Page 101 of The Equation of Us
“I just lost one of my best friends and possibly my career in the span of two hours,” I say, exhaustion suddenly overwhelming me. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”
Dean is silent for a long moment, just looking at me with those penetrating gray eyes that see too much.
“I think you do,” he says finally. “I think you’re scared, and hurting, and looking for something you can control. And right now, that’s walking away from me.”
The accuracy of his observation makes me flinch. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”
“Then don’t lie to me,” he counters. “Or to yourself.”
“I’m not lying! I’m being realistic.” I take a shaky breath. “This was always going to end badly. We were fooling ourselves thinking otherwise.”
“So that’s it?” His voice remains controlled, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the strain around his eyes. “First sign of trouble and you’re done?”
“This isn’t a ‘sign of trouble,’ Dean. This is my life imploding.” My voice cracks. “And I need to focus on saving what I can.”
“Without me.”
“Yes.” The word feels like a betrayal. “Without you.”
He’s silent again, the muscle in his jaw working as he processes. Finally, he nods once, accepting but not agreeing.
“If that’s what you want,” he says quietly.
The simple offer of continued support, of uncomplicated acceptance despite what I’m doing, breaks something inside me. Tears spill over, running hot down my cheeks.
“I should go,” I whisper, unable to bear the weight of his steady gaze.
“Stay,” he counters, no demand in the word. Just a request. “It’s late. You’re upset. Nothing has to happen. Just… don’t go like this.”
For a moment, I consider it. The comfort of his arms, the solidity of his presence. One last night before everything falls apart.
But I can’t. If I stay, I’ll weaken. I’ll let myself believe there’s a way through this, a future where Dean and I emerge on the other side intact.
And I can’t afford that kind of hope right now. I need to be strong. Need to be ready to deal with whatever’s coming at me in the morning.
“I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it with every fiber of my being. “For all of it.”
I move toward the door, half-expecting him to stop me, to argue. But he doesn’t. He steps aside and lets me pass.
At the threshold, I pause, unable to leave without looking at him one last time. His expression is carefully controlled, but I can see the devastation beneath it. The same devastation tearing through my chest.
“Goodbye, Dean,” I whisper.
The walk back to my dorm is a blur of tears and regret and bone-deep exhaustion. When I finally collapse onto my bed, Sadie asleep in the bunk above, I curl into myself, trying to contain the hurt.
It doesn’t work.
Nothing does.
Because ending things with Dean wasn’t like cutting out a tumor—clean, precise, necessary for survival. It was like amputating a limb with a dull blade. Necessary, perhaps. But messy and traumatic and leaving me forever changed.
And despite everything—despite the tears, despite the fear, despite the certainty that I’ve made the right choice—there’s a part of me that already knows: This wound might never heal completely.
Some equations, once balanced, leave permanent marks when broken.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Cold Ice, Colder Bed
