The way she fit with us.
And I did nothing. I stayed loyal. I was a good friend.
And now she's two miles away. In a ruined wedding dress. Crying. Alone.
Pack code. Loyalty. Friendship.
The words feel hollow. Empty. Like rules from a game I'm not sure I want to play anymore.
But I'll play it. Because that's what I do. That's who I am. The good guy. The one who tries to do the right thing.
Even if it costs me her.
I turn off the water and reach for a towel. My reflection stares back at me from the foggy mirror. Red-rimmed brown eyes. Tight jaw. The face of a man who's been lying to himself for too long.
We agreed to stay away.
But we won’t. No matter how hard we try.
4
JESSICA
Iwake up to silence.
Not just silence. Emptiness.
The lavender fabric softener Mom uses on her sheets. The cedar from the closet where my old clothes still hang. The dust motes floating in the sunlight streaming through the curtains. The faint trace of Dad's cologne that still clings to the quilt at the foot of my bed, even though he's been gone for four years.
But no sounds of life. No footsteps downstairs. No coffee brewing. No Mom humming while she putters around the kitchen.
Right.
She's in Mexico. Living my honeymoon. And I'm here. Alone.
The realization settles over me slowly, and I'm surprised to find it doesn't feel scary. Just... quiet.
I sit up too fast and immediately regret it. My head pounds. My mouth tastes like I licked a dirty carpet. My eyes are swollen and crusty from crying myself to sleep, and when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror across the room, I let out a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
I look like a raccoon who lost a fight with a wedding dress.
Speaking of which.
The dress is on the floor where I left it, a puddle of ruined tulle and torn lace spreading across the hardwood like a fabric crime scene. I must have stripped out of it last night, though I don't remember much after collapsing on the porch swing. Just tears. And exhaustion. And somehow ending up in my old bed wearing one of Dad's t-shirts and a pair of Mom's sweatpants.
Then I realize something strange, which didn't dawn on me before. Why does Mom have all of Dad's clothes? Like, not a few things, like his favorite shirt or his jacket for comfort. But everything. All of it, still here, four years later.
And I remember her telling me she gave it all to charity. She lied.
Mom can't let go.
Maybe that's why when Callum showed up at my Pine Hollow apartment two years ago, I said yes immediately.
He'd dumped me four years before that. Said I was too loud, too big, not the type of beta he wanted in his life. I'd finally moved on. Had a cute little apartment, a job I liked, a life that felt like mine.
Then he appeared at my door claiming he'd made a terrible mistake, begging for another chance.
And I gave it to him.
