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I’ve been so fucking stupid.

The words of our last conversation assaulted my mind again and again. I wasn’t sure I’d ever forget them.

“I’m not going to sit here and wait around for you, Greyson. I can’t do that,” I’d finally said.The words had been sitting around in the back of my mind for a long time, I’d just been too afraid to say them. “I have plans of my own,” I powered through them anyway. “I’ve waited my entire life to start over, too, you know.”

“I know.” He shook his head. “I’m not asking you to do that. I’m just…”

“Justwhat, Greyson?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed.“I just know that I care about you. So much. And I love you…

“But I’m not asking you to wait for me. I know I can’t ask that of you. I’m just hoping for something—anything. Anything but the possibility of never seeing you again.”

I spun around in my room, wanting to thrash all my shit against the walls. Wanting to ruin every piece of furniture in that goddamn room.

My eyes landed on one wall in particular.

I shook my head, tears rolling down my cheeks. “I love you too. But I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“We call each other,” he said right away, “whenever we can. And we stay friends… And in a few years, when I get out, we see what happens.”

I knew that wasn’t possible. I couldn’t do that and not still love him. I’d hold onto it, and it would keep me from living my life—from learning, and growing, and finding myself. And again, I owed myself better than that.

I picked up the bottles of paint that sat on my easel and twisted off the caps one by one. Red, black, blue, green, too many other colors to care. There were so many pictures on that wall that I wanted to ruin. That I wanted to forget.

But I took a deep, shaky breath, and nodded my head anyway. “Okay,” I’d whispered. Despite all my feelings. Despite all my misgivings, and doubts, and fears. Despite all my convictions.

It was the most devastating lie I’d ever told.

I launched each of those bottles across my bedroom with all the anger I felt burning inside of me. Watched the paint spill and splatter and drip all the way down each one of those photos, erasing each memory.

Only tiny slivers of those real bits in time poked through.

Just enough to still remember.

Seventy-two After

“WAAAAAAOOH!!!” I SCREAMalongside my friends. Alongside a good-sized theater packed with contagious excitement.

It’s incredible—mind-blowing, surreal.

Greyson, down there, on stage. A crowd of enthusiastic concertgoers loudly chanting his name.

“Holy shit, he’s like…famous,” Kat says, wide eyes looking down at the space filled with people. Greyson gave us some kind of special-access passes, so we’re up here on a private balcony with the rest of the band’s guests—some family, and some friends.

I don’t recognize much of anybody, of course, but I do catch eyes with Brienne, the drummer’s wife, and wave at her with a small smile. She flashes a brilliant smile back, and my lips tug up even higher.

An excited and out of breath Maggie redirects my attention.

“Hey, guys!” she says. “Sorry we’re late.” She points up at her date’s chest. “You already know Sam. I mean, of course you do, but I feel like I’m supposed to officially introduce everyone or something…like…that…” she trails off, blushing slightly, and Sam pulls her closer into his side, holding out his hand to us.

“Sam, officially.” He smiles widely.

Sita and I laugh at Maggie’s expense and exchange introductions with the man who’s poured drinks at our favorite bar and restaurant for over two years now. And yes, Maggie has crushed on him that entire time.

I’m not surprised that after only a single date they completely clicked and have been almost inseparable since. They fit together really well. Like they were made for each other. Two halves of one whole. And it’s nice—more than nice—to witness the smile she can’t seem to wipe away from her face. And his, too.

I blow her a kiss as Ricky tugs me back over to the edge of the balcony, where Greyson’s band is just starting to play their first song of the night.