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ANYA

Three Years Earlier

I’VE BEEN SITTING IN the living room for an hour now, snapping my head up to look at the doorway whenever I hear footsteps. I keep waiting for Mason to appear, but he doesn’t. He has been spectacular at avoiding me over the last two weeks.

Dread clamps down on my stomach as I recall the hotter than ever kiss we shared, only for him to practically ghost me afterwards. On game night, I thought things were going to change. The shine in his eyes and the genuine, handsome smile that lit up his face when he saw me in his jersey filled me with warmth and hope. And then, radio silence. I thought showing him I wasn’t afraid of accepting this, accepting us, would be a good thing, but clearly it wasn’t the right approach.

I’m hoping to catch him when he comes home after practice. I’m going to ask if he will watch a new horror movie with me. I read online that it’s one of the most gruesome movies to hit the screens in over ten years, and I can’t wait to watch it together. Zayden thinks we’re insane when we sit here laughing at traumatic scenes, but it’s something we enjoy doing together. It always has been. Whenever things get tense, this is how we get back on track.

Sighing heavily, I look at the time. Maybe he’s staying somewhere else for the night, or he’s out with the boys after practice. I sent him a message earlier, but it’s been left unopened, even though I can see he’s been online.

Sinking back into the pillows, I pull up one of my social media apps and begin scrolling through my friends’ stories. I open Zayden’s, and my stomach hits the floor when I see a girl with her arms snaked around Mason’s shoulders, circling her hips and grinding sensually on him. Everyone is whooping their encouragement. I squint, leaning so close to the phone my nose hits the screen. They’re at a party, and since everyone is gathered in a circle, I assume they’re playing some sort of drinking game.

Tears well in my eyes and I drop the phone, burying my face into my hands.

My heart is shredding, and the feeling burns through me as the tears flow. I quickly scramble for my phone and re-watch the story over and over, cementing the truth into my brain.

Posted an hour ago.

I’ve been sitting here this whole time, waiting for him, while he’s been getting a fucking lap dance from some girl.

Inhaling sharply, I type in his number – of course I know it by heart – then listen as the phone rings. I straighten in my seat when he answers. The background is loud, and I can barely make out his rough voice, ‘Anya?’

I open my mouth to say something – I don’t even know what – but nothing comes out. I draw in a shaky breath, unable to stop the sob escaping my throat. There’s a long beat of nothing, and then a low curse. The phone makes sharp sounds of static, and then everything is quiet.

‘Anya,’ he says quietly.

‘What the fuck , Mason?’ I cry out, hot tears spilling over, racing down my cheeks.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry ...’

‘Why?’ I choke out.

‘We can’t do this. We can’t be together. I thought this was the easiest way to tell you ... I’m a fucking idiot. I handled this all wrong.’

‘Huh,’ I bite out, my voice edged with fury. ‘Yeah. Could’ve maybe had a fucking conversation with me.’

‘I have, Blush,’ he says quietly. ‘We’ve had this conversation countless times.’

‘So then why do all of this?’ I shout into the phone, not caring if my parents can hear me. I don’t even know who else is in the house at this point – my mind has been consumed with him, as usual. ‘Why kiss me? Why act like you fucking care?’

‘I do care. I care a bit too much, which is the problem.’

‘There is no problem. I like you; you like me. It’s simple.’

‘It’s anything but simple.’

‘Mase ...’ I begin, but my words fall short. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to move on from here. We can’t go back to how things were. We can’t go forward.

I can’t lose him. Not like this.

He takes a deep breath, and I feel the resignation it holds. It washes through me, burying deep into the marrow of my bones. I can’t contain the cries that escape me. I double over, sobbing into my thighs. His own shaky exhale meets my ears, making me cry harder.

‘It has to be this way,’ he eventually says, his voice raspy with sadness, and my heart squeezes at the thought he might be crying too.

And then the line goes dead.