I pick up my phone. Unblock Sebastian's number. Start typing a text.
Delete it.
Try again.
Delete that too.
Finally, I just write:I read it.
His response is immediate:And?
Me:And I'm still angry.
Sebastian:You should be.
Me:But I'm also tired of being angry. Tired of this hurt.
Sebastian:What do you need? Tell me what you need and I'll do it.
I think about that for a long time.
What do I need?
I need to know that if this happens again, if his father or his world or his past tries to pull him back he won't hesitate. That he'll choose me immediately. Every time.
But I can't know that. Not for certain. I can only trust that he'll try.
And maybe that's all love ever is. Trust that someone will try. That they'll keep choosing you even when it's hard.
Me:Can we talk? Your apartment at 2?
Sebastian:Yes. Thank you.
Me:Don't thank me yet. I haven't forgiven you.
Sebastian:I know. But you're giving me a chance to try. That's more than I deserve.
I put my phone away and stare at the poetry journal.
Tomorrow, I'll find out if Sebastian Thornhill can be the person I need him to be. Or if that thirty-second hesitation was a preview of a lifetime of coming second.
Either way, I'll have my answer.
Chapter 14
Sebastian
I've spentthe past week in hell. Not sleeping, barely eating, replaying that conversation with my father on an endless loop. Trying to figure out what I could have done differently. How I could have been better.
The answer is always the same: I should have told my father to fuck off immediately. Should have defended Isla without pause. Should have been certain instead of hesitant.
But I can't change the past. Can only try to fix the present.
I pace by the door waiting for her to knock.
At 1:55, the knock comes, it's soft and I open the door quickly.
She's wearing jeans and that blue sweater I love. Hair up in a ponytail. No makeup. She looks exhausted and beautiful and so guarded I can feel the walls from twenty feet away.
