"Stop!" she says harshly. "Just stop." She stands up and walks to her dresser, pulling open the top drawer and holding something in her hand. When she returns, she sits on the floor and faces me, then slowly reveals what she picked up. "Do you know what this is?"

There's a rock in her hand. "A rock?" I say nervously, because I'm pretty sure she's about to throw it at my head.

"Cam, this is a rock from our river."

I suck in a sharp breath.

"I skipped a class the day after you brought me there the first time and I found this, and I've kept it ever since. I keep it because that's where you helped me piece together my broken heart. That's where a boy I barely knew took me and he taught me that it was okay to break—that I could hold it in forever, or I could let it go and heal. And every day, since that day, I remind myself that I'm healed, and that you healed me. And money, and material possessions—they didn't heal a broken heart, Cameron. Only you did."

She's crying.

I'm crying.

And then I let out a bitter laugh. "I want to hold you but I don't even know if it's okay to hug an ex."

"What?" she says, her eyes huge. Then she presses a hand to her heart. "Wow," she cries, rubbing her chest. "It hurts so much."

"What hurts?"

"You, calling me an ex," she says quietly. "It's so final."

"Yeah, well you said we broke up earlier. I'm pretty sure you shredded my fucking heart."

She looks up, wiping her tear-streaked face. Her head moves slowly from side to side. "I don't like it."

"I fucking hate it, Lucy." I move closer, wanting to touch her, but I don't know what the hell she wants. "I don't want to be broken up," I say quietly, looking her right in the eyes.

She pouts. "I don't want to be your ex."

I lick my lips as I stare down at hers. "So what do you want?"

She blinks, swallowing loudly when she does. "I don't know." She shuffles back—away from me. "I think I want more time."

"Okay." I nod, feeling a shitload more hopeful than when I got here. "I'll give you all the time you need. I'll give you forever, Luce."

She inhales a shaky breath, looking from my eyes to my lips. I lick them again. Please kiss me.

Before she gets a chance my phone rings. I silence it, but I can't ignore it. "My dad's assistant is waiting for me. I couldn't afford a cab back to the airport so I asked Dad for help. He wouldn't leave his office, so he sent his assistant."

"Okay, I'll walk you out." We stand at the same time. I wait for her to replace the rock in her dresser, but she pulls out shorts and puts them on. Then she does something that sends a thousand silent messages. She puts on a shirt—my high school gym shirt, the one that has my name on the back. "Ready?" she asks.

"No," I breathe out. "I'm not ready to leave you yet."

"But you have work tomorrow?"

"I know."

"And I still need time, Cam."

I close my eyes and take a few calming breaths. And then I remember why I'm here, and what I expected. And I know that what she's giving is more than I could have ever dreamed. She's giving me hope.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

-CAMERON-

I was right. Minge didn't really need my car, which is evident because he's been sleeping on the couch at Jake and Micky's since I came back from New Jersey a week ago. I've quit drinking myself into a stupor, gone to work, and pretty much done nothing else. Nothing but think about Lucy and check my phone every five minutes.

She said she wanted time and I'm doing everything I can to give her that. Which is hard. Really fucking hard—especially because she didn't give me a hint of how much time that was.

So when my phone beeps and Lucy's name shows up with a text message, I almost piss my pants. Almost.

"It's Lucy," I tell a half sleeping Minge sitting on the recliner.

"Mm?"

I kick his leg. "Lucy. The text. It's from her."

He sits up now, his eyes wide. "What does it say?"

"I don't know," I rush out. I drop the phone on the coffee table and rub my hands against my shorts. My palms are sweating. My heart's thumping.

"Read it!" Minge shouts. He's on the edge of his seat, his hands gripping the armrests tightly.

"I'm scared," I yell back, my voice matching his.

He smacks his hand on the back of my head. "Quit being a pussy and man the fuck up. Read the text, asshole."

I rear back in surprise. Minge—he's always so relaxed, so easy-going. I've never seen him excited or anxious about anything.

"Okay," I huff out, and blow out a breath.

I pick up the phone and open the message. "It's a picture," I tell him. I don't know how I managed to get the words out through the huge fucking grin on my face.

"And?"

I show him the text. It's of her wearing a hoodie with a picture of Marty McFly from Back to the Future. Above the picture it says 'That was heavy', and underneath it says, 'Do you even lift, bro?'

Her words were the killer though.

Minge smiles as he hands it back. "Thinking of you? That's a good thing right? She's thinking of you!"

"I know!" I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. Why the hell am I sweating so much?

"So?" he chides.

"So? So what?"

"What are you gonna write back?"

"Fuck." I release the phone like it's fire in my hands. "I don't know! What should I write?"

"I don't know, dude." He's as panicked as I am. "Something witty? She thought you were funny right?"

"I guess. I don't have anything funny to say!" I pick up the phone again. "I'll just—" I type out a text and hit send without thinking.

"What did you say?" Minge asks, his voice high pitched.

"I miss you."

"I MISS YOU!" he yells in disbelief, then throws his body back into his chair. "What the fuck? You didn't even work your way to that. You just went straight for it. Now she has nowhere to go! What if she doesn't want to say I miss you back? Then what? What will she say?"

"Shut up." I'm on my feet, pacing the floor. "You're making me fucking nervous."

"I'm just saying... you should have eased into the feels. That was a shit move."

"Fuck!" I link my fingers behind my head and stare up at the ceiling. "How long has it been since I texted back?"

He shrugs. "Like, thirty seconds."

"She should have written back by now."

"You need to calm down."

"I was calm!" I shout. "You and your easing into feels bullshit made me nervous. It's your fault!"

*

"How long has it been?" I ask him.

He looks at his watch. "Three minutes."

I pick up my phone, make sure the ringer's on and it's charged, and then throw it on the couch.

*

"How long now?"