Five Feet Apart(38)

My heart pumps eagerly at the thought of seeing him in just a few short minutes.

Excited and anxious, I pull out my phone, checking the time. It’s been ten minutes since my text to Will and he still isn’t here.

I send him another text: I’m here. Did you get my message? Where are you?

Another ten minutes goes by. And then another.

Maybe he’s taking a nap? Or maybe his friends came for a visit and he hasn’t gotten a chance to check his phone?

I spin around when I hear the door open behind me, smiling, excited to finally see—Poe. What is Poe doing here?

He looks at me, his face serious. “Will’s not coming.”

“What?” I manage to get out. “Why isn’t he coming?”

“He doesn’t want to see you. He’s not coming.”

He doesn’t want to see me? What? Poe holds out a pack of tissues, and I stretch to grab them, frowning in confusion.

“He told me to tell you that this little thing between the two of you is over.”

The shock and hurt change into anger, deep and real, clawing at my stomach. Why would he sing Abby’s song to me before surgery? Why would he sneak into pre-op and risk getting caught? Why would he make me a handmade bouquet of flowers if this “little thing” between us was over?

A frustrated tear rolls down my face and I rip the pack of tissues open. “I hate him,” I say, wiping my eyes angrily.

“No, you don’t,” Poe says, leaning against the wall and looking at me. His voice is soft but matter-of-fact.

I laugh, shaking my head. “He probably had a good laugh about the crazy control freak in 302, huh? He didn’t want to tell me all this himself so he could laugh in my face? How unlike him.”

I sniff, and pause because even though I’m angry, that feels wrong. This doesn’t make sense. “Is he okay? Did something happen?”

Poe shakes his head. “No, nothing happened.” He pauses, his eyes traveling to look behind me, at the trickling fountain. “Well, let me revise that.”

He meets my eyes. “Barb happened.”

He tells me about what he overheard in the hallway, how Barb confronted Will about us, how being together would kill the both of us.

I don’t even let him finish. How long will I live my life afraid of what-ifs? My life revolves around an obsessive regimen and percentages, and given that I was just in surgery, the risk never seems to go down. Every minute of my life is what-if, and it would be no different with Will.

But I can already tell one thing. It’ll be different without him.

I storm past Poe, pushing through the heavy doors and up the stairs and across the bridge to the elevators.

“Stella, wait!” he calls after me, but I need to see Will. I need him to tell me that this is what he wants.

I pound the elevator button, over and over again, but it’s taking too long. I look both ways to see Poe coming after me, his face confused. I keep moving to the stairwell, coughing and clutching at my side, the pain from the surgery making my head spin. I push open the door and speed down the stairs.

I make it back to our floor, throwing open the double doors and banging on the door to room 315. I glance at the nurses’ station, relieved to find it empty.

“Will,” I gasp, my chest heaving. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

There’s silence. But I know he’s in there.

Poe’s footsteps pound on the floor of the hallway, stopping six feet from me.

“Stella,” he gasps out, shaking his head, his own chest heaving from trailing after me.

I ignore him and knock again, louder this time. “Will!”

“Go away, Stella,” his voice says through the door. There’s a pause, then, “Please.”

Please. There’s something about the way he says it. A longing, deep and strong.

I’m tired of living without really living. I’m tired of wanting things. We can’t have a lot of things. But we could have this.

I know it.

“Will, just open the door so we can talk.”

A full minute goes by, but then the door cracks open, just enough so that I can see his shadow on the tile floor. When he doesn’t come out, I start to step back against the far wall, like I always do.

“I’ll back up, okay? All the way to the wall. I’ll be far enough away.” Tears start to fill my eyes again, and I swallow, forcing them back.

“I can’t, Stella,” he says softly, and I see his hand grip the doorframe through the crack.

“Why not? Will, come on—”

He cuts me off, his voice firm. “You know I want to. But I can’t.” His voice catches in his throat, and I know.

I know in that moment that this “little thing” between us isn’t over. It’s just starting.

I take a step toward the door, wanting to see him now more than I want to even breathe. “Will . . .”

The door closes in my face, the latch clicking into place. I stare at it, stunned, feeling all the wind get knocked clean out of me.

“Maybe it’s better this way,” a voice says from behind me.

I turn around to see Poe, still standing there, his eyes sad but his voice resolute.

“No.” I shake my head. “No. I can figure this out. I . . . have to figure this out, Poe. I just . . .”