And I don’t know if that’ll be the moment that finally breaks him too.
“I’m not going to tell him,” I say, voice barely more than breath.
Lola stiffens beside me.
“Cass—”
“He’s leaving in thirty days.” I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand, but it doesn’t stop the shaking. “Thirty fucking days, Lo. What’s the point?”
“You’re the point,” she snaps, voice suddenly fierce through the tears. “Don’t you dare act like he wouldn’t care.”
A bitter laugh cracks in my chest. “He won’t even notice I’m gone.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t make yourself small just to survive him.”
Her voice breaks on survive.
I freeze.
Because she’s right.
And I hate that she’s right.
“You act like he isn’t going to unravel the second you’re gone,” she says, wiping her cheeks. “You act like he doesn’t ache for you. Like he didn’t tear a man apart in front of an entire club because he touched you. Like he doesn’t look at you like he’s terrified you’ll vanish.”
I look down at my hands, trembling in my lap.
Because I saw it.
I saw all of it.
“I’ve watched him suffer,” she whispers. “And now I’m watching you suffer too. And I swear to God, if I lose both of you?—”
Her voice breaks completely.
I move without thinking, grabbing her hand and holding it between both of mine. “I’m not going to die, Lo.”
“You don’t get it,” she sobs. “He’s already dying. Every day. Every minute. Ever since—” She stops herself. Swallows. Starts again. “He smiles less. He talks less. He barely breathes when you’re not in the room.”
My heart twists.
“And you’re leaving,” she says. “And I can’t stop either of you.”
“I just…” My voice splinters. “I don’t want to be another thing he leaves behind.”
She looks at me with eyes that see too much. “Then don’t leave him behind.”
I shake my head. “I’m not asking him to come back to me. I just want him to come back.”
Because loving someone who’s always leaving doesn’t give you the right to ask them to stay.
Lola nods slowly — understanding in the way only someone who’s lived this loss can understand.
We sit like that, fingers tangled, breaths uneven, the weight of everything we’re too scared to say pressing down on both of us.
