Page 54 of Second Position (Astor Hill #2)

Gen

Campus feels dreary—and it’s not just the weather.

It’s me. I’m a walking storm cloud, augmenting the melancholy already hanging heavy in the gray skies.

Reading week’s in full swing, but even the non-stop campus activities and unsanctioned parties are nothing against the wave of helplessness that moved in over break.

At least I’m busy; the conservatory eats up most of my free time in December anyway, and this year I have…

friends. Friends who insist we get drinks on my off-show nights when I could be soaking in epsom salts or icing my feet or feeling sorry for myself with a bowl of ice cream.

When Sloane made plans, it wasn’t a hard sell not to be alone tonight, just me and my thoughts and my achy muscles.

Last year, I would spend almost every night of the reading period at Will’s; Jean would drop me off on our way back from a show, and I’d curl up on the end of Will’s couch with frozen produce bags on my feet, zoning out to Stranger Things or The Last of Us—both of which were never my thing.

Definitely his. And I never bothered asking if we could watch my thing…

it seemed like an easy concession on my part.

I wanted, so badly, for him to be okay that I couldn’t even do that.

The front door of Vida’s chimes and in walks Olivia, the ultimate reminder of how different things are now.

Her rich, chestnut hair is tossed forward by the wind as the door shuts, and I watch as she treks across the dark wooden planks, wondering how she keeps her sneakers so crisp.

I can’t help but watch her—I don’t think anyone can—and my gaze snags on the empty space on her chest. The one where an L used to hang from a dainty chain.

She clears her throat, dipping her head with wide, hesitant eyes, clearly having noticed my inspection. “Back to hating me again, or is that just your face?” she smirks, but her eyes remain hesitant.

“It’s my face,” I tell her with an eye roll, noting the way Sloane’s gaze bounces between the two of us, still gauging whether or not this friendship she’s cobbled together will last. “You’re not wearing your necklace.”

She takes a deep breath, letting it out as she slides into the booth next to Sloane. Sloane’s hand flies to her own décolletage, frowning at Olivia with sincere pity, just as Olivia lifts her wrist.

“I just moved it. Please,” she says to Sloane, “enough with the theatrics.” Her lips curve into an amused smile, her eyes lighter than I’ve seen them…

ever. We haven’t hung out since before Thanksgiving and have only gotten a few cryptic texts in our “Sloane’s Angels” group chat—very obviously named by Sloane herself.

Strawberry blonde waves almost brush the mountain of fries we ordered before Liv got here, but Sloane tosses her head back just as she snags a crisp one.

Our server comes by with my soda and her second amber colored cocktail, and she tips her head at him with a flirtatious flutter of her lashes before cheersing me.

“So?” she demands of Liv, the motherly rise of her brows tugging my lips up into an easy smile.

She reminds me of a bird with her hatchlings—pulling us up by our scruff, pushing us out of the nest, looking down with a knowing smile that says you’ve got this .

Liv and I are her hatchlings, emerging into this new world on wobbly legs.

Liv’s don’t seem as wobbly as mine, though, and for the first time since I’ve known her she seems infinitely happier than me.

Liv’s shoulders shrug as she shakes her head, stealing a fry to keep from having to answer. Sloane’s head tips to the side and I can’t help but grin, understanding her sudden shyness because that’s how I felt just a few weeks ago. And for the millionth time today, my chest caves in a little.

“Well, I already told you guys about the diner,” she says, the smile she’s trying hard to stifle giving herself away.

“Yes, but we need details . We’re starved for romance,” I say, pushing the sadness down with a carefully crafted smile.

“Clearly,” I add, the curve of my mouth turning sardonic against my will.

Sloane’s eyes land on me, and I see the quiet anger brimming there.

She’s mad at him, too, though her reasons probably run deeper than mine.

Liv, on the other hand, glides right past my little slip, and I’m grateful for it.

Where Sloane is flush with empathy and compassion, Liv is far more reserved.

It’s pulling teeth, getting that girl to tell us anything, but it also means that she doesn’t needlessly pry.

I love that I have a little of both in the form of these two.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” she starts with that pretentious air I used to find so grating, “but he did stay. Well, he came back after…” she trails off, decidedly not continuing that sentence, and I feel my heart plummet into the sparse contents of my stomach.

“Anyway, we spent the week together. And it was so nice, you guys, we—” Sloane abruptly lifts her hand, her face scrunching up in mock disgust.

“We don’t need those details. Actually, I never want those details from either of you.

Ben is as brotherly to me as Grant, so spare me.

” Hope blooms in my chest at the way she breathed life into Grant and I, just in those words, and I feel my eyes soften.

“I want to know what he said ,” she says, pretending to swoon in the booth.

“Raunchy retellings of sexcapades are firmly in your wheelhouse, don’t worry,” Liv smirks, stealing an extra ice water from across the table just as Sloane’s phone buzzes.

“Speaking of,” she says, flaring her eyes at me in a still new-to-me show of companionship.

She’s already better at this than I am, but I guess she had a best girlfriend for longer than I ever have.

“Not every date ends in a…sexcapade, as you so adorably called it,” Sloane chides, scooting Liv out of the way with her hip so she can slide out of the booth. “But this one probably will.”

“I just got here!” Liv pouts, her brows furrowing as we both look up at Sloane who, no doubt, planned for this to happen.

“And you were late, probably because you were sexcapading all over Ben’s insanely gorgeous apartment,” she says with the slight raise of her brow and a blush blooms across Olivia’s cheeks.

“Anyways, I won’t stay over,” she says, rolling her eyes playfully before weaving her way to the door.

“I’ll text you guys. To-da-loo,” she sings in tune with the door chime .

And then it’s just Olivia and I, assessing each other from opposite sides of our booth in Vida’s. It’s not lost on me that just a few months ago we sat here, intent on hating the very ground the other walked on, and maybe that’s why I ask it.

“How is he?” I say, barely a murmur. I know she spoke with him. Know that, in a bizarre twist of fate, she’s more aware of how he’s doing than I am.

“He’s okay, Gen,” she tells me, more care than I probably deserve in her gaze.

She knows now that my feelings for Will were more complicated than she assumed, and because she’s a better person than I ever gave her credit for, she hasn’t guilted me for all the horrible ways I tried to get between them.

Instead, she’s sitting here, letting me feel gutted over my inability to save her ex-boyfriend from himself.

“Really. He calls a lot. And I can hear him when he talks to Ben. He’s more clear-headed than…

maybe ever? I mean, since I’ve known him. ”

The anxiety that had pooled low in my belly lessens, the knowledge that Ben is there for him quelling the worry I think I’ll always have for him.

“And you’re okay? Actually?” I ask her, still unsure how she’s taking the whole Lily thing in such easy stride. I would argue my world is in far fewer shambles than hers, but she seems so steady. I feel anything but.

“I guess,” she shrugs, a tiny glimmer of sadness in her gaze. “It’s like, sure—you were all lying to me,” she says flippantly, smirking, “but everything makes more sense? Maybe that’s toxic,” she laughs, but I just feel guilty.

“How aren’t you still angry?” I ask, my brows furrowing as I study her face.

Our drunken conversation at the gala was unexpected, and I didn’t plan on repeating anything like it ever again.

But then I told her about Lily, which was this unexpected weight off my chest, and once she knew it was like a veil lifted and in the clearing was Lily reaching her arms out to each of us.

Not Will—we’ve had Will in common for years.

It was that Lily loved both of us that finally has me more curious about her than I’ve ever been.

She heaves a sigh, shaking her head as her teeth trail over her bottom lip.

“Because I know it wasn’t about me. The lies. You were just…reacting. And you were hurting, just like I was, just like Will was, just like Ben was…I think we all made terrible decisions because we were trying not to shatter.”

“I don’t know if your mistakes add up to ours,” I scoff a sad laugh, rolling my lips together. “Will should never have even talked to you.”

“No…probably not.” She stares down at the table for a moment, and when she glances up, her eyes are wet. “Is it crazy that I’m glad he did, though?”

My own water at the sight, the well of emotion rising within her spurring one within me.

“Yes,” I laugh, sniffing back a tear. “You guys were horrible together.”

“No—we were,” she huffs a laugh, swiping the back of her hand across her cheek.

“But I think I might’ve drowned without him.

Sometimes, I think Lily pushed us all together from the afterlife, or wherever the hell she went.

” My eyes go wide, her crassness shocking but also endearing.

“I just mean that it all feels…like it was meant to be like this, right?”

“It does,” I say on an exhale. “Sorry the fates threw you in with us.”

“Gen,” she croons, reaching for my hands across the table. “None of us are saints, including me. How many people can say they’ve slept with two men from the same family?” Her brows rise in challenge, her smirk light and playful.

“Under different circumstances I’d say it was impressive, actually,” I admit behind a small smile.

“You can’t think straight when you’re in pain. Everything is triage—you’re just trying to make it to the next moment.”

I think of my dad and the months following his death. The years after in a new state, a new school, and I know what she means. Will was my first life raft as much as he was hers, all those years later.

“We’re not supposed to lose each other like that,” I start, locking eyes with her, realizing I’ve never told her how sorry I am about Lily. “I think that’s another level of trauma. Her life was just beginning. I’m sorry I didn’t make it any easier for you.”

She doesn’t cry; her mouth just tugs upward, curves into the softest smile.

“Thanks,” she says, her throat bobbing before her eyes start to sparkle conspiratorially. “Do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if she was still here?”

“Pure chaos. Like more than there already is.”

Liv eagerly nods her head, unclasping my hands to wipe away the tears still lingering beneath her eyes. “She was more of a shitstirrer than Ian.”

“But I think we would’ve all been friends. Like, I think it was meant to be.”

“You know,” she starts, picking up a cold fry. “If Will hadn’t texted me before the funeral, what are the odds we’d have become so…entangled? Any of us?”

“I think you’re forgetting that Ben claimed you like an ancient vampire the moment he saw you our freshman year. ”

She rolls her eyes, her grin letting me know she’s already thought of this parallel, and the depth of it telling me she probably loves it.

“Sure…but he didn’t fall in love with that version of me. He got the grief-riddled, broken, toxic-relationship Olivia. Without that lie, without Will inserting himself in my life in some twisted act of survival, none of us would be precisely here.”

“Not to burst your retrospective bubble, Professor Beckett, but you’re sitting awfully pretty right now. I think the rest of us could’ve done without Lily’s little lie.”

“You’ve hit a road bump! Don’t be so pathetic,” she quirks her head, her gaze turning solemn as she rests her chin on her intertwined fingers. “Have you talked to him?” It almost sounds like a reprimand, and I scoff, sitting back in the booth.

“Yes.” My molars press against each other as I fight the urge to cry in the middle of the busiest dinner spot near campus, shaking my head. “It’s done.” Verbalizing what I’ve been assuming since he called me on Thanksgiving has nausea roiling in my stomach.

“Oh,” she starts, finally dipping the fry into one of the many ketchups Sloane requested. “So he told you he doesn’t love you, that he never wants to see your face again—that he’s done with you?” she asks, so matter of factly it makes my cheeks burn.

“He never said he loved me to begin with,” I inform her, my stomach fluttering at just the idea of it.

“Gen,” she says with an exaggerated eye roll. “He loves you. I can clock a man in love…I saw it on Halloween. He was devastated, tortured, down so bad because the love of his life had just walked?—”

“Okay, okay,” I hush her, a smile fighting its way to the surface, despite the helplessness swirling in my chest. “It doesn’t matter if he did. Or does.”

“It’s kind of all that matters, actually,” she says, literally flipping her hair.

“You’re insufferable in this honeymoon phase.”

“I thought you’d always found me insufferable,” she grins, raising her brows, begging me to refute her claim, but all I do is roll my eyes.

“He doesn’t trust me. He said he…” I pause, remembering the way his words sent a dread down my spine still nestled there, “will never really know if it’s him I want. Because of Will. Because I fucked up beyond repair.”

“Well,” she starts, crossing her arms across her chest, “doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see he has abandonment issues.” I freeze for a moment, unsure of what she knows. “Sloane told me,” she adds, and I relax back into the booth.

“And I literally proved true whatever narrative he was already spinning,” I admit, startling myself with how easy it feels to confide in her like this.

“Except you didn’t abandon him. You came back,” she reminds me, her defensiveness warming my heart. “He’s just hurting, Gen. But don’t tell yourself he doesn’t love you just so you won’t feel it, either. You’re a fool if you don’t see it.”

And she’s right. It was love I glimpsed in his gaze the night he ended things, but if I let myself feel it, I’m afraid I won’t ever be able to turn it off.