Book III of UNC Series
While it's known that there are five stages of grief, did you know that there are also five stages of love?
Bailey Nicholson dreamed of finishing her Master's degree and settling in Boston while working alongside her boyfriend...
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warning: sensitive topics will be discussed in this chapter, such as violence and abuse. While there are NO descriptive scenes, the mere mention of these topics can trigger some. Please know that I don't take this lightly.
Snow crunches under the heels of my boots as I race down the unshovelled pavement in hopes of catching up to Sam. I lose my balance a few times, slipping on ice, but quickly steady myself and chase after him, ignoring the careening of my heart behind my ribcage. My cheeks are flushed and sting against the harsh winter breeze, though my fingers sweat beneath the fleecy wool of my mittens. The roar of traffic, the buzzing conversation of students and the honks of cars go deaf to my ears as my sole focus remains on Sam's hunched form.
Sam lives on the other side of campus, where he would have cut through UNC to get to Weston's campus and football fields. He's often walked through, where Ava and I have met up with him for lunch. The one who laughed with us, the one who huddled under the blankets during a scary movie, hugged me goodbye every time we parted ways and made jokes to make me laugh. That's the brother that met up with us. But as I watch his back retreat further away from me, I know he's not that kid anymore.
Chase must be rolling in his grave.
It's the only thing running through my mind. Everything else Sam said wasn't remotely acceptable, but it wasn't anything different from what he's said before. But this, bringing up Chase, knowing much guilt I felt for our fights and the last thing I said to him, how it haunts me, was a low blow.
He intentionally said it to hurt me. It was like he stabbed me, the aching pain in my chest still casting a gaping hole, bleeding and simmering with a pang. How his cruel eyes shifted to mine when he said it. It wasn't meant to hurt Maverick but me.
I realize he and I are more like my dad than I like. Though I'm trying to change, our rash outbursts and cutting words are characteristics we inherited from Dad, and it's scary how alike we are.
But he's being childish and malicious if he thinks my relationship with Maverick has anything to do with him.
Sam glances over his shoulder when he reaches his front door, spotting me. He immediately disappears into his student house—a simple one-floor bungalow-style home. I run up the stairs and bang my fist on the door, expecting to find it locked, but I'm thoroughly surprised when the handle turns and the door swings open.
Part of me wonders if he wants to be confronted by me, wants to have this fight. Why else leave the door unlocked for me to barge in?
"Sam," I growl as I kick off my boots and stomp through his foyer into his living room. I find Jason Hale sitting casually on the couch, with his legs splayed on the coffee table. "Get out," I grit through my clenched teeth.
I've always hated Jason, not only because he's a terrible friend and influence on Sam but because he's a dick.
"Bailey, it's my house," he scoffs before settling back into the couch; he stretches his arms over his head.
