He stilled. “Leaving leaving?”
I nodded. “New York job. Big brand.”
His brow furrowed. “And you’re okay with that?”
“No.” I laughed. It sounded wrong. “But I can’t be the reason she gives up her dreams.”
Levi stared. “That’s not what this looks like.”
I finally looked him in the eye. “Then what does it look like?”
“It looks like you two are in love,” he said. “The real kind. The stupid kind. The kind people write songs about.”
“That doesn’t mean I can ask her to stay.”
“You’re not asking her to give something up,” Levi said. “You’re asking her to choose.”
I started to answer. Nothing came out. My throat locked.
Levi stepped closer. “What do you actually want, Jason?”
Her face rose up in my head. Her smile. The way her eyes changed when she focused. The small habit of touching her necklace when she thought. The look she gave me like maybe I still mattered.
“I don’t want to lose her,” I said. The words scraped. “Not again.”
Levi held my gaze. “Then stop acting like your feelings don’t count.”
I frowned. “I can’t force her to stay.”
“No one is asking you to,” he said. “She’s a grown woman. She can do whatever she wants. New York, here, Mars. That’s her call.”
He jabbed a finger toward my chest. “But if you don’t tell her what you want, if you don’t make it clear that she matters to you, you’re going to regret it.”
I swallowed.
“Worst case,” he went on, “she says no. She leaves anyway. And that will hurt. But at least you won’t spend the rest of your life wondering what would’ve happened if you’d opened your mouth.”
I bolted for the hook by the door, snatched my jacket. A mug fell and cracked against the floor. I didn’t stop.
“Where are you going?” Levi said.
I reached the door. The rain hit the windows like a warning.
“To do what I should’ve done years ago,” I said.
Then I stepped into the rain and didn’t look back.
EMILY
The rain traced lines across the windshield, soft and steady. Wipers clicked back and forth. I gripped the wheel tighter and focused on the highway ahead.
The suitcase was in the trunk. Packed. Done. Next to it, Jason’s hoodie, balled up like it still held his shape. I had meant to give it back. I hadn’t.
The diner sign vanished first, swallowed by fog and drizzle. Then the lighthouse followed, a distant pulse in the gray. It blinked once. Then again. Then it was gone.
My phone buzzed in the cupholder. I didn’t look. Could’ve been my dad. Could’ve been Marla. Could’ve been Jason. I wasn’t ready to know.
The rain kept falling. Relentless. The kind that settled into your clothes and your ribs. My fingers curled tighter around the wheel.
