My heart screamed. My lungs felt like they were folding in on themselves. And still, I couldn’t give him what he wanted.
I stared at him for a long moment, memorizing the pain in his eyes. It killed me. It actually physically hurt to see him like that.
But as much as I wanted to believe him, I couldn’t.
“You should go,” I said quietly.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He just stood there, shattered, as if someone had taken a knife to his chest and left him there to bleed.
He took one step back. Then another. And then he was gone.
I didn’t close the door. I just stood there, staring at the space where he’d been. Waiting for something to feel better. Waiting for anything at all.
But all I felt was the hollow echo of a love that was never allowed to begin.
51
EDEN
Ishould’ve felt proud. That’s what everyone kept saying—You did it, man. You should be proud of yourself.
And I was. Kind of.
I mean, I worked my ass off to get here. Early practices. Late-night study sessions. Balancing hockey and making sure my GPA was good enough.
I didn’t coast through this, and yeah, walking across that stage with my cap crooked and my tassel smacking me in the face felt like a victory.
But all I could think about was Alana.
I scanned the crowd a hundred times, even when I knew she wouldn’t be there.
Some pathetic part of me still hoped I’d see her. Like maybe she’d show up in the back, wearing one of those oversized cardigans and hugging a coffee cup like she was trying to disappear into the crowd.
Maybe she’d surprise me, like some kind of movie ending where everything made sense again.
But no.
I sat there, listening to the speeches no one really cared about, clapping when everyone else clapped, and smiling for pictures I’m probably never going to print.
My mom cried. My sisters took, like, 300 photos. My dad clapped so hard I thought he’d dislocate something. My brother was… well, bored, as always, but he looked proud of me.
And I was happy to see them happy. I was.
But Alana wasn’t there. And that made everything feel… incomplete. Off. Like I’d won the game but lost the person I wanted to share it with.
She hadn’t texted me since that night at her apartment. The night I tried to explain everything, voice shaking, hands shaking, heart shaking—and she didn’t believe me.
Or maybe she did believe me, somewhere deep down, but just couldn’t handle the risk.
I still heard her voice in my head: “Well, what am I supposed to think about someone with a reputation like yours?”
That line haunted me more than any of the lies Tori ever wrote.
Because yeah. I had a reputation. And it wasn’t spotless. I’d been reckless, careless, whatever. But never with her. Not even close.
So I stood there on the stage, diploma in hand, stupid cap crooked on my curls, and I smiled for the camera while something in my chest cracked a little more.
When the ceremony ended, everyone flooded the quad. Confetti, champagne, people screaming. The energy was unreal.