The Heartbroken Heartbreaker

three

Chapter 3

The last time Cedric and I met before the breakup was when I dropped by at his house. His dad was at work and I decided to help him study for his SATs. We've never really openly talked about the prospect of him moving away for college, but it hung over us like a heavy blanket.

Cedric had his eyes set on Boston College for a degree in Biology. That was a long way from home, but while the idea of him leaving had always been terrifying, I figured that if it was the two of us, we could figure things out.

It was the beginning of summer and already, tourists were beginning to fill the streets. My house was on the neighborhood farthest from the ocean so we hardly ever really felt the tourist rush, but when we got to the town proper closer to the beach, we would see them, all ready to spend their vacations under the sun, booking rooms in the small inns or hotels across town, renting life vests and floaters and availing surfing lessons for beginners.

To them, Rivermount must have been this picture perfect place where they could spend their Best Summer Ever! away from the looming skyscrapers and wide eight-lane roads.

To me, however, Rivermount had only ever been the only home I knew: a catalogue that featured the coffee shop Hail and I loved; the diner where Cedric had taken me out on our first date as a couple; the used books store I often frequented—and the catalogue always involved Hail and Cedric, so I couldn't picture life without him here.

His father's pickup truck was nowhere in sight when I got there. I knew where their spare key was—under the flower pot next to the gnome—but I still rang the doorbell. It didn't take a while for him to open the door. I hadn't told him that I was coming over, and once he saw me, I was glad to see his face morph into an expression of pleasant surprise.

"Hey, you," he said, almost automatically grinning as he held out his hands and wrapped me in a hug.

When we both pulled away, I raised the plastic bag I held in one hand. "I brought ice cream."

He gave me an appreciative look, eyebrows raised (because he could never raise just one of them) and mouth tilted into a close-lipped smile. "You know me too well."

We made our way inside the house, straight to the kitchen so we can eat before the ice cream melted. I asked him how the studying was going, to which he replied with a scowl and a slight shake of his head. I laughed. We grabbed a spoon each and made our way to the backyard, sitting on the long wooden bench his father bought on impulse from a garage sale.

He was in the middle of telling me things he read and heard about Boston when he suddenly stopped.

"Hey," he suddenly said. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

He set his spoon down, turning to face me completely. His brown eyes—warm and familiar and soothing—searched mine as he reached up to tuck my hair behind my left ear. "Are you worried?"

I didn't think it showed, but he must have seen it, and I knew there was no point in lying, so I said, "Sorry."

I shook my head, unable to meet his eyes. I was ashamed of having these selfish thoughts, but there was no way I could fool myself into thinking that I was fine with all of this.

"It's just that"—I paused, swallowing past the lump in my throat—"I can't imagine not having you here."

He reached for my hands, both of them, and he clasped them in both of his. "I don't want you to feel like I'm leaving you behind, because I'm not."

I looked up at him. "I'll be fine."

His grip on my hands tightened. "I know," he murmured. "But will I be?"