Shuffle, Repeat(79)

I give her a last grateful look before racing off.

? ? ?

The bad news is that the parking lot—like most parking lots—is huge. The good news is that so is the behemoth. I see its dark shape towering over the surrounding cars and I hurry toward it. Maybe I’ll sit on the hood or something until Oliver arrives.

Except that when I’m right in front of it, the headlights flare, blinding me. The engine rumbles to life, but I stand my ground, raising my arms to shield my face from the light. He’ll have to run me over if he wants to get out of here.

Standoff. I wonder if he’ll honk, because that would be a very Oliver thing to do, but he doesn’t. He only kills the engine. The lights cut off and the glare is replaced with darkness. After a minute, he gets out. I can’t see him, but I can hear his voice.

“June, what are you doing?”

He doesn’t sound mad, which is what I expected. He sounds tired, and that might be worse. I know I need to say something important and epic and romantic, because this is a moment that requires an important, epically romantic gesture, but the words aren’t there. Instead, all I have is the overwhelming fear that I’ve already lost the one person I most want to find.

So I blurt something out—something that hasn’t always come naturally to me.

The truth.

“I’m going to learn how to drive.”

“Congratulations,” he says. “Very independent. You don’t need me anymore.”

Well, that came out wrong.

My vision adjusts to the lack of light in the parking lot, and Oliver comes into focus before me. His eyes are hard. Cold. Angry.

“No, listen. My dad was supposed to teach me.” I try to explain, the words scratching raw against my throat. “It was going to be this fun thing we’d do together, the way his dad taught him, in parking lots and on farm roads. He kept saying he was coming, but then he’d always have a reason why he couldn’t, and I always acted like it didn’t matter, because I needed to pretend that was true. Because otherwise it mattered so much that he never, ever did what he said he’d do. That I was always disappointed. That he made me feel like I didn’t matter. And, Oliver”—I draw in a deep breath and let it out all in a rush—“it mattered. You were right. It all mattered. What your dad did and what mine didn’t. All the traditions and moments and choices. You taking this stupid bank internship that we both know will crush your soul. Ainsley and Itch. Everything.”

I stop and wait, but apparently my speech isn’t nearly epic or romantic enough, because Oliver doesn’t sweep me into his arms. The only thing he does with his arms is fold them in front of his chest. “Great revelation,” he says. “And nice timing, since just now I saw you and Itch mattering to each other.”

“We were talking. You know that.”

“How would I know that?” Oliver glares at me. “You didn’t tell me when you broke up with him. Why would you mention it if you got back together?”

“Oliver.” I know I sound desperate, but I don’t care. “Please. We’ve already talked about this.”

“It was the ultimate screw you.” Oliver’s voice is icy. “We were friends and it was great, and then I thought maybe we were more than friends but I didn’t want to mess it up. I was with Ainsley and you were with Itch and it all seemed manageable that way. Like at least we wouldn’t ruin it by trying to have something more than friendship, even though I knew—I knew, June—that you and I together was so much more special and interesting than either of us with anyone else.”

I stare at him. He’s not just mad. He’s furious. “Oliver—”

“I’m still talking,” he says. “When you didn’t even tell me you broke up with Itch, that’s when I knew I had made it all up in my head, that there was nothing else there. We really were just friends like I’d been lying to Theo all along. So I went with it. Because I really—really—liked you as my friend. And also because otherwise, the world didn’t make sense.”

I wasn’t crazy. All that stuff I was feeling between us—it was real. I open my mouth to tell him so, but he’s on a roll.

“And then there was Kaylie’s party, when I thought it all changed, when I kissed you the way I’d wanted to kiss you for months and…” He pauses. Swallows. Recovers. “And suddenly everything in the world seemed like it was right.”

“It was right,” I break in. “It was—”

“It was bullshit!” he thunders. “Just tequila and starlight and nostalgia—”

“I only had the one shot!”

“—and I was the closest guy around.”

“That’s not true!”

“What’s not true?” Oliver surges closer to me. The light from the hotel plays over him and now I can see him in his tuxedo. He looks classic. Sharp. Agonized and beautiful. “The part where you broke my heart or the part where you pretended it never even happened? I have no idea what you’re trying to say. What are you trying to say, June?”

I broke his heart.

I broke his heart.

No, it’s my heart that’s breaking. It’s cracking inside me, fracturing into an infinite number of tiny jagged pieces, and if I open my mouth to say a single word, they’re going to fly out and rip apart everything in sight. Or maybe just me. I’m the only thing that will rip apart.