“Then start with the ones you can.”
He pats my shoulder on his way out, leaving behind the faint scent of aftershave and old paper, the comforting residue of someone who’s been where you are and knows the way out.
When the door clicks shut, I grab my phone again. My thumb hovers over her name for a long moment before I finally type:
Can we talk?
I stare at the message, debating. Then I hit send.
Seconds later, the screen lights up—Delivered.
No reply. Not yet.
But for the first time since yesterday, I feel like maybe that’s okay.
35
OLIVIA
The morning sun cuts through the blinds, too bright, too eager, like it has something to prove. I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to face the day, or the world, or the truth that I might’ve just ruined the best thing to happen to me in years.
Last night, I spent hours talking with Sin, and when she insisted I get some rest, I let her go. Though sleep never came for me.
My brain kept looping through every word, every look, every moment with Sam yesterday. From the warmth of his arms when he thought I was missing, to the cold distance in his eyes when he left.
I never got a chance to tell him he has it all wrong. I could’ve said it in text, but what if he didn’t reply? What then?
Besides, it wasn’t something I could say via text.
Shuddering, the sound of his car pulling away replays in my head like a door slamming shut.
The hush in the kitchen hits me first. Even the hum of the fridge sounds loud. I pour coffee, hoping it’ll somehow ground me, but my hands are shaking too much to drink it.
I should call him.
No, I should wait.
No—God, I don’t know what I should do.
The truth is, he’s right to be upset. I disappeared. I didn’t call. I let my anger at Erin and Pete take over everything. But his words—you’re still hung up on your ex—slice through me like glass.
I’m not. But how do I convince him of that when I can barely convince myself that I handled any of this right?
I want to fix this. But I know Sam. His silence isn’t his way of testing me. He’s trying to find his footing again.
All I can hope is he trusts in what he knows about me. He has to believe if there were still anything between Pete and me, I’d have said so.
And he needs space. Yesterday made that painfully clear.
I can’t say I blame him. I’m the fool.
I’m the one who’s been dipping my toe in, then backing away. I’m the one who couldn’t sayI love you,even though I do. Oh God, I do.
Wrapping my hands around the mug, I let the warmth seep into my palms. My stomach twists as I picture him—his tired eyes, the shadows that never quite left after Bas died. He’s been holding so much, and I’ve added to it.
I don’t want to be another weight he has to carry.
A knock sounds at the door.
