Leaning up onto her tiptoes, she sealed their lips together. He kissed her back, as deeply as he dared.
And then she tore herself away. “Goodbye,” she said.
She was the last one into the van, and the engine fired up as soon as the door latched shut behind her. Adam stood there on the curb. He waved as they pulled onto the road. “Goodbye.”
And his heart quietly broke in two.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Two years now, Jo had lived in her apartment alone. Hell, the vast majority of her life she’d spent pretty much all by herself in her father’s house.
Now she’d been back for scarcely a week, and she was ready to go out of her mind.
She tossed her magazine to the ground and dropped her head into her hands. So much of this summer she’d longed for one goddamn minute of silence. Now she had days of it, stretched out on end, and it was the last thing on earth she wanted.
She missed the crowd of people at that awful cafeteria. They might not have all liked her at first—maybe not ever—but they’d always welcomed her and let her sit with them. She missed the smiles of the observatory staff. She missed having someone on the couch in the living room at nearly any hour of the day. Hell, she missed Carol in the bed on the other side of the room. She missed noise and activity and things to do.
She missed Adam. But at least that particular ache she’d seen coming.
Growling beneath her breath, she scrubbed at her eyes. She’d given him so much grief about not being able to let go, and yet here she was, no better than he had been. Sitting up straighter, she lowered her hands to her lap, then cursed aloud. Unconsciously, her gaze had flickered straight to the darkened alert light on her phone. Just like his had every three freaking seconds those first weeks they’d spent at the observatory.
Shit. She was worse than him.
At least he’d had some hope that his girlfriend might get in touch with him. Nearly a week, and she’d gotten the odd text from Carol and Kim, but from Adam, there had been only silence. And it was her own damn fault. She’d been the one to end it. Worse, that last night, when he’d looked like he wanted to try and talk it out again, she’d shut him down, and so they’d never had the conversation about staying in touch. About ever hearing a thing from each other at all.
Well, fuck this. Pocketing her phone, she hauled herself off the couch. Beyond her window, darkness had fallen. It was only a Wednesday night, but in a city like Chicago that didn’t matter. By the time she was ready and could get downtown, things would just be getting fired up.
She crossed her shoebox of an apartment and threw her closet doors open. Her club clothes were in the back. She grabbed out an old standard that had worked well enough the last time she’d gotten an itch. Before Adam and before everything else this summer had changed.
It’d be great. Precisely the thing she needed to move past this. She’d drink and dance and find somebody to take home. It’d be just like it had always been, a release and an escape and—
Empty.
She stopped, her hands at the nape of her neck, set to unclasp the necklace Adam had given her. The one she hadn’t taken off except to shower. Her fingers fumbled, again and again, and she closed her eyes, breath stuttering. The room around her swam.
By the time it righted itself, she’d fallen to sit in a heap beside her bed, her spine propped up against the frame. Her dress lay beside her, and she pressed a palm to the center of her chest, right above her breasts. Stroked her thumb across the stars Adam had given her and shuddered.
She didn’t want to do this. At all.
But she had to do something.
The next morning, she suited up in the closest thing to fitness clothes she had and dug up a ratty old pair of sneakers she’d never gotten around to throwing away. She thought of Adam, slipping into the house after a morning lap of the telescope dish, covered in sweat, skin gleaming, smile exhausted and energized and gorgeous.
Running. It seemed worth a shot.
Running sucked.
Which left her with only one thing. Heaving for breath, chest and legs aching, she collapsed onto her couch.
One thing she was willing to consider, in any case.
With one hand on the door, Jo braced herself. This wasn’t settling for less, and it wasn’t kowtowing to the patriarchy. It wasn’t anything she’d always assumed it would be. She wasn’t lowering herself. Hell, for all she knew, she was about to get laughed in the face.
She put that thought straight out of her mind. She might deserve it, but she had to go into this hoping for the best. After all, you don’t ask, you don’t get. She nodded to herself one final time, then pushed through the door.
The soles of her boots made dim thudding noises on the tile of the hallway. More than one face looked up from a computer or a lab bench as she passed, curious expressions peering out at her through open doors, and for a moment, the déjà vu of it shivered through her spine. The last time she’d gone out on a limb like this, beating down Dr. Galloway’s door, it had bitten her on her ass.
Finally, she arrived at the office she’d been looking for. Rehearsing the words she’d been psyching herself up to say all morning, she raised her hand and knocked.
Ever so slowly, the chair behind the desk swiveled around. The woman who faced Jo was in her late forties, her short, dark hair going gray, the lines around her eyes and mouth just beginning to stand out. She raised one eyebrow.
Jo straightened her posture and lifted her chin. “Dr. Jung. I’m—”
“Jo Kramer. Yes.” Dr. Jung nodded. “How can I help you?”
Well, that was either a really good sign or a really bad one, that her reputation preceded her. “I know it’s an awkward time.” A week and a half before the start of the semester. A week and a half early. Or maybe, three years too late.
“Not at all. Have a seat.”
Following direction, Jo took the chair beside Professor Jung’s desk and folded herself into it.
Three years ago, Jo had gone to the head of the department and requested a research position, only to have the smug bastard roll his eyes. He’d had no interest in an overly ambitious freshman who would probably end up switching to the humanities anyway. Maybe Jung’ll be able to find something for you to do, he’d told her, already turning away.
He’d looked at her like she was a maggot, or worse, like what she was. A girl. Rather than go crawling to the lone woman in the department, Jo’d gone looking elsewhere. She’d focused on her coursework and left her research goals for summer programs. She didn’t need any second-rate castoffs. She didn’t need anyone.
She’d made a mistake.
This time, instead of going in guns blazing, pretending she knew everything and deserved whatever she demanded, she forced herself to be calm. It didn’t come easy, and she almost laughed, envisioning Adam in front of her, asking if she wanted to role-play this out.
He would’ve helped her so much, if he’d been there.
But he’d already helped her—already changed her enough. She could do this herself now. She took a deep breath and asked, “I was wondering if you had any work an undergrad might be able to help out with.”
And Dr. Jung smiled.
Two hours later, Jo left her office with her arms full of background reading. They’d talked about Jo’s experience from this past summer and the summers before it. Her interests and her history. Her ambitions to go to graduate school next year. About why she hadn’t come to Dr. Jung as a freshman. Jo had answered her honestly and noncombatively.
At the end of it, Dr. Jung had offered her a project of her own.
Heading to the “L,” Jo felt like she had her feet under her for the first time since the van had driven her away. Away from Adam and her friends and the first place where she’d ever really belonged.