It depends on how she feels for them, I think and pause with my drawing pen over the paper as the TV show drones on. It depends on what she sees in her future.
As for me, I keep seeing three handsome faces, even though my head tells me to forget about them.
My phone pings and I check to find a message from June.
‘Miss you.’
I frown and reply. ‘Miss you, too. Where are you?’
‘I’ll tell you all about it. I’m fine.’
Well, that’s a relief, at least. I consider whether I should ask more questions, but if she says she’ll tell me, I shouldn’t push.
I’m about to put my phone down and return to my comic when it pings again.
But this time it’s Zach. Frowning harder, I open the text. I’d given up on him ever replying when he ignored my last message.
‘Hi,’ it reads. ‘Look out of your window.’
What the hell? Atticus had been there, but when I pad over to the window seat and climb on it to look out, it’s not Atticus I see.
It’s Zach.
Half-hidden behind a gigantic bouquet of red roses.
Oh my God.
I’d lie if I said my little omega heart didn’t go pitter-patter at the sight. What omega doesn’t dream of such a thing happening to her or him?
A romantic gesture. Formal courting. Flowers, dances, gifts, walking under starlit skies. I ate all that stuff up as I was growing up. Daydreamed about it.
Lately, I’d started to think I’d never get it. I’d started telling myself I should put my feet back on the ground. Expect less, even though my rules stand. But who wants roses when the important thing is a good man?
Me. I want roses. All the roses. Can’t help it. Is it so bad to want to be romanced and not only fucked against tables and walls, only to be shown the door right after?
Yeah, the past few weeks have been soul-shredding, I admit. I’ve been fighting depression, and now Zach shows up with those roses and...
I’m crying.
He lifts a hand, waves. Points at my window. He wants to come up.
Should I let him?
No. I shouldn’t. Not even with roses can he buy me back. That’s too easy, even if I’m dying to take that bouquet into my arms.
So I lift my finger and shake it. Can he see it?
With a sigh, I turn away and trudge back to my sofa. It’s the right thing to do even if my heart breaks.
Then of course my phone pings and it’s Zach again. He has left me a string of texts.
‘May I come up?’
‘Please?’
‘Coco?’
I stare at the words, my vision blurry. My fingers twitch but I don’t reply. No, I can’t let myself be used and broken again. You can’t buy forgiveness.
