in my brother’s blood too, and yet Wyatt has had trouble staying still his whole life. He’s always had a serious case of wanderlust. Always convincing our dad to take us on epic trips in the offseason. Surfing and zip-lining in Costa Rica. Hiking in South America. Scuba diving in the Maldives. He and Dad are super close, but (as much as he’d deny it) Wyatt’s actually a huge mama’s boy.

Which is why I laugh and cut him off midrant. “Okay, can we just stop with the fake outrage? We both know you’re going to do what she suggests in the end.”

“That’s not true,” he argues.

“Really? So you’re not going to adjust the bridge of the song then?”

“If I do change the bridge, it’ll be because I feel like I should, not because Mom said so.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Keep telling yourself that, champ.” I loudly cough out the words, “Mama’s boy.”

“I am not a mama’s boy.” The outrage is back.

“Isn’t your profile pic a photo of you and Mom?”