Secrets

45 | hadley

I toss my phone aside after sending yet another text to Devon that remains unanswered, sighing as I do so.

These past few weeks have been hard, trying to get her out of my head. I haven't done so successfully, no matter how much I try to push thoughts of Devon away. We've talked sporadically since things ended, every once in a while at first, definitely more than we do now. I even told her about kissing Sloane–I had debating doing so, fearing admitting the truth would make things between us worse. Then I realized that we're over now anyway, so there's no point in keeping secrets. Devon had responded remarkably well, less upset than I thought she'd be. We kept in touch slightly, and now we go days without talking.

Devon doesn't even communicate with our friends these days, which is a little surprising. It's rare for Mason or Clover to hear from her, which I know makes them sad, but Devon has to do what is best for Devon; I suppose none of us can really blame her for that. Even Kai is facing a new shift in his relationship with her, feeling Devon slowly fade from his grasp no matter how hard he tries to cling onto her.

I guess we all just have to face the realization that Devon is moving on. It hurts. Like hell. But we all want her to be happy. Coming to terms with the fact that we–all of us who love her–aren't necessarily what makes her happy any longer is a bitter pill to swallow. Yet there's a connection between all of us that keeps us somewhat tied–a love that will never truly disappear. Devon knows she always has a home here, I'm sure of it.

My phone ringing breaks me from my thoughts. I reach for it, checking the screen to find Sloane's name staring back at me. I smile as I sit up in bed and answer the call, greeting her with a warm hello.

"Hey," Sloane chirps. "Open your window."

Suspicion courses through my veins as I obey the command, crossing my room and tugging open the blinds to find Sloane across the street, waving over at me. I return the gesture, shaking my head at her despite biting back a grin.

"I wanted to check on you," Sloane confesses. "Your lights are out, so I wanted to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine," I retort. Sloane's concern brings a genuine smile to my face. "No need to worry."

"So, you're not wallowing in depression then?" Sloane teases.

I can't ward off a snort. "Oh, I'm totally wallowing in depression. It's just . . . not as bad as it was."

Sloane is silent on the other line for a moment. "I'm coming over," she says with finality, phrasing the words as a sentence rather than a question. "We can stay up all night eating ice cream and watching stupid movies. It'll be fun. What do you say?"

I bite down on my lip. "I don't want you to do all of that just because I'm sad," I begin to argue. "Seriously, Sloane. I'm fine. It's just–"

"Please," Sloane interrupts. "I'm totally not coming over to cheer you up. I thought we could celebrate finally turning in that project."