Far away from me.
The small, reckless hope I didn’t want to name flickers and dims.
Another buzz.
Sabine: I didn’t sleep at all last night. I need you.
My throat tightens. Another buzz.
Sabine: I took a test this morning. I think I might be pregnant. The doctor said Tuesday is the earliest they can confirm. I want you with me … I shouldn’t have to do this alone.
A wave of nausea rolls through me. Another buzz.
Sabine: We can tell my family when you come home with me for the holidays.
The air in the room shifts—thick and heavy, pressing down on my ribs. This isn’t a pleading ex. This is someone who speaks like she has a right to him.
Someone he made promises to.
My hands tremble as I stare at the screen. Every warning my father has ever thrown at me roars to the surface at once. Rookie athletes. Unreliable. Immature. Too many women. Too many blurred lines. Too many complications.
The room tilts.
This is not a fling he forgot to mention.
This is a man with someone waiting for him in New Orleans … someone who expects him at a doctor’s appointment.
Someone who talks like he belongs to her.
And I … I’m the girl he met at a wedding. The girl in red, who he flirted with for one magical night. The girl who let herself believe he sawherand not her last name.
Because I have to add insult to injury, I see a notification from Archie Griffith. Of course, I scroll up to see it.
Archie: Since I didn’t hear back from you last night, I assume you got that pussy.
I am such an idiot.Everything inside me recoils at once. The memories of my ex. The warnings from my father. The constant fear of being used. The reality is that Liam lives in another state and now may have a child with someone who sounds very much like his girlfriend.
A painful, familiar thought slices through me:
I was stupid to believe, for even a second, that he could want me for me.
I look toward the bathroom door, steam drifting out beneath it, and every instinct inside me fractures. I should wait. I should ask. I should let him explain. But humiliation grips me tight. Fear grips me tighter.
My phone buzzes from somewhere in the room. I grab it instinctively and shove it into my pocket, only for something small and hard to clink against it.
I pull it out. The ornament. The tiny Christmas tree we bought last night after wandering through Manhattan like two idiots high on winter air and each other.
It feels unbearably heavy now.
I set it beside his phone—both symbols of two worlds I can’t be a part of. The world where he lives in another state and has other … complications, and the fantasy we created last night. None of it can be my reality.
My feet carry me to the door, even as my heart tries to root me in place. I pause with my hand on the handle, staring back at the bathroom. I almost call his name. Almost ask him what all this means. Almost choose to trust him.
But believing in people is how I got hurt last time. And I can’t—will not—go through that again. Not with someone I could fall for. Not with someone whose life, career, and complications exist so far outside my reach.
I swallow hard, open the door, and whisper, “Goodbye, Blitzen.”
Because if I say it any louder, I’ll stay.
