She grabs it from Kayla’s hand when she holds it out, and then her fingers fly over her screen before she passes it back to her. “Call me if you need someone that’s not Brock to talk to. We’ll hang out or something. Having a support system through this is so important.” Her eyes fall to me, and they soften for a brief second. “For everyone,” she finishes softly, and I catch her meaning.
After Kayla leaves, the conversation fades as Ryder claims our attention. Sitting here with her, keeping this kid happy, stirs up longings I have no right to feel.
We play a few games on my phone before Ryder insists that Charlie color with him. Watching her gentle patience with him, I remember nights under the stars, dreaming up names for our future kids and wishing for a thousand things.
The ache in the back of my throat has me reaching for my drink.
Ryder tugs on my shirt sleeve and holds up a marker. “Be like you, Kea Kea?”
“You gonna give me something cool, little man?” I ask, scrubbing my hand over his wild hair.
He nods, his eyes lighting up as he squirms in his seat. “The bestest.”
I place my arm out on the table in front of him, making sure there’s some empty skin he has access to. His little palm settles on my skin, and he tucks his lip between his teeth as he concentrates.
Charlie’s been quiet for a while, so I look up from the bright scribbles on my skin. She’s watching us with eyes full of heartbreak, but when she meets my gaze, the longing there nearly knocks the breath from my lungs.
Oh, butterfly.
I’m so fucking sorry.
Charlie clears her throat, sliding her bag over her shoulder. “I’m going to head out. But I want to say something. What I told her applies to you and B, too. A support system is important to have through this kind of stuff. I see the changes you’re making, Keaton. I really do believe you’ve learned some valuable things since you cheated. I need to have hope that what you did—the pain you caused—resonated with you. Because I don’t believe you’re a bad person. You just…made a lot of really bad choices that broke a lot of really good things. So, if you and she believe Brock to be remorseful, and if you truly believe that you two can give each other positive support, then maybe you should.” She reaches across the table and runs her hand over Ryder’s head, causing him to lift his face towards her with a smile. “I’ll see you again, Ryder. You give this dude all kinds of cool designs, okay?”
She takes a step away from the booth, but pauses. I can only make out the side of her face, but I can see the struggle play out over it before she turns back.
Charlie takes a deep breath and looks me in the eye. “I’m proud of you, Keaton. You’re working hard, and I’d like to acknowledge the changes I can see.” She shrugs, and her lips curve in a poignant smile. “I just wanted you to know that. I needed you to know that I see you, Keaton.”
She leaves before I’m ready. Every moment she gives me is bittersweet, and I know I’ll always hunger for more.
But I’ll never push for it.
Not anymore.
The moment she tells me she's proud of me, it eases the restless part of my soul that forever longs for her approval and love, even though I feel undeserving.
I hope that Kayla and Charlie can help each other. I hope they can lift each other up when they’re struggling. I just really need something good to come out of all the shit that I put us through. Even if it’s just my Charlie girl finding another friend.
Spending this time with her has given me hope that there will be an opportunity in the future to build something new with Charlie.
It gives me hope that, despite the challenges ahead, we might rise from the ashes together.
Maybe a little different, a bit broken, but with a love that’s weathered one hell of a storm and survived.
We’ll be fragments of each other, stitched together into something entirely new.
Something much more beautiful, much more real.
The thing is…hope is fragile, and healing isn't linear.
Something I should remember more often.
No Contact
Charlie | The Past
Noonetellsyouabout the pitfalls waiting after betrayal. No one warns you about the floods of pain and anger, or the wild swings between hope and despair. One day, hope fills your lungs, and you think you’re finally recovering. Next, you’re unraveling, yelling at the mirror because you’re nowhere near as restored as you believed. Suddenly, you’re grieving the life you lost all over again. I didn’t know any of this until therapy. Naively, I believed that just showing up would cure me, that the pain, the rage, the sadness would simply disappear.
Rebecca warned me that healing wasn't linear. She said I should expect to suddenly feel not okay when everything seemed to be falling into place. She warned me to watch for the unknown triggers—the ones that would sneak up on you without warning.
