Something wrong.
Like my gut is whispering a warning I can’t translate.
I glance at her house from down the block. Familiar from the pics she sent. Flowers on the porch. That little hanging swing she told me about. Lights on.
But my brain, like a scratched record, keeps replaying the same damn line: Don’t go.
My friends always said these online things are all smoke and mirrors. Women using lonely soldiers to make someone else jealous or the thrill. Or the attention. The sympathy. The fantasy of a man who’ll throw himself into danger and still call them sweet at the end of the day.
Bullshit. I knew it then, and I still want to believe it’s bullshit now.
Because women? They were never the problem. I’ve had more than I can count. Military uniform turns them on like flipping a switch. I never had to chase.
But I never stayed either.
Relationships? Not for me. I don’t do the feelings thing.
No drama.
No heartbreak.
No mess.
Just in, out, thanks for the memories. That’s my rhythm. Steady. Controlled.
Then Amanda slid into my DMs. Sweet voice. Smart mouth. Pretty face. We clicked fast. Laughed a lot. Her pics? Gorgeous. But it was more than that, something in the way she wrote, the way she saw me. It was… rare.
Still, I know better.
I’ve seen too many of my brothers get divorce papers in a bunker. Heard the horror stories of wives cheating, friends lying, families ghosting them. Love is just a word people hide behind. No one stays faithful. No one sticks forever.
Maybe I’m broken. Or maybe love’s just a nice little story people tell themselves to sleep at night. Me? I stopped looking for it a long time ago.
I shake my head, trying to clear the fog.
And yet… here I am. Parked in front of her place like some high school kid waiting to deliver flowers and heartbreak.
What the fuck am I doing?
For the first time in a long time, I feel it, that pull to turn back. To vanish. To book a ticket to Ibiza and lose myself in sun, sex, and forgetfulness.
Everything feels so fucking off.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise. I glance at the house again. Her silhouette isn’t in the window. Nothing moves. But the unease crawls deeper under my skin.
I close my eyes, breathing in slowly.
What the hell are you walking into, Nate?
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Again.
Persistent.
I ignore it and lift my fist to knock, knuckles grazing against the wood like I’m trying to wake something dead inside me. I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I should’ve turned the damn car around. Should’ve listened to the little voice screaming don’t.
Too late.
The door creaks open, and the guy standing on the other side instantly throws me off balance.
