Page 99 of Making It Burn

Caroline had been right.He’d surprised me.

Back in my apartment, I sat on my couch and pulled out my phone.Beau’s contact info stared back at me.

Call me.Please.I need to talk to you.

I typed it out, then deleted it.

I told my father.About us.About me.He was okay with it.Better than okay.

I typed that too, then deleted it.

I love you.I should have said it on Saturday.I should have said it a hundred times before that.I’m sorry I’m such a coward.I’m sorry I’ve been so scared.I’m sorry I’ve hurt you.Please give me a chance to make this right.

My finger hovered over the send button.But he’d asked for space, and I was terrified of this entire conversation.

Instead, I set my phone down and stared at the ceiling, wondering if Beau was in his apartment thinking about me the way I was thinking about him.Wondering if he’d already decided I wasn’t worth the trouble.

Please don’t give up on me, Beau.

ChapterNineteen

Beau

Iwas on my third day of wearing the same sweatpants when someone knocked on my door.

“Go away,” I called from the couch.A nest of blankets surrounded me, empty takeout containers cluttered the coffee table, and my phone sat face-down on the cushion beside me, ignored.

The knocking continued.Insistent.Rhythmic.

“Beau Thatcher, open this door right now or I’m calling your landlord!”

Lisa.

I groaned and dragged myself off the couch.When I opened the door, Lisa stood there with two cups of coffee and a bag from Proper Pie Co., her expression equal parts concerned and exasperated.

“You look like shit,” she said, pushing past me into the apartment.

“Thanks.Really feeling the love.”

“When was the last time you showered?”

“What day is it?”

“Wednesday.”She set the coffee and pastries on the counter, then turned to survey the damage.“Jesus, Beau.It looks like a depression cave in here.”

“I’m wallowing.It’s allowed.”

“For like, one day.Maybe two.”She opened the curtains, and I winced as sunlight flooded the apartment.“Three days is pathological.”

“I called in sick—”

“You’re not sick.You’re heartbroken.”Lisa handed me a coffee.“Which I get.I do.But honey, you can’t hide in here forever.”

I took the coffee and sank back onto the couch.“Watch me.”

Lisa sat beside me, her expression softening.“Have you talked to him?”

“No.”