Page 41 of Don’t Say You’re Sorry (Hawthorne University #2)

ADAM

PRESENT

I ’m drawing in the den when there’s a knock at the door. I put my iPad down and get up to answer it, coming face-to-face with Easton’s ex-girlfriend for the second time in twenty-four hours.

“Hi,” Lauren says. She’s wearing jeans and a gray hoodie, the sleeves pulled down over her knuckles.

“Um. Hi.”

Just as she did last night, she stares at me. Whatever she sees on my face has her crossing her arms over her chest, displeased.

I blink and do my best to drop the attitude. “Easton’s not here.”

“Good. I was hoping he’d be at practice. I came to see you.”

“Me? Why?”

“I wanted to give you this.” Reaching into her bag, she pulls something out and hands it to me.

I take it from her warily, my brows jumping when I realize what it is.

It’s one of the drawings I sent to Easton while I was in London.

In this one, we’re sitting at the top of the London Eye.

I remember looking out the window and daydreaming about a different reality.

A better one. One where he was right there with me. One where we were happy. Together.

I drew the image I saw in my head and mailed it to him. And just like all the other times, he never responded.

“Where did you get this?”

Shame tints Lauren’s cheeks. “I stole it the day I threw him out. I’m sorry. It was stupid.”

I nod stiffly. I don’t like that she took something so personal of his—of ours —but I don’t really blame her. I know what it feels like to love and lose Easton Miller. Even with the burning of his clothes and slashing his tires, she handled it like a champ as far as I’m concerned.

“Thanks for bringing it back,” I say. “I’ll give it to him.”

I’m just about to shut the door when I find her staring at me again. I pause, unsure what to do with myself. Seriously, why does she keep staring at me like that?

“What?”

“You make him happy,” she says.

When I give her a puzzled look, she tips her head toward the drawing.

“Oh, uh, this isn’t real. It’s just my imagination.”

Cocking her head, she narrows her eyes as if she doesn’t believe me. “I saw him last night. Right before he saw me, he was looking at you like this.” She taps the card with her finger.

I glance at it again. In the drawing, he’s looking at me the way he used to.

As if I’m the only thing he can see. The only thing that matters to him.

He’s looking at me as if I’m his entire world.

Fuck air. Fuck water. Fuck sunshine. He’s looking at me as if the only thing he needs to survive is me.

Was he really looking at me like this last night?

“Can I tell you something?” Lauren asks.

I lift my head. “Sure.”

“He never looked at me like that. Not even close.” She shrugs, a sad smile on her face. “He was good at pretending, but I saw right through his act. He was miserable with me. It was only after we broke up that I realized it’s because he spent the entire time missing you.”

My heart plummets. I’m not sure if she intended to make me feel good with that statement, but if she did, it has the opposite effect. I didn’t want him to be happy with someone else—it killed me knowing he was with her—but I never wanted him to feel like that.

“What exactly did he tell you about me?”

“Nothing,” she answers. “He didn’t tell me anything.”

“Then how do you know about me?” I clear my throat. “About…us.”

The question catches her off guard. She wraps her arms around her middle as if she’s trying to protect herself from something. “I heard him talking to you in the middle of the night. The next day, I went through his phone and confronted him about you.”

“Talking to me ?” I rear back, shaking my head. “Are you sure?”

She raises a brow. “You are Adam, aren’t you? The Adam in that drawing?”

“Well, yeah, but…I didn’t help him cheat on you. I wouldn’t do that.”

She nods. “You never answered his texts or his phone calls?—”

What texts? What phone calls?

“—but you knew he was trying to contact you, right?”

“No,” I insist. “You’ve got it wrong. Up until a few weeks ago, I hadn’t talked to Easton in three and a half years.”

Her shoulders lift. “Maybe you weren’t talking to him, but he was definitely talking to you.”

I gape at her, completely floored.

“It was nice meeting you, Adam.” She smiles and turns to go, pausing to look back at me. “Don’t you dare tell him this, but I’m rooting for you. Both of you. He deserves to be happy.”

I watch her leave, not moving until long after her car disappears through the gates at the end of the driveway.

Heading inside, I go back to the den and sit on the couch, staring at the drawing in my hand, my mind racing with questions.

I don’t know how much time passes before Easton gets home. He smiles when he finds me, walking into the den with two iced coffees and a box of pink sprinkle doughnuts.

We didn’t talk much after we left the drive-in last night.

We came home, went up to his room, and put a movie on.

I don’t remember falling asleep. This morning, I woke up to him watching me, his head propped up on his hand.

He was dressed and ready to leave for class.

He asked me what my favorite food was today.

I told him doughnuts. When he left me in his bed, tucked up under his warm sheets, there was a smile on my face.

“Hey,” he says, eyeing the drawing in my hand. “Did you print something new? Can I see?”

Wordlessly, I hold it out to him. He puts everything down on the pool table and comes toward me.

Wiping his fingers on his jeans, he takes the card and does a double take at it, his eyes snapping up to mine.

First, there’s relief there—he must have thought he lost it—but it’s quickly replaced with confusion and dread when he sees the look on my face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Why does Lauren think you cheated on her with me?”