Rex blinks at me like he’s judging my soul. Cupcake flops her tail harder.
I let out a laugh that’s more broken than amused. “What do I do, huh? Cat, you hate me. Dog, you love me. Neither of you are Amelia, and she’s the only one who matters.”
Rex meows sharply and annoyed, as if he’s telling me to shut the fuck up. Cupcake licks my bare shin.
I scrub both hands over my face. “Yeah. You’re right. It doesn’t matter what I feel. It doesn’t matter if I’m scared shitless. She’s back, and I’m not letting her slip away again.”
I stand in front of the dresser, staring at the mess of clothes as if I’ve forgotten how to be a person. My hands move on autopilot—grey sweats pulled up over my hips, a white compression tee stretched tight across my chest. It clings, outlining muscles still raw from practice, with my ribs aching underneath. I pull a backwards cap low over my damp hair.
The mirror catches me as I head out. I lookwrecked—red-rimmed eyes, jaw clenched, dark stubble across my cheeks. Not Maverick Hayes, the golden boy quarterback. Just a man barely hanging on.
Cupcake pads after me, tail wagging, ears perked like she knows I’m leaving. Rex perches on the counter, his wrinkled skin glowing under the kitchen light, judging me with those alien green eyes.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, grabbing my keys from the hook. My voice cracks, and I clear it roughly. “Don’t give me that look. She’s back. I’m not wasting another second.”
I shut the door behind me, the night air sharply cool against my overheated skin. Gravel crunches under my sneakers as I stalk toward my Bronco, every muscle tense.
Inside, the cab smells like sweat and leather, with faint traces of her perfume still soaked into the passenger seat from that one night she sat there wrapped in my hoodie. My throat tightens at the memory.
The engine roars to life. Headlights cut across the empty driveway, flooding the trees with harsh white light. I grip the wheel so tightly that the leather creaks, my pulse pounding as if it’s trying to burst from my chest.
The drive to Carter’s feels endless, yet too short all at once.
Tennessee dusk fades into complete darkness, the road stretching out in long, winding curves. Gravel spits beneath my tires when I take sharp turns. The radio remains off—silence loud enough to drown me out. My thoughts collide in my mind.
By the time I reach Carter’s long gravel driveway, my stomach is in knots. His house glows ahead, warm and golden against the night, as if it’s mocking me. A home. A family. Things I’ve been desperately wanting, with her, only to watch her slip through my fingers.
I turn off the engine, headlights dimming to black, leaving me in darkness with only the constant chirping of crickets and the rasp of my own breathing. My chest rises and falls too quickly, adrenaline pounding like an extra heartbeat.
The porch looms ahead, wood creaking beneath my weight as I climb the steps. Light spills through the windows, soft voices muffled inside. Silhouettes moving past the curtains.
My fist hovers over the door.
For four days, I’ve gone without her voice, her laugh, her snarky remarks that drive me crazy. For four days, I’ve been falling apart.
And tonight, I either get her back—or lose her forever.
My knuckles rap against the door, harder than I mean to. For a second, there’s only silence, then the heavy tread of boots across hardwood.
The door swings open, and there he is. Carter.
He takes me in with one look—jaw tight, eyes too wild to hide. He doesn’t say a word at first, letting out a low breath before reaching out to give me one firm pat between the shoulders.
“C’mon in,” he mutters.
I step past him, the familiar scent of cedar and faint smoke wrapping around me as I enter his house.
The living room glows warmly, lamplight spilling over the couch where Catalina and Amelia are sprawled. Catalina’s got a family-size bag of chips balanced in her lap, crumbs dusting her fingers, while the TV flickers softly in front of them.
The second Catalina sees me, she coughs mid-bite, almost choking. “Oh, holy shit,” she wheezes, grabbing her water bottle.
Amelia’s head snaps up.
Her wide green eyes lock on me, pupils blown wide with shock, lips parting as if she can’t quite breathe.
My chest feels so tight I can barely breathe. Four days without her, and one look almost destroys me.
She stays silent. I do the same. The air hums between us, heavy and loaded, as if every word we haven’t spoken is lingering in the room.
