The screen goes black, and I drag a hand down my face.
Fuck.
The front door clicks open, and I shoot upright.
Amelia steps in, appearing drained, her hair pulled up and her bag slung low on her shoulder. Even though she’s visibly exhausted, she still somehow seems like a walking sin I’d sell my soul to.
She tosses her keys in the dish and eyes me warily. “Why do you look like you just committed a felony?”
I stand up, rubbing my hands together. “Don’t freak out.”
“Great start,” she mutters, kicking her shoes off.
“Maggie called,” I say, “she wants to escalate the image thing.”
Amelia raises a brow. “Define escalate.”
“She wants you to move to Tennessee.”
Silence.
I watch it hit her. It’s subtle, but it lands hard. Her shoulders go stiff as her eyes drop to the floor.
She tries to mask it, but I see the crack in her armor.
“This week,” I add, softer. “She said the sooner, the better.”
She nods slowly. “Okay.”
That’s it. Justokay.
But the look in her eyes isn’t okay. It’s distant. Guarded. Like she just got told to tear out a part of herself and leave it behind.
I step forward. “Look, I know this place matters to you. I get it. But we’ll make Tennessee work. You can fly back, or we can redecorate the guest room however you want. I’ll buy you whatever you want.”
Her mouth lifts slightly, but the smile doesn’t touch her eyes. “It’s just a place,” she says, brushing past me toward the hallway. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Amelia,” I try again, reaching gently for her arm. “Talk to me.”
She pulls away. “I said it’s fine, Maverick. Let it be.”
I watch her walk down the hall and disappear into the bathroom, and the sound of the door clicking shut behind her hits me harder than it should.
I glance around her apartment, taking in the chaos, the mismatched art, and the smell of lemon and ink, and realize it’s more than just a place.
It’s hers.
And now, because of me, she has to leave it behind.
amelia
. . .
Boxes are stacked like crooked tombstones in every corner of my apartment, each one labeled in black marker with pieces of my life.
Sketches, books, crystals, bathroom crap, shit I forgot I owned.
I swipe at my nose with the sleeve of my oversized shirt, pretending it’s just dust in the air that’s making my eyes sting.
