Regretting You(35)

Miller: You coming back to school tomorrow?

Me: I think so.

Miller: Good deal. I should probably stop talking to you here. I think Shelby knows my password.

Me: Wow. That’s like next level. You proposing soon?

Miller: You love to make fun of my relationship.

Me: It’s my favorite pastime.

Miller: I guess I make it easy.

Me: Has she always been a jealous person? Or did you do something to make her that way?

Miller: She’s not a jealous person. She’s only jealous when it comes to you.

Me: What?! Why?

Miller: It’s a long story. A boring one. Good night, Clara.



It’s a boring story? Whatever. The fact that Miller has a story that includes me in the narrative is going to be the only thing I can think about for the rest of the night.

Me: Good night. Make sure you delete these messages.

Miller: Already have.



I stare at my phone, knowing I should stop, but I send him one more message.

Me: Here’s my number in case you get your heart broken again.



I send him my phone number, but he doesn’t respond. Probably for the best.

I go back to his page and scroll through his pictures. I’ve looked through his page before, but not since I’ve actually had a conversation with him. Miller is good with a camera. There are a few pictures of Miller with Shelby, but most of his pictures are of random things. None of him by himself, which I like for some reason.

The picture that catches my eye is a black-and-white photo he took of the city limit sign. It makes me laugh, so I double tap the picture to like it.

I’m still scrolling through my feed when a text comes through from a number I don’t recognize.

Troublemaker.



His text makes me laugh. I honestly didn’t like his picture with any ill intent. I genuinely thought it was funny, and for a minute, I forgot that me even liking it could send him back to the interrogation room with Shelby.

I immediately save his number in my contacts. It makes me wonder if he’s going to save my number under my real name or a fake name. Shelby would flip if she knew he had my number in his phone. And I’m sure if she has his Instagram password, she probably goes through his phone.

Me: You saving my number under a fake name so you don’t get in trouble?

Miller: I was thinking about it. What about Jason?

Me: Jason is a good name. Everyone knows a Jason. She wouldn’t be suspicious.



I smile, but my smile only lasts a fleeting second. I remember the last thing Aunt Jenny texted me. “You don’t want to be the other girl. Trust me.”

She’s right. Aunt Jenny was always right. What am I doing?

Me: Never mind. Don’t save me under a fake name. I don’t want to be Jason in your phone and I don’t want to be your fake sibling at the movie theater. Call me someday when I can just be Clara.



The dots appear on my phone. They disappear.

He doesn’t text me back.

After a few minutes, I screenshot our messages and then delete his number.





CHAPTER NINE





MORGAN


I’ve just slipped into a light sleep when I hear a banging on the door that startles me. I sit up in bed and reach over to shake Chris awake.

His side of the bed is empty.

I stare at it, wondering when things like that are going to stop. It’s been less than two weeks since they died, but I’ve picked up my phone at least five times to call him or Jenny. It’s so natural that I just forget. Then I’m forced to relive the grief.

Another pounding on the door. My head swings in the direction of the noise. My heart rate picks up because I’m going to have to deal with this whether I’m prepared to or not. In the past when something happened unexpectedly in the middle of the night, Chris would always take care of it.

I pull on a robe and rush to the door before whoever it is wakes up Clara. The pounding is so incessant it’s starting to make me angry. It better not be Mrs. Nettle from next door here to blame me for something. She once woke us up at two in the morning to complain about a squirrel in our backyard tree.

I flip on the porch light and look through the peephole, relieved to see it isn’t Mrs. Nettle. It’s just Jonah, disheveled and holding Elijah tightly against his chest. But my relief only lasts for a second when I realize that it’s midnight, and Jonah doesn’t just randomly stop by at midnight. Something must be wrong with Elijah.

I swing open the door. “Is everything okay?”

Jonah shakes his head, his eyes frantic as he pushes past me. “No.”

I close the door and walk over to them. “Does he have a fever?”

“No, he’s fine.”

I’m confused. “You just said he’s not okay.”

“He’s fine. I’m not fine.” He hands Elijah to me, and I check his forehead for a temperature anyway. He doesn’t have a fever, so I start to check him for a rash. I can’t think of any other reason he’d be here this late at night. “He’s fine,” Jonah repeats. “He’s perfect, he’s happy, he’s fed, and I . . .” He shakes his head and walks back toward the front door without Elijah. “I’m done. I can’t do this.”