My hand tightens on the door handle of the car. I look over the hood at her—standing there in the driveway, arms wrapped around herself, eyes glassy—and I almost cave. Almost.
Instead, the truth spills out, low and raw. “You know what the funniest, most fucked-up thing about all this is? I thought you were hung up on my age. I thought it was that—or the distance—that kept you from really letting me in.” I swallow hard. “I told myself I’d wait, no matter how long it took, because I knew you’d come around. I believed it. But no. I was wrong.”
Her lips part, trembling. “Sam?—”
“It wasn’t the age or the distance.” My voice cracks. “It was Pete. You’re still hung up on your ex.”
She shakes her head, eyes wide, tears shimmering, but I can’t stay long enough to hear her denial. I can’t trust myself not to say more, not to beg for something I might not be ready to hear.
I slide into the car, start the engine, and back out of her driveway. In the rearview mirror, I see her still standing there, small and still, her arms wrapped tight around herself like she’s holding in the pieces.
And God help me, I already miss her.
The drive home is endless. Every streetlight, every passing car, every song on the radio feels too loud. Too bright. I kill the sound, the lights, everything that reminds me of being alive.
All I want is quiet.
By the time I reach my place, I’m carved out. Empty. The day was a complete waste. Most of it spent in the car, stuck with my bad thoughts. I wasn’t supposed to work today. No, today was supposed to be about Olivia. Instead, we blew up and I ended updealing with a supplier crisis from the car. Like I was in the right frame of mind for that.
I sit in the car long after I’ve parked, the engine ticking as it cools. My hands still grip the wheel, knuckles white, like letting go means admitting what I just said—what I accused her of.
“Fuck.” The heel of my hand slams the steering wheel.
It’s not just anger that’s eating at me—it’s fear.
Pete’s fucking text…how long ago was that? His text inviting her to dinner. I never did say anything to her. I trusted her. Hoped if anything was happening, she’d have told me. Besides, I wasn’t that guy. I didn’t read other people’s texts, question them. What kind of relationship would that be?
And if I’m being totally honest, a part of me didn’t want to know. Yeah…fear I might be right. Fear I might not be.
Inside, the loft is cold and still. I toss my keys on the counter, yank off my jacket, and pace the length of the kitchen, running both hands through my hair. I can still see her face, the way her lips trembled when I said it. The hurt in her eyes.
I should’ve stayed. I should’ve listened. But my emotions were already frayed before she even got home. Losing Bas, holding Alec together, trying to keep the restaurant project moving, running two restaurants—it’s been a balancing act. And Olivia’s been my one safe place. My constant.
Until today.
I don’t even know why it hit so hard. It’s not like she cheated. She wouldn’t. If Olivia wanted to try again with her ex, she’d have told me. And fuck, it’s not even about Pete, not really. It’s theideaof him still taking up space somewhere in her heart where I can’t reach.
I sink onto the couch, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. My chest feels tight, my pulse still hammering.
Maybe I overreacted.
Maybe I didn’t.
I just know that when she didn’t answer my calls, something in me broke. I’ve already lost too much this year. For a fucking lifetime. The idea of losing her—of her walking away, of me being too much or not enough—terrifies me more than I care to admit.
I glance at my phone. Ten missed calls from her since I left. A few texts. I can’t bring myself to open them. Not yet.
My thumb hovers over her name.
I want to call her, to tell her I’m sorry, to take back the accusation that poured from me like poison. But my pride is a stubborn bastard. And the thing about pride is it’ll keep you warm until you realize it’s what’s keeping you alone.
I toss the phone onto the table and lean back, staring at the ceiling. The bustle of the city outside my window pinches at me. Somewhere, people are laughing. Living. Loving. And I’m sitting here, missing the woman who makes me feel more alive than I ever have, wondering if I just ruined it all.
When my eyes finally drift shut, exhaustion wins over regret. But even in sleep, I can still feel her in my arms, warm, soft, real. And the echo of her voice lingers like a ghost.
“I’m okay. I’m so sorry.”
God, Liv. So am I.
