The Heartbeat Hypothesis by Lindsey Frydman

Author:Lindsey Frydman [Frydman, Lindsey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: new adult; romance; Entangled; Embrace; Lindsey Frydman, scars, tortured hero, tortured heroine, dark past, college, coming of age, photography, photographer, heart transplant, social media, first love, mystery, first tattoo, grief, loss, acceptance, survivor's guilt
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Published: 2017-03-20T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

I stared at Kat’s empty bed, thinking about maybe and supposed to.

What if she was wrong? She didn’t know Jake like I did. It wasn’t that simple. Maybe you couldn’t define everyone with a single true statement.

I hadn’t seen Jake in two days, but we’d had a running text conversation going, talking about nothing in particular—classes, homework, TV shows, music. Neither of us mentioned the big issues at hand.

Our undemanding ramblings gave my mind something to do besides think and worry and hurt. We never finished our conversation about being friends, or the one about continued piano lessons.

I shoved a pillow behind my back as my phone beeped. With a grumble, I edged my torso off the bed and snatched the phone from the dresser.

Jake: You want to get out of your dorm room?

I almost asked him how he knew where I was, but then I remembered: Where else would a brokenhearted girl be at eight o’clock on a Thursday night, right?

Me: Definitely.

There were worse things I could do.

Jake: I’ll pick you up in 15.

As I waited, I slipped on my shoes and threw on a zip-up jacket. I swiped Chapstick onto my lips with a single quick glance in the mirror. Looking at myself—at my swollen red eyes, and the fluff my hair had become because I couldn’t be bothered with a blow-dryer—was to be avoided at all costs.

On my way out the door, I halted, my gaze landing on a framed photo of Kat and me. It was purple and pink with “Best Friends” written across the bottom in cute script. I mean, sure, it was super girlie and belonged in a teenager’s bedroom—not a college freshman’s—but I wasn’t embarrassed by it the way I was with my bedspread.

Photographs were all I had left of her.

A memory in a purple-and-pink frame. A massive hole in my heart.

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