Chapter 1: So You Won't Forget me
Carlee
I couldn’t believe it. Oxford.
I’d spent months convincing myself it was impossible, that no matter how hard I studied or how strong my essays were, I wasn’t good enough. And yet, here I was—standing in my room with my suitcase zipped, hours away from boarding a plane.
I checked the luggage again, even though I already knew everything was there: my clothes folded into neat stacks, the books I couldn’t leave behind, the framed picture of Holden and me laughing at one of his games. All there. But the only thing I really wanted to pack wouldn’t fit.
Holden.
The thought made my throat tighten. He was headed to Penn State, chasing his dream of playing goalie at one of the biggest programs in the country. I was so proud of him. I’d always known he’d go far. One day, he’d be the goalie everyone in the NHL was talking about.
But what good was pride when it meant being an ocean apart? Three years of missed birthdays, missed games, missed hugs. Three years of silence between the phone calls. Three years of watching each other grow up from a distance.
And that was why I’d done it. Why I’d broken his heart—and mine—before we left.
“Carlee, it’s time to go!” my dad called from downstairs.
The sound snapped me out of my spiral. I glanced around my room one last time—posters still taped to the walls, books stacked crookedly on the nightstand, the faint smell of lavender from the candle I’d burned too much this summer. My safe place. My home. My heart ached, but I grabbed my suitcase and forced myself down the stairs.
Dad was waiting by the door. He took the suitcase from me, his expression softening as he studied me.
“Ready?”
“I guess.” My voice cracked, and I tried to cover it with a shrug.
“This is your dream, Carlee,” he reminded me.
“I know. I just...” My eyes stung. “I’m going to miss him so much.”
Dad rested a hand on my shoulder. “If you two are really meant to be, waiting a few years won’t stop it. Time has a way of proving what’s real.”
I swallowed hard, nodding. “Thanks, Dad.”
We stepped outside. The late summer air clung warm and heavy, cicadas buzzing in the distance. Dad loaded my suitcase into the trunk, but before we could get in the car, the low rumble of an engine made me look up.
Holden’s truck pulled into the driveway. My chest squeezed.
He jumped out before it had even fully stopped, his dark hair a little messy, his eyes wide like he’d sprinted the whole way here.
“I wanted to say goodbye,” he said, breathless.
I didn’t think. I just ran to him. He caught me in his arms, holding me so tightly it almost hurt. I buried my face against his chest, inhaling the scent of soap, leather, and something that was just...him. My Holden.
“I’ll wait for you, Carlee,” he whispered fiercely into my hair.
I shook my head, tears blurring my vision. “No, don’t. I can’t ask you to do that—”
“It doesn’t matter. I love you. That’s never going to change.”
And then his lips were on mine, urgent and desperate, like we could freeze this moment if we tried hard enough. My knees weakened, my heart cracked, and for a second, I thought I might not survive letting go.
When he pulled back, his eyes were shining. Without a word, he tugged off his hoodie and pressed it into my hands.
“So you won’t forget me,” he said, his voice breaking just enough to undo me.
I slipped it on immediately, the fabric swallowing me whole. It smelled like him—warm and familiar—and I knew I’d never take it off.
We stood there for one last heartbeat, memorizing each other. Then Dad cleared his throat gently, and Holden stepped back.
Climbing into the car was the hardest thing I’d ever done.
The airport was crowded, filled with rushing travelers and voices echoing overhead. I hugged Dad one last time at security.
“You’ve got this, Carlee,” he whispered. “Don’t look back.”
But I did. I always did.
On the plane, I sank into my seat, tucking Holden’s hoodie around me like armor. The ache in my chest felt bottomless. Three years, Carlee. Just three years. You can do this.
But when the plane lifted off the ground, my tears fell anyway. I turned toward the window, hiding my face from the man sitting beside me. He didn’t seem to notice—or care—and I was grateful for that.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled me under. In my dream, Holden was standing at an altar, smiling at another girl in a white dress. My stomach dropped. My heart shattered all over again.
I woke with a start, relief flooding me when I realized it wasn’t real. Still, the thought of him moving on clawed at me. I’d told him he could—but imagining it hurt worse than anything.
The hours dragged on, every one of them filled with thoughts of him. I tried to read. Tried to sleep. Tried to think about Oxford and the classes waiting for me. None of it worked. He was everywhere.
When the plane finally touched down, gray skies hung low over England. My cab wound through narrow streets lined with ancient buildings and ivy-covered walls. Oxford looked like something from a storybook—timeless and beautiful. I pressed my forehead to the glass, letting awe push back some of the pain.
At the dorms, I hauled my suitcase upstairs and claimed the left side of the room. The space was plain and quiet. Too quiet. I unpacked slowly, arranging books, tucking the framed photo of Holden into a drawer. I couldn’t quite close it.
I texted my family to say I was safe. I thought about texting Holden but stopped. Clean slate, I told myself. He needed to live his life, and I needed to live mine.
Later, after exploring the campus until my feet ached, I returned to find someone unpacking on the other side of the room.
“Oh my goodness! Hi!” the girl said, beaming.
“Hey,” I answered, caught off guard.
“I’m Emma.”
“Carlee.”
“You’re so pretty!” she blurted out, grinning.
I laughed. “Thanks—you too.”
“I can already tell we’re going to be the best of friends.”
Her excitement was infectious. We talked for hours, sprawled on our beds, and I found myself telling her about Holden.
“Maybe he’ll wait for you,” she said.
“I don’t expect him to. He’s going to be a star. Girls will line up for him.”
“But he said he would, right?”
I nodded.
“Then believe him. Some people mean it when they say forever.”
Her certainty warmed me, even if I didn’t fully believe it myself.
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the window. My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Holden
Goodnight, beautiful—or in your case, good morning. Summer without you is going to suck. Call me anytime. I miss you.
I stared at the words until my vision blurred. Half of me wanted to call him right then, to hear his voice, to remind him we were still us. The other half whispered that if I wanted to survive here, I had to let go.
With a sigh, I set the phone down and forced myself out of bed. I had class in an hour, and Pride and Prejudice wasn’t going to read itself.
But as I braided my hair in the mirror, I couldn’t stop thinking about his message. Couldn’t stop wishing I were still in his arms. Couldn’t stop wondering if love really could wait three years.
