Page 25 of Don’t Let Me Go

Jackson Haines gives incredible hugs, and they’re fucking killing me.

I don’t know what just happened on his doorstep, but it felt like I’d died and gone to gay heaven. I couldn’t even look at

him afterward. I was too afraid he’d see how much I liked it, and then things really would’ve gotten awkward between us.

Not that things haven’t been awkward all day, I remind myself as I drive home, my skin still tingling from Jackson’s touch.

Awkward and insanely confusing.

I have no idea what’s going on between Jackson and me. On the one hand, obviously nothing is going on because Jackson is straight. I know he’s straight. He has an ex-girlfriend back in Tallahassee. He calls me dude. He likes zombie movies!

He’s basically the straightest boy I’ve ever met.

And yet that hug...

That hug was everything . Everything I wanted to tell him about how much he meant to me but couldn’t bring myself to say without making it into a

dumb joke, he managed to put into that hug. Without him saying a word, that hug spoke volumes.

Maybe more than Jackson intended?

Is that possible? Could Jackson actually like me?

There have definitely been one or two moments over the past couple of weeks when our banter and horseplay felt more like flirting.

Like the time he told me I’d make a great boyfriend.

Or the time he ate whipped cream off my face .

And then today, the way he encouraged me to get up onstage and sing—that was above and beyond the call of friendship. That

was next-level boyfriend shit.

No wonder everyone thinks we’re a couple.

Okay, not everyone . Three people. But three is actually a lot if you consider the fact that we started hanging out only a couple of weeks ago.

I wonder if my friends have noticed anything.

Part of me wants to ask them. But Audrey would just call me a toxic self-hating gay for crushing on a straight boy, and Tala

has a really unfortunate habit of forgetting that something is a secret (she’s ruined every surprise party we’ve tried to

throw). If Jackson is straight, I don’t want it getting back to him that I’ve been lusting over him. It could ruin our friendship,

and that is absolutely the last thing I want.

Seriously, these past few weeks with Jackson have been some of the best weeks of my life. And I can keep having more amazing

weeks if I don’t fuck things up. The fact that he’s a good friend who cares about my happiness and who makes me feel like

the most special person on the planet should be enough. To ask for anything more would be selfish.

Jackson is my friend. My straight friend. And I need to respect that. It’s not going to be easy pretending I don’t want more,

but for the sake of our friendship, it’s what I need to do.

Even if it does mean taking nothing but cold showers for the rest of the summer.

When I get home, I ignore Dad’s questions about my day and head up to my room, where I collapse onto my bed. All I want to

do is take a nap and not think about Jackson, but I’m too restless to sleep. I need some sort of distraction, so I take out

my phone.

I’m about to check my Instagram when I notice I have a new text. And when I see who it’s from, I sit up in shock.

ALEX: Hey. I know it’s been a while and you probably never want to hear from me again, but I’ve been thinking a lot about you and

about how things went down between us. I know I was a jerk, and I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I wanted to tell you

how sorry I am for how I treated you. I know it’s a big ask, but I’m in town for the next two weeks. I’d love the chance to

apologize in person if you’d be up for that. If not, I totally understand. But it’d be great to see you.

I have to reread Alex’s message five times before I can process what I’m seeing.

That asshole wants to apologize? In person?

I can’t believe it. In a million years, I never thought I’d see the day where he’d own up to his shitty behavior. I should

feel ecstatic. Or vindicated. Or, at the very least, smug. But I don’t.

All I feel is anger—white-hot simmering anger.

I used to pray that I’d receive a text like this. In the weeks after Alex dumped me, I’d stay up every night fantasizing that

he would come crawling back to me, begging me to take him back.

Of course, in my fantasy, I’d refuse at first. I had my pride, after all. Alex would need to suffer for what he’d done. But

only for a day or two. Eventually, after his all-consuming love for me had finally inspired him to come out and accept himself,

I’d magnanimously relent. I’d take him back. And we’d live happily ever after.

But that’s not what happened.

Alex never apologized. I never got my happy ending. I never even got closure. All I got was an eating disorder and a raging

distrust of men, two issues I’m very much still dealing with today.

So, no , I don’t want to meet up with Alex or hear whatever lame-ass apology he’s concocted. He’s three years too late. The damage

is done. If he’s feeling guilty for how he treated me, good . He should feel guilty. It might stop him from hurting someone else the way he hurt me.

I consider texting that to Alex. But honestly, I don’t want to engage with him ever again. Instead, I content myself with deleting his text and hoping

that my silence speaks volumes about just how unforgiven he is.

Maybe that makes me a jerk, but I don’t care. Sometimes petty acts of revenge are the closest thing we get to closure.