Mila Wilson is quiet, anxious and a little bit of a mess. Panic attacks have ruled her life for as long as she can remember - but starting college is her chance to take control. Love? Not something she believes she's built for.
Then she meets Jace E...
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"What time is it?" I ask Jace, blinking slowly as if the weight of the day has made time become a blur.
He checks his phone, the light briefly illuminating his face. "Six."
Six in the evening. My stomach immediately answers for me, groaning in protest. I haven't eaten a single thing all day. Of course I haven't.
"Let me guess," Jace says, voice low and laced with concern, "you haven't eaten?"
I nod guiltily. "I kind of... forgot." Even saying it feels ridiculous, but I'm also suddenly aware of how lightheaded I feel, as though the emotions of the day have emptied me out entirely.
Jace sits up, already halfway out of the bed. "Stay here. I'll be back in ten minutes."
I want to stop him, or maybe just hold onto him for a second longer, but I nod instead. I can wait ten minutes. Probably.
He doesn't bother changing out of his grey sweatpants, just throws on a hoodie, the one that still smells like him—warm cotton, something faintly woodsy. He leans in, presses a soft kiss to my forehead, and grabs his keys. He leaves his phone behind on the bedside table. He doesn't say anything about it. Doesn't make it a statement. But it is one.
I don't touch it. I won't. Not because I'm afraid of what I'll find—maybe I am—but because I believe in that gesture. Instead, I scroll through Instagram on my own phone, not really looking, just trying to keep my mind busy enough to hold off the ache inside me. I don't check texts. I don't want to talk to anyone.
Exactly ten minutes later—true to his word—Jace is back. He pushes the door open with his shoulder, holding two brown paper bags marked by the familiar golden arches.
"You got us McDonald's?" I ask, trying to lift myself from the bed.
"Stay put," he instructs, already unpacking the food and arranging it on plates like we're at some makeshift diner.
"You know about my rule," I say weakly, attempting a small smile.
"Yeah, yeah. Consider this a special occasion," he says, flashing me a quick, crooked grin as he kicks off his shoes and crawls back into bed beside me. He hands me a plate heaped with a ton of fries and a burger nestled in the middle.
"Wow," I tease, holding up a single fry. "You sure these are enough fries for me?"
"Shut up and eat," Jace mutters, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement.
I stare down at the burger for a second before remembering. "You can have this. I'm vegetarian, remember?"
"I remember." His voice softens. "It's vegan, actually."
"Oh," I reply quietly, somehow even more touched by that simple act than I expected to be. "Thank you," I whisper. And I mean it.
"You don't have to thank me," he says gently, grabbing the remote and starting some random show on Netflix. I know it's just a way to fill the silence, but I'm glad for it. The quiet between us is still too loaded.
