I swallow hard, blinking against a sudden sting behind my eyes.
God, I wish it were that simple.
Because I don’t love him halfway or with one foot hovering on the brakes.
I love him in that terrifying, irreversible way that sneaks up on you and takes root before you notice, and by the time you do, it’s too deep to untangle without ripping the whole thing out by force.
But I’m also starting to see things I didn’t want to see before.
The way his eyes darken when someone else talks to me and the way his hand tightens on my hip when I mention Oregon.
The softness in him that can flip to something consuming so fast it leaves me breathless.
Europe is coming fast.
New countries, new stages, new versions of this insane life.
And underneath all the excitement and fear and want, there’s a quiet, trembling truth rising between us, one we’ve both been avoiding, one we’ve both been pretending isn’t there.
But it is.
And it’s getting harder to ignore.
Zane
Zillow & Other Things
I knew something was off the second she walked back into the room.
I could feel it before I even turned around, a shift in the air, a hesitation in her footsteps, that soft, careful inhale she does when she’s bracing for a conversation she doesn’t want to have.
But nothing prepared me for what was staring back at me from the glow of her phone screen.
A fucking Zillow search page.
A list of houses.
In Oregon.With actual listings of neighborhoods she knows. Places close to her family. Homes she could vanish into if she ever decided she needed distance.
It hits me harder than any punch I’ve ever taken and by the time she walks back through the door, I’ve already memorized the addresses.
She freezes when she sees me holding the phone, and every part of me goes tight.
I keep my voice even when I ask, “I didn’t know you were looking at houses,” even though what I want to say is,Tell me you’re not planning to leave me.
She gives an answer that is meant to sound casual —browsing— but her pulse jumps at her throat, and I know her tells now. I know her too well to pretend I didn’t hear the tremble beneath that one word.
The blow lands harder. This is the place where she could rebuild a life that doesn’t include me.
The thought makes something inside me claw at the edges.
I try to listen to her responses without going full cyclone on her. And I fucking commend myself for succeeding. Just about.
But the second she leaves the room, I text my tech guy and upgrade the monitoring on her phone.
It’s silent. Invisible.
Nothing that would ever cross her radar. It’s not about reading her messages. It’s not about invading anything private. It’s about prevention.
