“So I haven’t seen him in six weeks. We’ve had four actual conversations that lasted longer than ten minutes. And every time we talk, we fight about something stupid because we’re both exhausted, frustrated, and this isn’t working.”
“Have you told him that?”
“What’s the point? He can’t change his schedule. The label owns him now.”
“You’re just going to suffer in silence and resent him?”
“I don’t resent him.”
“You’re crying in a puppy room at six at night. That’s either resentment or a mental breakdown. Possibly both.”
I wiped my eyes. “I don’t know how to do this. Long distance. The uncertainty. Wondering if I’m enough to make him want to come back.”
“Autumn, the man wrote you into a song. You’re enough.”
“Am I though? Because Faith called me yesterday.”
Brynn’s eyes narrowed. “What did she say?”
“How she’s worried about both of us. That we’re both miserable and need to actually talk instead of this passive-aggressive bullshit we’ve been doing.”
Brynn blinked. “Wait. Faith called to… help?”
“Yeah. She gave me this whole speech about how she and Cole imploded because they didn’t communicate, and she doesn’t want to watch us make the same mistakes.” I buried my face in my hands. “She told me to be honest about what I need. To stop waiting for him to read my mind.”
“Wait… Faith is being supportive?”
“Annoyingly supportive. Like a sister who’s seen me fuck up and is trying to prevent round two.”
“Huh.” Brynn processed this. “I did not see that coming.”
“Me neither.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. What if I call him and tell him I can’t do this? What if I need more than he can give?”
“Then you’ll know. And you can make a choice.” Brynn grabbed my shoulders. “But, Autumn? You’re spiraling. You’re creating problems that might not exist because you’re scared of getting hurt. Call him. Have an actual conversation. Find out if this is salvageable.”
“What if it’s not?”
“What if it is?” She squeezed my arms. “You’ll never know unless you try.”
She was right.
I called Cole.
He answered on the first ring, his face filling my screen. He looked terrible—dark circles under his eyes, scruff that had crossed from attractive to concerning.
“Hey.”
“You look like hell.”
“Haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Cole.”
“Faith called you.” He ran a hand through his hair. “She told me. Said you sounded miserable, and I needed to get my head out of my ass and actually talk to you.”
