time when I logged in, there were more comments than I’d expected. I was starting to go through them when I noticed I’d gotten the same comment over and over from the same username. The comment? Dre, you haven’t answered my messages, but we need to talk. Please call me. It was from a user named PatheticMamasBoy.
It was Dean, it had to be. It also could’ve been a trick. A trap set by a journalist who wanted to score an interview. This seemed particularly likely, especially since my parents and the Arnaults had declared we would not, under any circumstances, be speaking to the press. It was a risk, but one I thought might be worth taking.
But instead of immediately calling him, I stalled. I was scared of what he’d say, angry about the last thing he’d said to me, worried of what I’d say to him, and kind of proud of what he’d finally had the nerve to say to his parents. I checked the time stamps on the comments, and he’d been sending them every five minutes for almost two hours, which meant whatever was going on, he thought it was important. If I didn’t like what he had to say, I could always hang up. I was going to do it. I was going to call Dean. Right after I cleaned my room and washed the dishes.
No. Right now.
I dialed his number.
Dean’s face appeared on the screen. His hair was wet and a mess, and his face was pink. As soon as it appeared, so did his smile. God, that smile. I had no defenses against it. It hit hard, and I crumpled.
“Dean?”
“Dre! You need to check your phone. Mine was hacked. That’s how they got all our texts and messages.” The words flew from his mouth so quickly that they ran together.
“Way ahead of you,” I said. “It was time for a new phone anyway.”
Dean’s lower lip quivered. “I’m so sorry, Dre. I’m sorry for accusing Mel of being the leak and I’m sorry for breaking up with you and I’m sorry for this entire mess.”
I wanted to accept his apology. To tell him everything was all right and that it was water under the bridge or whatever, but I couldn’t. Not yet. “You bailed on me,” I said. “The first time things got tough, you broke my heart.”
Those words might as well have been bullets, and I could see the moment they tore through Dean’s body. His smile was gone now. “I know. I was scared, Dre. That’s not an excuse. I should have trusted you.”
“We should have faced it together.”
“You’re right,” Dean said. “I told my parents about being demi. I wish we could have faced that together.”
“Me too.”
“I also told them about us.”
“And then someone else told the whole world,” I said with a laugh. I wanted so badly to reach through the screen and hug Dean. “How’d your mom take it?”
Dean shrugged. “About as well as you thought she would. Seems you were right about that too.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. Normally, I would have taken a victory lap to celebrate being right, but there was no victory in being right about something that caused Dean pain.
“God, I miss you, Dre.”
“I miss you too. So fucking much.” And then I couldn’t hold it back anymore. The tears welled up in my eyes, and even though I kept telling myself to be strong and not to break down, I did it anyway.
Dean said, “I hate that I caused you pain, and I swear I’ll try never to do it again. Can you forgive me? Can you give me another chance?”
“I don’t know, Dean.” Those were the hardest words I’d ever had to say. “I was so hurt when you broke up with me—I’m still hurt—but maybe what you did was for the best. The election’s coming up and our lives are so different—”
“I get it.” Dean hung his head in defeat and was quiet for a second. “I saw your Jackson McMann photo shoot. It was brilliant.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Mel came up with the idea.”
“And I saw the water bottle.” He looked up at me through his soft lashes. “You kept it?”
“Kept it?” I said. “I carry that thing everywhere. I drink so much water I’m peeing like a hundred times a day. My mom thinks I have a UTI or something.”
Dean laughed his awful, wonderful laugh, and I cracked a smile, forgetting for a moment all the pain, all the trouble being