Me, trying to make things work long-distance? Monthly flights from Florida to Wisconsin like some kind of half-baked romantic comedy montage?
She deserved someone present. Someone rooted.
Not someone who treated connection like a ticking bomb.
I closed my eyes and let out a long breath.
I wasn’t built for this.
Not anymore.
I’d tried it once.
Still, her voice echoed in my head.
You keep showing up, so either you’re a masochist or you secretly find me adorable.
I smiled.
Just a little.
Because of course I did.
I stared at the ceiling fan spinning in lazy, pointless circles and thought,What the hell am I doing here?
Not justherein Wisconsin. Not justherein this room.
Buthere, this version of me, marooned somewhere between regret and emotional upheaval, quietly unraveling because a small-town innkeeper with big eyes and too much kindness decided I was worth talking to.
I pulled out my phone.
There was one person who’d get it. Or at least tell me I was being a dumbass.
I scrolled through my contacts, past coworkers I hadn’t spoken to in months, past the realtor who kept sending mejust checking intexts, past numbers I couldn't bring myself to delete, and stopped at one name.
Dustin.
I hadn't called him in months. We weren’t exactly the chat-on-the-weekends kind of brothers. Never had been. He left home at eighteen, and I stayed behind to hold the crumbling house together like a damn emotional janitor until my mom passed.
I hit call before I could talk myself out of it.
It rang three times.
Then his voice, familiar and somehow still full of smug older-brother energy even through the static: “Well, well, well. If it isn’t BenI-handle-everything-myselfJensen finally remembering he owns a phone.”
I snorted. “Nice to hear your voice, too.”
“You okay?” he asked, humor softening. “You never call unless something’s on fire.”
“It’s not on fire,” I muttered. “Just… smoldering.”
“Where are you again? Didn’t you vanish to some small town?”
“Wisconsin.”
He let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s a wholescenefor you. Cheese curds and polite people. No wonder your sarcasm’s rusting.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly. “I missed this.”
