Chapter 2

At eleven o'clock at night, the acute gastroenteritis hit fast and hard.

I gritted my teeth and went to the hospital, and when the nurse pushed the needle into the back of my hand, I shut my eyes on instinct.

For a hazy moment I was back in the campus infirmary at seventeen, a hand covering my eyelids.

"If you don't look, it won't hurt."

I opened my eyes and actually saw Piers.

He stood a little way off, his face tight.

His name came out before I could stop it: "Piers."

The next second, my voice was drowned out.

"Piers, I'm fine, I'm just a little cold."

Chloe sat in a chair, her voice soft and sweet.

Piers took off his jacket at once and wrapped it around her.

"Put this on first."

He bent his head and tucked her collar closed, the motion easy and practiced.

It struck me all at once that the man standing there was long gone from the seventeen-year-old Piers who once shielded my eyes so I wouldn't be afraid of the pain.

Something bitter rose in my throat, too thick to swallow, impossible to spit out.

"Why are you here?"

Piers's gaze drifted over to me, and he frowned.

I didn't answer.

He glanced at the IV bag, then at my bloodless face.

"You're sick? Or are you putting on some kind of act again?"

I found it funny.

"People come to the hospital because they're sick, obviously."

I was no longer the Joyce Swanson who took cold showers in the dead of winter to run herself a fever just so he'd come and sit with her.

"Piers." Chloe called to him softly from behind. "I'm a little cold."

His eyes rested on my face for one second, then he turned around.

That second was so short it felt imagined.

When he passed me, a faint woody scent trailed after him.

Two years ago, it was my favorite smell.

Now it only felt like a stranger's.

Piers stayed with Chloe until her needle was out, then walked over.

"Lend me your umbrella."

"Why should I?"

He looked up at me, impatient. "Chloe has a cold, she can't get rained on again. She needs this umbrella more than you do."

Piers stared at me for a few seconds, then simply took the umbrella out of my hand.

Hard enough that a small bead of blood welled up at the needle mark.

He opened it and sheltered Chloe as they walked out into the rain.

I watched his back grow smaller and smaller.

The same as always.

He was always so final about it.

He'd been like this the last time we fought too.

That day, the lab research project team held its vote.

The final vote was cast by Piers.

He gave it to Chloe.

I waited until everyone else was gone before I asked him, "Why?"

"You know exactly how long I prepared, and you know I'm better than her!"

Piers laughed.

"Joyce, you really are ridiculous. The decision was mine, not yours."

I held back the tears. "Either we go public now, or we break up. Pick one."

Piers looked at me like I was a stranger throwing a tantrum.

"If you insist on trapping yourself in this relationship, that's your problem."

"Don't make yourself out to be so wronged."

That night, Chloe boarded a flight to the UK.

And I got the call that my mother was dying.

I called Piers over and over. All fifty calls went dead.

When one finally connected, the voice on the other end was Chloe's.

She asked softly, "Joyce, is something wrong?"

I gripped the phone, cold all over.

There was a faint rustle of fabric on the other end, then Piers's low, rough voice.

"Who is it?"

"Joyce."

"Hang up."

The line went dead.

That week, I lost my mother, and I lost Piers completely.

The sound of the rain pulled me out of the memory.

The moment I stepped out of the hospital, I saw Piers holding a newly bought umbrella.

"Get in the car."

"You just finished your IV, you look this awful, and you still want to tough it out?"

I didn't move.

"Are you still upset over that placement? I gave it to her because she needed the chance more than you did."

"She lost her parents young, she even had to work to scrape together her tuition. You at least still had your mother, and you had me."

I looked at him and asked quietly, "So I just wanted my boyfriend to stand on my side when it didn't break any principle. Is that wrong?"

Piers scoffed.

"You always take feelings too seriously."

"And you always treat my feelings like they're worth nothing."

"Joyce, there's no point."

Those same words again.

Suddenly I didn't want to argue anymore.

"Give me back the prayer beads my mom gave you."

My mother had gone to the temple herself and had them blessed after she found out we were together.

All these years, Piers had worn them.

I'd thought it was proof that he accepted me, that he accepted us.

Piers's face darkened.

"What? You really want to cut all ties with me?"

I said nothing.

Piers raised his hand and yanked the beads off his wrist.

The next second, he hurled them hard at me.

"Joyce, are you ever going to stop?!"

The beads struck my collarbone, and the pain caught my breath.

Piers turned and walked away.

I crouched in the rain, picking up the scattered beads one by one.

The rain washed over the mud.

As if the last bit of tenderness my mother left me was being washed away too.