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Left. Forgotten.

That isn’t what this is. Snap out of it, Cal.

I reached our table where everyone was standing, hugging Laura and congratulating her. I joined the throng, pulling in heavy breaths and trying to muster my enthusiasm for Laura. I hugged her after she’d been attacked by Annie and Michael, and then she clung to her husband while he whispered congratulations in her ear. The applause died down and everyone readied themselves for the next award.

It was only when Annie gave me a confused glance that I realized I was still standing. Reeling. Fuck, I needed to pull myself together. Leaning down to Laura, making sure to keep my features neutral, I whispered, “Proud of you. You deserve it.”

Laura gave me a breathless smile, but then it fell. “Cal?”

Annie and Michael heard her tone and turned sharp looks my way. Even in the low lighting, she’d noticed, then. Hell. I put a hand on her arm. “Something came up. I just need to step out. I’m so sorry.”

“How can I help?” she whispered, and the lines between her eyebrows deepened in concern.

I shook my head. “It’s nothing. Just bad timing.”Understatement of your unlucky year, chump.“Don’t wait up for me.” I squeezed her arm and made sure she could see the sincerity that managed to surface from under the weight of my monsoon of confusion. “We’re lucky to have you. Really.”

“Cal,” she hissed, moving to get up. “What’s going on?”

I couldn’t answer her. I didn’t know, myself. I waved to Michael and Annie, and then I backed away, heading straightfor the exits. I passed Rook on my way, and he seemed to be coming back from the bathroom, his eyes on his phone screen. He glanced up at me, and like a muted double-take, yanked his attention from his phone to me. I raised a hand in greeting but veered away from him. Of all the people in this room, Rook was the last I felt like dealing with at the moment.

As soon as I stepped out of the crowded space, fast-walking down the tomb-like hallways, I sucked in a desperate breath.Think, Reed. Stop panicking. Whatever your body is telling you this is, it’s wrong. This isn’t middle school. It’s not an empty house and parents who didn’t want you. This is Ruth. Glasses-nudging, lip-biting, smart-talking, quiet-humored Ruth. This is the woman who…

I paused, thinking. Come to think of it,hadshe said she cared for me? I combed through all our interactions. Ruth was shy, that I knew. She seemed so reluctant to trust, to believe that she was deserving of adoration. And I’d been thoroughly enjoying chipping away at her defenses, breaking her down so I could hold her closer and show her how much she truly deserved.

But what if I’d read her wrong? What if her reticence to admit feelings for me had stemmed from knowing that her heart belonged to another? God, could I really have beenthatoblivious?

“I feel safe with you.”

No. No way.

Still fast-walking down the halls and heading purposefully for the elevator, I slid my phone from my pocket.

Something was wrong, here. Ruth hadn’t declared her undyinglove for me. She hadn’t even admitted that she believed I really cared for her. She hadn’t so much as acknowledged that our relationship was real… but I knew. My gut knew. My soul knew it better.

Ruth was my match. If she was gone, then something was wrong.

I pulled up our messages and tapped one out.

Cal:

Whatever is going on, I’m here for you. Trust me.

I didn’t wait to see whether she’d responded or not. I rode the elevator to the parking garage. Then I fast-walked to my car, and without hesitation, pulled up her address in my GPS. They only had a half-hour head-start. There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to let Ruth bury herself in whatever fucked up mess this was.

Ruth was in trouble. I didn’t know how or why—I couldn’t reasonably conceive an explanation for why she would lie and let him lead her away. But as I drove out of Portland and back to Eugene, I had the time to really turn over our interactions in my mind like tarot cards that told a deeper story. I had time to remember the somber discussions we’d had about the aftermath of her hurt. I recalled thetangiblehurt she carried around like a mantle, like a barrier that physically prevented her from trusting others.

There was like an eight percent chance I was delusional, but I’d take those odds. Ruth Coldwell had made me crazy since themoment I’d laid eyes on her, anyway. What else was new?

I checked my messages occasionally over the long drive, but she didn’t respond. My text to her sat unread. Frustrated, I focused on the GPS and the interminably long path it marked between her and me. As my icon inched its way south, I went through the positive self-talk mantras my mother had taught me to re-write the doubt and loathing that had formed at the core of who I had been after being abandoned.

They were stupid, really—childish, and in many ways, the equivalent of yelling “Abracadabra!” and expecting something magical to happen. But like conjuring a spell that had been born of positive outcomes and ruthless optimism, they seemed to help.

I am worthy.

I am enough.

I trust my instincts.

I can give love.