Page 107 of Scarred Crown

“It’s that obvious,” I say.

“Maybe not to some. Doesn’t seem obvious to her. Which also might be a concern.” She straightens my covers with a little tug. “You and Julia have always glowed around each other, and being in a room with the two of you was like being a step behind, one inside joke short of the punchline. Are you absolutely certain that Julia doesn’t return your feelings?”

Alex sweeping Julia into his arms a second time flashes in front of my eyes. Her saying, ‘Oh, shit. Oh, God. Oh, no’ when we stopped kissing still rings in my ears. Obviously, the kiss was terrible, or she didn’t want it. She ran, literally ran, to Alex.

The smell of champagne makes me nauseous, and I haven’t been up to the roof of the barn or even inside it since that night. When I walk past the building, I can’t even look at it. A place that once brought me so much joy is tarnished beyond repair.

It’s not even that she’s chosen someone else, though that would be bad on its own.

Alex.

Anger and frustration well up in me. Of all the people on the island she could have chosen, she picked him. On top of that, she hasn’t even had the guts to tell me. Every day that passes, the pressure in my chest grows. Tick. Tick. Tick. Like a bomb. When will it explode?

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m sure.”

She cups my cheek. “If you ever need to sit or just let the sadness show, you come see me. My door is always open to you, Nicholas.” She fixes a stray strand of my hair. “The first time your heart breaks, it can feel a bit like dying.”

Jules and I used to make fun of characters in books and movies and TV shows whose heartbreak seemed over the top. Neither of us could believe that a simple breakup could wreck someone. I’m not laughing anymore, and breakups don’t seem so simple.

“Thanks, Gran,” I say.

From the purse hanging off her arm, she takes out a folded envelope. “Secretary Jensen said Julia wanted you to have this, and she wanted to wish you Merry Christmas as well. Would you like me to stay while you open it?”

“Jules was here?”

“Her younger sister informed her about your accident.” Gran purses her lips.

“No one told me she was here.” My voice is gruff.

“Would you have wanted to see her?”

A simple question with such a complex answer. More than anyone. Even right now, I want to see her face more than I want to see anyone’s. If someone had told me she came, I wouldn’t have been able to resist.

But things aren’t the same between us, and every time we’re together, our new reality hardens from cement into concrete. Unless I can stop wishing for things that’ll never happen, we can’t go back to the way we were. There has to be a way to get over her.

I try to shrug and wince at the pain.

“Would you like me to stay while you open it?” she asks again.

I shake my head. No words will move past my lips for the lump in my throat. My name in Jules’s swirling cursive is scrawled across the front. She’ll never know about what I intended to give her, and I’m not sure what to replace it with.

The door to my room clicks closed with my gran’s departure. I wipe the tears that won’t stop spilling from my eyes, and I slide my index finger under the envelope flap. Slowly, I peel it back.

A bright pamphlet in pinks and browns falls out, and there’s a square card too.

Warmth spreads across my chest at what she’s done. Jules sponsored a girl in Tanzania for a year under the name J.N. Bellerive. It’s not an international organization but one based in Dodoma, the capital of Tanzania. She must have spent quite a bit of time researching just the right charity to use. The loss of her as a friend, a confidant, settles deeper inside me.

The square card is folded, and I flip it open, taking in Julia’s neat handwriting without focusing on the words.

Nick,

I feel like I write the same thing every year. What do you get for the guy who’s got everything? So, I’m going a little sappy, but meaningful, I hope.

We gotta start somewhere, right? One girl this year in Tanzania, and someday hundreds or maybe thousands of people will benefit from your open heart. I’ve got dibs on a front-row seat. You’re going to be amazing.

Merry Christmas!

Love, Jules