Until You Again

PROLOGUE

Some loves don’t end. They wait. Until you again.

Sloane: High School Senior Year (2015)

The bus should’ve been here ten minutes ago.

The heat’s already sitting on my shoulders like a wet towel, the kind of Virginia morning that makes the asphalt shimmer and the air taste like warm pennies. My backpack sticks to the back of my T‑shirt. Sweat creeps down my spine. I shift my weight from one foot to the other and tell myself I’m only checking the time, not checking for him.

Lies.

A few doors down the street, the Wilsons’ front door opens. Jace steps out in a gray T‑shirt and worn jeans, backpack slung over one shoulder, keys in hand. He doesn’t see me at first. He’s juggling his phone, squinting at the screen, black hair sticking up in that deliberate way that looks like he just rolled out of bed and somehow landed in a commercial.

Jace Wilson is the kind of boy who makes every girl forget how to breathe. Varsity jacket, easy laugh, golden-boy swagger—the whole high school cliché. But he isn’t just that to me. He’s Jace, my neighbor, the boy who used to share Harry Potter trivia with me at the bus stop.

He has this way about him—black hair perpetually tousled, a hint of stubble that shouldn’t have looked that good on a barely eighteen-year-old, and those impossible green eyes framed by lashes that belonged in a magazine. His body is carved by early morning practices and late-night workouts, but somehow he still looked effortless. To me, he is everything—beautiful, untouchable, magnetic.

We’ve been neighbors for six years. For a while, he felt like mine—our bus rides, inside jokes, the annual 4th of July party my parents hosted that brought him into my life. But once he joined the football team back in freshman year, his world expanded, and mine faded somewhere behind him. Waiting for the bus became the only time he spoke to me. He opted to sit with Patrick Jameson, another guy on the team, who quickly became his new best friend. I’d see him across the cafeteria surrounded by teammates and perfectly beautiful girls, laughing, confident, unreachable. Still, every time our eyes met, just for a heartbeat, it felt like hope. It stayed that way for a few years—me quietly falling, him only noticing in passing.

He looks up as he opens the door to his truck, and notices me. I offer a small wave that he returns. I watch as the red truck backs out of their driveway, then quickly avert my eyes so I don’t look like I’m creeping. But I look up when, instead of hearing the truck pass me by, I hear it idling in front of me.

“Need a ride?” he calls out, leaning on the window, a crooked smile tugging his lips.

My heart stutters. “Are… you sure? Don’t you usually pick up Patrick?” I inwardly flinch at the mention of his best friend, feeling like a stalker for knowing that he always picks up Patrick. But, then again, everyone knows they’re almost inseparable. The whole team practically flocks Jace’s truck in the parking lot before school.

“Nah, Pat’s riding with his girlfriend today. Besides, we used to ride the bus together every day. How about you let me drive you today, Lovegood? For old time’s sake?” he replies, using his old nickname for me. That nickname—God, I haven’t heard it in years.

“Pulling that one out of the vault, huh? Alright,” I say. I smile before I can stop myself and climb in, slipping into the passenger seat.

For a minute, neither of us says anything. The hum of the engine and the weight of unspoken memories fill the air. Then, seeming to sense my dislike of silence, he turns on the radio. Carrie Underwood’s All-American Girl floats through the speakers.

A smile pulls at my lips.

“Still a fan?” he asks, eyes flicking toward me.

“I see you’re going for full nostalgia today,” I tease. “Yeah, I still love her. I went to a concert last year in Nashville.”

He laughs, that deep, warm sound that always seems to vibrate in my chest. “Guess some things don’t change. You still only sing karaoke if it’s one of her songs?”

“Wow. Someone’s memory is better than I thought.”

“Hard to forget,” he says softly. “Your voice could’ve handled any song.”

I try to hide the warmth rising to my cheeks. “Please. You’re clearly misremembering that, Mr. Off-Key.”

He smirks, eyes shining. “Guess I’ll have to remind you.” He chuckles and playfully smacks my shoulder, before resting his hand on my thigh. A blush creeps into my cheeks.

The next song starts—Morgan Wallen’s Whiskey Glasses. Jace is singing along, and I freese. Puberty has been kind to more than just his body; his voice is low, rich, steady. The kind that was perfect for singing country songs. The thumb of his hand resting lightly on my thigh taps the rhythm, every touch lighting sparks beneath my skin.

“I’ma need some whiskey glasses ‘cause I don’t wanna see the truth. She’s probably makin’ out on the couch right now with someone new. Yeah, I’ma need some whiskey glasses if I’m gonna make it through. If I’ma be single I’ma need a double shot of that heartbreak proof,” he sings.

I stare at him, mouth hung open slightly, as I listen to him singing. His fingers tap out the beat on my thigh, giving gentle squeezes here and there. My heart is beating rapidly, and I want to hold his hand, to intertwine my fingers with his. But instead, I set them on either side of me, trying to be nonchalant.

By the time the song ends, I can barely breathe.

“So,” he says, slowing to a stop at a red light, looking at me with a half-grin. “Still loud and off-key?”

A beast passes, and before I can answer, he’s reaching over, cupping my face, and kissing me—hungry and certain, like he’s been waiting years for that moment.

I kiss him back until the blare of a horn pulls us apart. The light is green again. He starts driving again, quiet except for his uneven breathing and the faint hum of the radio. My pulse thunders so loud it drowns everything else out.

And just like that, my heart belongs to him completely.