As soon as I hit send on the last message, my stomach clenches into a knot. Then I stare at theDeliverednotice, waiting for it to switch toRead, waiting for those little bubbles to appear to tell me he’s responding.
Minutes stretch into a quarter hour, and the phone remains silent in my hand.
I type a second message, keeping it short this time.
Saint
Can we talk?
It joins the first four in digital limbo, delivered but unread.
My fingers twitch, wanting to throw the fucking thing at the wall, to shatter the screen into pieces just like I did to the relationship growing between Gabriel and me. But I can’t afford a new phone, and the momentary satisfaction won’t fix what I’ve broken.
Instead, I pace the length of my living room, five steps in one direction before hitting the wall, five steps back. The cheap carpet is worn in this exact path from all the nights I’ve spent walking this same route, trapped in my own head with nowhere else to go.
This place isn’t a home. It’s just somewhere I exist between shifts at work.
I stop pacing and stare at my phone again.
Still nothing from Gabriel.
The anger flares, then fades just as fast, replaced by acceptance. Why would he respond?
My thumb slides across the screen, scrolling through contacts until it lands on Micah’s name. My finger hovers over the call button, not quite connecting.
He’s called me six times. I owe him this much.
I press the button before I can talk myself out of it again, bringing the phone to my ear as it rings once, twice, three times. My throat tightens with each ring, relief and anxiety battling for dominance.
“Saint?” He pauses to give me time to speak, and when I don’t, his concern bleeds through the line. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “I’m fine.”
The silence that follows tells me he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t call me on it, either.
“Gabe and I had a fight,” I admit, the words inadequate for the damage done. “I need to check if he’s okay.”
Micah’s breath catches, and I can picture him in whatever luxurious room he’s claimed at Rockford Manor, sitting up straighter as he pieces together far more than I’m saying.
“He’s not at the manor,” Micah says carefully.
“But you know where he is?”
A long silence fills the line, followed by the click of a door shutting on his end before he whispers, “He’s been staying at Caleb’s townhousein Rockhaven while Caleb’s out of town on business.”
Somehow, I knew Gabriel wouldn’t go home to his family, despite everything. He’s isolating himself, same as I would.
“What happened, Saint?” Micah asks, still whispering.
“I fucked up.” My throat closes around the words. “Worse than I’ve ever fucked up before.”
Another pause, this one filled with the sound of Micah breathing, considering his next words.
“You should fix it,” he says at last. “Before things get worse.”
“I know.” The torn envelope on the floor becomes impossible to ignore. “I’m trying.”
“Try harder,” he says with quiet urgency. “The longer you wait, the harder it gets.”
