He had clearly seen Kitty’s message, and he didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look surprised.

I wanted to climb into a hole.We arrived at my apartment but he made no attempt to come upstairs. I carried my bag to the door and we stood there awkwardly.

He pulled a stray hair from my cheek and then quickly dropped his hand when I winced. “You sure you’re okay?”

I nodded. “Just tired.”

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked. “The race is Saturday so we should probably do a couple of longer runs early in the week and then rest.”

“That sounds good.”

“So I’ll see you in the morning?”

I was suddenly desperate to hold on, to give him one last chance, a way to come clean and maybe clear up a huge misunderstanding.

“Yeah, and . . . I was wondering if you wanted to come over Tuesday night,” I said, reaching out to place my hand on his forearm. “I feel like we should talk, you know? About everything that happened this weekend?”

He looked down at my hand, moved so his fingers could twist with mine. “You can’t talk to me now?” he asked, brow furrowed and clearly confused. It was, after all, only seven at night on a Sunday. “Hanna, what’s going on? I feel like I’m missing something.”

“It was just a long drive and I’m tired. Tomorrow I have a late night in the lab, but Tuesday is open. Can you make it?” I wondered if my eyes were pleading as much as the voice inside my head was. Please say yes. Please say yes.

He licked his lips, glanced at his feet and up to where his hand was holding mine. It felt like I could see the actual seconds tick by and the air felt thick, almost solid, and so heavy I could hardly breathe.

“Actually,” he said, and paused as if he was still considering, “I have a late . . . thing, for work. I have a late meeting on Tuesday,” he babbled. He lied. “But I could make it during the day or—”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just see you tomorrow morning.”

“You sure?” he asked.

My heart felt like it had frozen over. “Yeah.”

“Okay well, I’ll just”—he motioned to the door over his shoulder—“go now. You sure everything’s fine?”

When I didn’t answer, and just stared at his shoes, he kissed my cheek before leaving and I locked up, heading straight for my room. I wouldn’t think of another thing until morning.I slept like the dead, not waking until my alarm went off at five forty-five. I reached over to hit the snooze button and lay there, staring at the illuminated blue dial. Will had lied to me.

I tried to rationalize it, tried to pretend it didn’t matter because maybe things weren’t official with us, maybe we weren’t together yet . . . but somehow, that didn’t feel true, either. Because as much as I’d tried to convince myself that Will was a player and couldn’t be trusted, deep down . . . I must have believed that Saturday night changed everything. I wouldn’t feel like this otherwise. Still, apparently he was fine hooking up with other women until we sat down and made it officially official. I could never be that cavalier about separating emotion from sex. The simple realization that I wanted to be only with Will was enough to make me faithful.

We were entirely different creatures.

The numbers in front of me blurred and I blinked back the sting of tears as the snooze alarm broke through the silence. It was time to get up and run. Will would be waiting for me.

I didn’t care.

I sat up long enough to unplug the clock from the wall and then rolled over. I was going back to sleep.I spent the majority of Monday at work with my phone off, not heading home until long after the sun had gone down.

Tuesday I was up before my alarm and down at the local gym, running on the treadmill. It wasn’t the same as the trails at the park with Will, but at this point, I didn’t care. The exercise helped me breathe. It helped me think and clear my head, and gave me a brief moment of peace from thoughts of Will and whatever—whoever—he was doing tonight. I think I ran harder than I ever had. And later, in the lab, when I had barely came up for air all day, I had to leave early, around five, because I hadn’t eaten anything other than a yogurt and felt like I was going to fall flat on my face.

When I got home, Will was waiting at my door.

“Hi,” I said, slowing as I neared him. He turned around, shoved his hands in his pockets, and spent a long time just looking at me.

“Is there something wrong with your phone, Hanna?” he asked finally.