Part Nineteen

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I'm sprinting across campus, my bag bouncing against my back with every hurried step. The morning has been a mess—a lost set of keys, spilled coffee, and a missed alarm, all conspiring to make me irredeemably late for my lecture.

My chest burns as I push myself harder, weaving through clusters of students who seem to have all the time in the world.

The lecture hall finally comes into view, a beacon of academic doom. I don't even bother checking my watch. I know I'm ridiculously late, and my professor's disapproving stare is waiting for me.

I round the last corner, my sneakers squeaking slightly on the pavement, and that's when I see them.

Vinnie and Sophie.

The sight stops me cold, like I've slammed into an invisible wall. My momentum falters, my feet skidding to a halt as my brain struggles to process what I'm seeing.

They're standing close. Too close. Sophie's hand is on Vinnie's arm, her slim fingers lightly curled around his sleeve.

The way she's leaning toward him feels intimate, her head tilted just enough to suggest she's sharing something meant only for him.

Vinnie's face is turned slightly away, but his posture is tense, his shoulders rigid beneath his leather jacket.

I can't hear what they're saying, but her lips move softly, her tone low and deliberate. Whatever it is, it's important—or at least, it is to her.

I take a step back, slipping into the shadow of the corner like a coward. My heart is pounding now, not from the run, but from something colder, sharper.

She shifts closer.

Her fingers trail from his arm to his shoulder, her touch lingering as though she has every right to be there. My stomach twists. It's not just the way she's touching him—it's the look in her eyes. Wide, pleading, hopeful.

I know that look.

It's the look of someone who's trying to hold on to something they've already lost.

Vinnie says something then, his lips moving briefly, but his voice doesn't carry. Whatever he said, it doesn't have the effect he intended. Sophie steps even closer, her body angling toward his, her presence overwhelming.

And then she reaches up, her hand cupping the side of his face like it's the most natural thing in the world.

My breath catches in my throat.

She leans in.

My chest tightens painfully as I watch, every nerve in my body screaming for him to pull back, to stop her, to do something. But he doesn't. He just stands there, frozen, as her lips brush against his.

It's brief. A fleeting touch. But it's enough.

The world around me seems to blur, the distant hum of campus life fading into static. My pulse thunders in my ears, drowning out everything except the sharp, gnawing ache in my chest.

She pulls back, her hand lingering on his jaw for a moment longer. I can't see his expression from where I'm standing, but I can see hers.

Satisfaction.

It's subtle, just the faintest curve of her lips, but it's there.

I can't watch anymore.

My hands tremble as I grip the strap of my bag, my knuckles whitening. Turning away, I force myself to walk back the way I came, my steps slow and heavy. Each one feels like dragging my feet through quicksand.

My vision swims, the scene replaying in my mind on an endless, punishing loop. Sophie leaning in. Vinnie standing still. The way he didn't push her away.

I don't know how long I walk, aimlessly circling the quad as my thoughts spiral. My chest feels tight, my breath shallow, as questions I don't want to ask bubble to the surface.

Why didn't he stop her?

Why was he even with her?

And why does it hurt so damn much?

I pause under the shade of a tree, leaning against the trunk for support as I try to steady my breathing.

My head falls back against the bark, my eyes closing as I press my palm to my chest, trying to soothe the ache spreading there.

This isn't supposed to hurt.

This isn't supposed to matter.

But it does.

And I don't know what to do with that.

The walk back to the apartment feels like an eternity. I try to focus on anything else—the warm sun on my back, the sound of students chatting around me—but every step feels heavier, weighed down by the image of them together.

When I finally make it inside, I head straight to my room, shutting the door behind me like it'll somehow keep the world out. But it doesn't stop the questions. Or the frustration.

I pace the small space, running a hand through my hair. Part of me wants to let it go, to trust Vinnie like he asked me to.

But another part—one I hate admitting even exists—can't stop replaying Sophie's words from before.

"Are you sure Vinnie's loyal? He has a history, you know."

There's a knock at the door. Light but deliberate. My chest tightens.

"Noah, open up," Vinnie's voice calls through the wood. It's calm, but there's an edge to it, like he already knows I'm spiraling.

"I'm busy," I lie, hoping he'll take the hint.

But, of course, he doesn't. The door creaks open a moment later, and there he is, leaning casually against the frame like he owns the place.

"We need to talk," he says simply, his gaze steady.

I avoid his eyes, staring at a spot on the floor instead. "I don't really feel like talking right now."

"Well, tough," he says, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "You've been dodging me since the quad, and I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on."

I let out a bitter laugh, finally meeting his gaze. "Why don't you start? You seemed pretty cozy with Sophie back there."

His brows knit together, and for a moment, he looks genuinely confused. Then realization dawns, and he exhales sharply. "You think—wait, you actually think something's going on with me and Sophie?"

"I don't know what to think, Vinnie!" The words spill out before I can stop them. "You didn't even tell me you were meeting her. And after everything she's said to me, can you blame me for being a little suspicious?"

His jaw tightens, and he takes a step closer. "You're right—I should've told you. But nothing's going on, Noah. She ambushed me, okay? She wanted to talk, and I didn't exactly have a choice."

I cross my arms, trying to hold onto my frustration even as his explanation chips away at it. "And what did she want?"

He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. "She wanted to know if we're serious. If I'm...over her."

That stings more than I'd like to admit. "And? What did you say?"

His eyes lock onto mine, unwavering. "I told her the truth. That I'm with you. That she needs to back off."

The sincerity in his voice makes my anger falter, but I'm not ready to let it go completely. "And she just...accepted that?"

He scoffs, running a hand through his hair. "Not exactly. She doesn't like losing, Noah. You saw how she is. But I don't care what she thinks. I care about what you think."

The vulnerability in his words catches me off guard, and for a moment, the tension between us feels less suffocating. But there's still a part of me that's hesitant, that's scared of letting my guard down completely.

"I don't know, Vinnie," I say quietly, my arms dropping to my sides. "This whole thing—it's just...messy. And I'm not sure where I stand anymore."

He steps closer, closing the space between us until we're just inches apart. His voice softens. "You stand with me. That's all that matters."

I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly. But the doubt lingers, a quiet whisper at the back of my mind.

"Do I?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

His hand reaches out, brushing against mine before wrapping around it. The gesture is so simple, so grounding, that it takes me by surprise.

"You do," he says firmly. "And I'll prove it, Noah. Whatever it takes."

For the first time since this whole mess started, I feel a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, we'll figure this out together.

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