CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I barely remember drifting off last night, just that Taylor’s voice had been the last sound in the room. Soft, steady, carrying something warm enough to keep me from collapsing all the way into pieces.

Now, the only thing I’m aware of is the ache in my ankle and the faint sound of someone breathing on the floor.

Taylor.

He was curled up in a mess of blanket and pillow like some oversized kid, one arm tossed across his face, chest rising and falling steadily. He’d stayed. He’d actually called his mom last night to let her know he wouldn’t be back. I’d caught the brief shadow across his expression then, his voice low, almost hesitant as he told her. For just a second, his features had clouded over, heavy and lost in thought. But almost as quickly, he’d shaken it off, plastering on his usual grin, throwing me some half-teasing comment about how I’d ruined his plans of eating the cookies himself.

Mom had told him about the remaining Cookies in the kitchen. He’d lit up like it was Christmas morning, bounding down the stairs and returning with cookies in hand. He munched happily, crumbs clinging to his lips, and declared with mock seriousness, “Autumn, these are way better than your pancakes. Like, not even close. Pancakes should sue you for defamation.”

I’d managed a laugh, small but real. He’d kept nibbling and groaning dramatically after each bite, insisting he couldn’t believe someone as hopeless at pancakes as me could bake something like this. Against my will, my chest had felt lighter, the ache slightly dulled.

That was the last thing I remembered before sleep finally pulled me under.

Now it was morning, pale sunlight trickling weakly through my curtains. My ankle throbbed in dull waves, but I barely moved, afraid of making it worse. Instead, I fiddled with my phone, unlocking and relocking it, swiping through notifications that weren’t there.

I don’t even know what I was hoping for. Maybe a text. Maybe an apology. Maybe something, anything, from Damian.

The realization made me want to throw the phone across the room. After everything, after watching him with her, after hearing him say the words we’re dating, why was I still waiting for his name to appear on my screen?

Taylor stirred eventually, groaning as he rolled onto his back. “Ugh, floors should be illegal.” His voice was groggy, thick with sleep. He pushed himself up slowly, ruffling his messy hair as he squinted at me. “Morning. You look…” He paused dramatically, then grinned. “Like a zombie. Cute zombie, though.”

I rolled my eyes, hugging my pillow closer. “That’s not a compliment.”

“Sure it is. Some zombies are adorable. Haven’t you ever seen one in movies that you’d totally adopt? No? Just me?” He stood, stretching his arms high until his shirt rode up slightly. “Man, I need a chiropractor.”

I tried not to laugh, but a tiny snort slipped out. He shot me a victorious grin like he’d won something.

Mom knocked a moment later, stepping in with a tray balanced in her hands. The smell of scrambled eggs and toast made my stomach growl embarrassingly loud. “Good morning, sweetie. How’s your ankle?”

“Sore,” I admitted.

“Then stay off it,” she said firmly, placing the tray on my desk before glancing at Taylor. “You too, young man. Eat something.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Taylor said with a mock salute, which earned him one of Mom’s fond but exasperated smiles.

She turned to me, brushing my hair back gently before heading for the door. “I’ll grab you some more ice later.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Taylor eyed the tray like it was treasure, but then frowned at himself. “I should probably shower before I ruin your room with my morning breath.”

“You already did,” I mumbled.

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Wounded. Mortally wounded.”

I shoved a pillow in his direction. “Go shower, idiot.”

Laughing, he grabbed some of my sweatpants and a shirt Mom had left out for him and disappeared into the bathroom.

I leaned back, sighing, watching the steam curl from under the door a few minutes later. The smell of my mom’s breakfast lingered, but my thoughts weren’t on food.

They were on Damian. Again.

I hated myself for it.

I knew Taylor would roll his eyes if he knew. He’d tell me Damian wasn’t worth my tears.

And yet, every vibration of my phone sent my heart leaping, only to crash back down when the screen lit up blank.

Why? Why did my chest still twist like this for him?

The bathroom door opened with a squeak, breaking me out of the spiral. Taylor walked out with damp hair, towel slung around his shoulders, looking entirely too at home in my clothes.

“Your style,” he announced, tugging at the shirt. “I look good, admit it.”

“You look like you raided a thrift store blindfolded.”

“Harsh,” he said, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Now scoot, hand me those eggs before I starve.”

We ended up eating together, half watching some random movie he pulled up on my laptop. He gave commentary the entire time, mostly making fun of the characters’ choices, and somewhere between his dramatic reenactments and his relentless teasing, I caught myself smiling.

A real smile.

It felt strange, foreign almost, like my face wasn’t sure how to hold it anymore.

Minutes later, Mom poked her head in again. Her expression was softer, almost careful. “Autumn… someone dropped by while you were resting.”

My chest stilled.

“Damian,” she said quietly.

The fork slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the plate. Taylor froze mid-bite, his expression instantly hardening.

“He didn’t stay long,” Mom continued. “Just asked if you were okay. I told him you were resting. He… looked like he didn’t want to disturb you. Or maybe he was avoiding something. I don’t know.”

Taylor spat out a laugh, bitter and sharp. “He could’ve come up if he cared.”

“Taylor,” I warned gently. I didn't want my mom to know about all of this drama but she was looking at both of us slightly confused.

“No, seriously,” he pushed, glaring. “What kind of person just drops by like a coward, too scared to look her in the eye? That’s not…”

I cut him off quietly. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t. But I couldn’t hear more.

Mom hesitated, then nodded, retreating downstairs. The room fell into silence again, save for the low hum of the movie.

I stared straight ahead, eyes locked on the screen, but my mind wasn’t processing a single frame. My thoughts were stuck on the image of Damian standing outside, not coming in, not daring to face me.

Maybe Taylor was right. Maybe that said everything.

Couldn’t stop thinking that maybe Taylor was right. Maybe Damian had already chosen where his heart belonged. And it wasn’t with me.

Still… the part of me that ached, the part of me waiting for his name to appear on my phone, whispered otherwise.

I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing the thoughts down.

Focus on the movie.

Focus on anything else.

Because the truth was, whether my ankle healed before midterms or not, nothing hurt as much as knowing my heart still belonged to someone who had already given his away.