“I know you would,” she whispers, barely audible. “But I just can’t, okay?”
“Okay,” I lie. Nothing about this is okay. She’s so close, inches from me, yet I’ve never felt farther from her. It’s like a wall of reinforced plexiglass has slammed down between us, where I can see her but can’t reach her.
I stare at the ceiling, sleep impossible, as questions churn in my head. What isn’t she telling me?
The night stretches into the early hours, the sound of her uneven breathing the only sign she’s still here. At some point, exhaustion drags me under, but my sleep is restless and full of fragmented dreams. When I wake, I feel the cold emptiness beside me.
“Lexie?” Her name feels too loud in the stillness of the room, and when there’s no response, the hollowness in my chest spreads. I sit up, my heart racing, scanning for any sign of her. But I already know—she’s gone.
Her side of the bed is neatly smoothed, the blanket folded as if she was never there. And then I see it—the silver ring I gave her and a folded piece of paper resting on the pillow. My hands are unsteady as I pick up the note, unfolding it with dread.
Clutching the note in my hand, I reread it once, twice, a third time. The words only add to the storm of confusion. What the hell does she mean by beingworthy? And knowingthe truth? I feel like she handed me a riddle that only she can solve.
I fumble for my phone and call her, but it goes straight to voicemail. “Fuck,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my face. I quickly dress, shoving my legs into my jeans, and slip her ringinto my pocket. I’m determined to put it back where it belongs. Nothing else is acceptable. I grab my coat and rush to the garage.
Sophia has the Jeep, so I hop on my snowmobile to get to the cottage as fast as possible, praying she’ll still be there. The ride is a blur. My hands grip the handles, steering through the snow, heedless of the wet cold and wind that I hadn’t dressed for. When I pull up, my heart drops. The driveway is empty. Her car is gone.
I race up the steps, turn the key in the lock, and push open the door. The air inside feels untouched. Everything is neat and tidy. But her puzzle is still on the desk, the center unfinished. Upstairs, I find some of her clothes still in the closet and drawers. My entire body sags with relief. I didn’t realize I was holding it together so rigidly,
But the questions still plague me: Why did she leave in the first place? What truth is she referring to? Why is this something she has to do alone? None of it makes sense. Surrounded by her things and lingering scent, I hold on to her promise that she’ll be back.
Pulling out my phone, I try her number again. When I still get her voicemail, I send her a text:
Chaz: I’m here for you, Blue. Whatever you need, say the word. Nothing you tell me is going to change the way I feel. Nothing! I’ll be here waiting to give you back your ring and my heart. I love you. Always.
I stay a while longer in the space she once filled, but soon, the emptiness feels like too much. The sun is just beginning to rise when I get to the café. Its pale orange light settles across the horizon, the glow spilling over the snow-dusted street. Jamar is already there and greets me with a wave. I nod and thank him foropening. He must sense my mood as he gives me a wide berth. I start the coffee machines, falling into the familiar rhythm of the morning routine. The motions ground me, though her absence feels just as big here. I can see her laughing with my customers or sending me a quick smile over the bustling crowd.
I touch the ring inside my pocket, running my fingers over the ridges . . . and keep going.
“Holy shit!” Jordyn’s voice cuts through the car’s Bluetooth speaker, sharp and incredulous. “You just left?”
My fingers tighten on the steering wheel, my eyes are gritty from crying. “I had to.”
“Had to? What are you even doing? This is madness! And you know Dee would say the same. Let me conference her in.”
“No,” I protest. “She’s probably been up all night with the twins.” Through the windshield, the early morning light is just waking the night sky. It reminds me of the lyrics from his song—my song—and fresh tears threaten to fall. “I . . . I needed to talk, and I knew you wouldn’t sugarcoat things.
“Meaning you wanted someone to beat you up,” she says with knowledge from fourteen years of friendship. “But that’s not what I’m going to do. I know you’re a mess right now. Pull over, and let’s talk this out.”
“I can’t.” I exhale shakily, my eyes straining to navigate the slushy road. “I have to get answers.”
“The man youlefthas the answers! How about:Did your father work for Townsen Industries?”
“It’s not that simple.” My voice wavers, betraying the uncertainty that’s been tearing at me since I drove away. “I have to speak with my father first. I need to know what happened with Chaz’s dad and why Chaz was there that day.”
“You’re basing all this on a vague memory from over twenty years ago.”
“It’s not vague,” I argue, my voice firmer now. “I couldn’t place him at first, but then it hit me—clear as day. I read up on it, Jord. This isn’t uncommon. Something can trigger a memory out of nowhere, and it takes you right back to that time and place. That’s what happened. It was the worst time possible, but it happened. Isawhim. That boy was Chaz. He said his father worked for a big company in Chicago. It all adds up.”
“Maybe it does.” She allows me that much. “But you could still be mistaken. There are hundreds of big companies in Chicago. This could all be for nothing.”
“I’m not mistaken,” I insist, knowing it with every fiber of my being.
“Okay, then, let’s say you’re right. What exactly do you expect to accomplish? You think your father is going to admit anything?Like, come on, Lex, he would never. And even if he did—what then? What’s your plan?”
“I don’t know!” My words are filled with anguish. “You and Dee were right. I should have told Chaz the truth as soon as we started getting close. It would have all come out then, and we could have dealt with it one way or the other. But I was selfish. I wanted to live in this happy bubble where he saw me as only Lexie Monroe with all my messy pieces and still wanted me. But now . . .” My throat feels raw as I blink back the tears. “Now it’s so much worse. My sin is bigger than not telling him my full story. I could have explained it before I knew—when I didn’t remember. Now it feels . . .”
“Feels like what?” she presses.
