Chapter 4
When I get home, Mom is waiting in the kitchen with a gift box in her hands.
“Tyler stopped by.”
I pause.
“He did?”
She smiles like nothing in the world has changed.
“He said some friends are taking him and Cole out tonight since they're finally back from Sweden. He wants you to come too.”
Cole.
The name catches in my head for half a second.
One of Tyler's hockey teammates.
One of the men who could be behind that Instagram account.
Mom holds the box out to me.
“He brought this for you.”
I look down.
It's a box of letter chocolates.
Each piece has a different letter printed on top, so you can spell names or little messages with them.
I liked a post about these months ago.
I remember sending it to the private Instagram account.
**These are cute.**
That was all I said.
And somehow, he remembered.
For one stupid second, something warm rises in my chest.
Maybe Tyler did remember me.
Maybe not everything was fake.
I open the box.
Then I stop.
Six spaces are empty.
My phone buzzes.
An Instagram Story notification appears.
Hailey Smith.
I tap it.
A photo fills the screen.
Four chocolates sit in her palm.
H.
A.
I.
L.
E.
Y.
Tyler's hand is resting around her waist in the background.
And on his wrist is the watch I gave him for his birthday last year.
The caption reads:
**Someone brought me a little gift the second he landed.**
I stare at the screen.
Then back at the half-open box in my hands.
The warmth disappears.
Tyler didn't remember that I liked these.
He bought them for Hailey.
She took the letters she wanted.
And whatever was left came to me.
That's all.
I look at the empty spaces in the box.
Six missing chocolates.
Six letters.
Six tiny little reminders that even when Tyler gives me something, I'm still getting whatever remains after someone else comes first.
Just like this entire year.
He didn't want to answer me.
So he handed me off to his teammate.
He didn't want these chocolates.
So he handed me what Hailey didn't take.
Mom leans out from the kitchen.
“Do you like them?”
I close the box.
“No.”
A tear drops onto the gold lid before I can stop it.
Mom looks at me more closely.
“Stella?”
I wipe my face quickly.
She steps toward me.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
I lift the box.
“I just don't want them.”
Her brows pull together.
“You used to love chocolate.”
“I don't anymore.”
That part, at least, is almost true.
I turn and walk outside.
The trash bin is beside the garage.
I lift the lid.
Then I drop the entire box inside.
It lands with a soft thud.
For a second, I just stand there staring at it.
I spent one year trying to become the kind of girl Tyler Keane wouldn't be embarrassed to love.
I changed what I ate.
How I looked.
How much space I took up.
I changed almost everything.
And after all that...
he still can't even give me a whole box of chocolates.