Always Never Yours(63)

I walk up to him and tug it out of his hands. “You were incredible,” I tell him, meaning it. He smiles for only a second before his nervousness returns. He looks just like he did in the green room, wracked with stage anxiety. Except the scene’s over. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes drop. “Could we, uh, talk somewhere?”

“Definitely, but give me a second. I haven’t found Will yet. I should let him know before I disappear on him.” I look past Owen to search the quad, where there’s still no sign of Will, but Owen takes my hand. My eyes latch on to his.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” His voice is lower, urgent now. I feel a tremor tighten my chest.

“Owen, what’s going on?”

“We should talk somewhere private.”

He gently leads me by the hand back into the auditorium, up the stairs to the vacant backstage, and toward the green room. It’s empty except for Brian Anderson, who nods with a smile I’m too wound-up to return. “Kickass job, Megan,” he says, stepping over the ears from Courtney’s cat costume on his way out.

“Thanks,” I say distractedly. “Your Rosencrantz was kickass too, Brian.”

“Totally, right?” He shuts the door behind him.

Without a moment’s hesitation, I round on Owen. “You’ve been acting weird today.” A horrible explanation drops onto my heart like a lead weight. “Is this about the other day at Verona?”

“No, it’s not— Wait, what?” His eyes betray no impression he’s bothered by our possibly flirtatious, definitely awkward discussion of Bishop’s Peak.

“Never mind,” I say, relieved.

Owen goes on, his words coming in a rush. “Will texted before the performance telling me he wasn’t going to make it. I should have told you then, but I didn’t want you to worry about him instead of watching your scene. You’ve put so much work into tonight.” He looks off into a corner of the room. I watch his jaw clench and the tendons in his neck tense visibly. He’s not nervous, he’s angry. “I hate Will for doing this. You’re my friend, and I don’t want to hide stuff from you—”

“Owen,” I cut him off, wanting him to just get it over with. “What is it?”

He produces his phone from his pocket, and I catch a glimpse of a photo of the Brooklyn Bridge on the screen—probably a place he took Cosima when they were in New York together for the theater program. Wordlessly, he opens the Messages app and passes me the phone.

The conversation on the screen is with Will. My eyes land on his text reading, Hey Owen . . . Cover for me, k? I don’t think I’m going to make it. It’s time-stamped twenty minutes before we went on stage. Before I fixed Owen’s tie and he told me Will would be late.

I scroll down. Owen instantly texted him back. What the hell?? What could you possibly be doing besides going to your girlfriend’s show?

Will didn’t reply until ten minutes ago. I’m at Alyssa’s man! Not leaving anytime soon ;)

A winky face. It’s stunning how hard the semicolon and parenthesis knock the wind out of me.

I return Owen’s phone, unable to read the screen a second longer. Will’s words repeat in my head like a broken record. Utterly broken. At Alyssa’s. Not leaving anytime soon. I expected this. I expected this. Didn’t I? Even if I’d begun to wonder about . . . someone else, I put away those questions because I cared about Will. Or convinced myself to care. Why was I stupid enough to believe he cared about me?

Owen’s watching me with concerned eyes. “I’m sorry, Megan. He’s an asshole,” he says, and I can tell he means it. I’m not ready to reply. “This is the first I’ve ever heard of him and Alyssa,” he goes on. “I had no idea. Otherwise, I would have said something.”

“It’s fine,” I get out, hearing how hollow my voice sounds. “It’s not like I haven’t been through this before.”

“Don’t do that.” He frowns. “Don’t pretend it’s fine, because I know it’s not. What Will did was messed up, and you should be pissed at him.”

The empty ache fills with anger. But not at Will. “I know how to handle a breakup, Owen,” I snap, knowing he doesn’t deserve my resentment but not bothering to control it. “Don’t tell me what I should be feeling.”

He flinches. “It’s not— What I mean is you deserve better.”

As quickly as it flared up, my anger collapses. “My boyfriend didn’t think so.” I feel tears choking my voice, and my eyes start to burn. Damn it, I thought I was past being hurt by this kind of thing.

“Will is a moron,” Owen says gently. “I’m definitely not giving him any more lyrics for his stupid band.” A tearful laugh escapes me, and Owen smiles. “What you deserve is to go out and celebrate this incredible show you put together. Everyone’s going to Verona. I’ll buy you a real pizza—you know, one we ordered, not someone’s leftovers.”

I smile weakly. “But what about your costume? Don’t you need to change?” I nod to the gray suit and pinstriped tie he’s still wearing.

“I’m not worried about it.” He shrugs. “Besides, I won’t look any more ridiculous than the employees.” He holds the door open for me.