I touch my cheek, surprised to feel moisture there. I hadn’t even realized I was crying.
“That was spectacular,” a voice bursts out, and I turn to see Fiona marching toward me. She sweeps me into her arms and hugs me. “You were breathtaking, Hannah. Best performance of the night.”
Her words don’t ease the tight ache in my chest. I manage a nod and mumble, “I need to use the ladies’ room. Excuse me.”
I leave Dex, Fiona and Jae staring after me in confusion, but I don’t care, and I don’t slow down. Fuck the ladies’ room. And fuck the rest of this showcase. I don’t want to stand around and watch the senior performances. I don’t want to wait for the scholarship ceremony. I just want to get the hell out of here and find a private place to cry.
I sprint toward the exit, my silver ballet flats slapping the hardwood floor in my desperate need to flee.
I’m five feet from the door when I smack into a hard male chest.
My gaze flies up and lands on a pair of gray eyes, and it takes a second to realize I’m looking at Garrett.
Neither one of us speaks. He’s wearing black trousers and a blue button-down that stretches across his broad shoulders. His expression is a mixture of shining wonder and endless sorrow.
“Hi,” he says gruffly.
My heart does a happy somersault, and I have to remind myself that this isn’t a happy occasion, that we’re still broken up. “Hi.”
“You were…brilliant.” Those beautiful eyes go a bit glassy. “Absolutely beautiful.”
“You were in the audience?” I whisper.
“Where the fuck else would I be?” But he doesn’t sound angry, just sad. Then his voice thickens and he murmurs, “How many?”
Confusion slides through me. “How many what?”
“How many guys have you dated this week?”
I jerk in surprise. “None,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
And I regret it instantly, because a knowing glimmer fills his eyes. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
“Garrett—”
“Here’s the thing, Wellsy,” he interrupts. “I’ve had seven whole days to think about this breakup. The first night? I got wasted. Seriously fucking trashed.”
A jolt of panic hits me, because it suddenly occurs to me that he might have hooked up with someone else when he was drunk, and the thought of Garrett with another girl kills me.
But then he keeps talking and my anxiety eases. “After that, I sobered up and wised up and decided to make better use of my time. So…I’ve had seven whole days to analyze and reanalyze what happened between us, to dissect what went wrong, to reexamine every word you said that night…” He slants his head. “Do you want to know the conclusion I reached?”
God, I’m terrified to hear it.
When I don’t answer, he smiles. “My conclusion is that you lied to me. I don’t know why you did it, but trust me, I intend to find out.”
“I didn’t lie,” I lie. “We really were moving too fast for me. And I really do want to see other people.
“Uh-huh. Really?”
I put on my most insistent tone. “Really.”
Garrett goes quiet for a moment. Then he reaches out and lightly strokes my cheek before pulling back and saying, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
42
Hannah
Christmas break doesn’t come soon enough. I am literally a mess as I board the plane to Philly—dressed in sweats, sporting bedhead, and covered with stress zits. Since the showcase, I’ve run into Garrett three times. Once at the Coffee Hut, once in the quad, and once outside the Ethics lecture hall when I came to pick up my graded paper. All three times, he asked me how many guys I’ve dated since our breakup.