The door closes quietly behind me as I look around the place that was my home, feeling as if I’ve stepped back through time. It doesn’t look any different than the day I spent packing my things, gaps still peppering the shelves and mantel.
“It’s good to see you, Charlie,” Dillon murmurs, hovering near the door. “Is everything okay?”
I step up to the table beside the couch, fingers touching the wood where my books used to be stacked. “You haven’t changed much,” I say instead of answering. “Everything looks the same.”
He makes a noise behind me, and I turn around to find him leaning against the doorway, his hands in his pockets, his attention roaming around the room. “It doesn’t,” he says quietly. “It’s missing a lot.”
Those hazel eyes land back on me, bright and full of anguish. My breath stalls in my chest, and then, before I’ve made a conscious decision, I turn and walk through the rest of the apartment. I can hear Dillon’s steps behind me, a silent shadow as I peek into each room like I still have a right to…
And then I’m in our bedroom.
Hisbedroom.
I can feel him watching me as I look around, but my attention catches on the bedside table. When I moved out, there was one picture of us—from when we moved in together—but now there’s a second one beside it. I step closer and pick it up, my heart feeling like it’s about to pound out of my chest. It’s a close-up selfie, my arms outstretched as I hold the phone up. We’re flushedwith cold, a knit hat on my head, and Dillon’s jacket lapels pulled up high. He’s standing behind me, leaning down to press our cheeks together.
Behind me, he murmurs, “Last Christmas.” His voice is hoarse with emotion. I look over my shoulder, my brows drawing together. His eyes aren’t on me, but fixated on the photo in my hand, lost in the memory. He seems to shake the past away, shooting me a look of apology. “Do you want a drink or something?” A pause. “You know what? I’ll just go start some coffee.”
Before I can say anything, he’s turned and walked away, leaving me staring at the space he left behind. I’m not sure what I expected, coming here, but it wasn’t that nothing at all has changed. I yank the closet door open, finding Dillon’s clothes still hanging on the left side—just as I left them. The right side is bare, only some empty hangers in the barren space.
It feels as if I’ve only just left, even though I know months have passed. I think of my room at Kayla’s, boxes still unpacked. I think of the wall of boxes at Barrett’s apartment.
Another puzzle piece slots into place, and I let out a long exhale.
In the kitchen, Dillon’s pottering, making coffees. The slightest tremble to his hands gives him away. His head twitches in my direction as I lean against the counter, and he smiles wanly. “I didn’t expect you today.”
I lift a shoulder. “It was an impulsive decision.” I pause, watching him. “I had dinner at my parents’ last night.”
If I wasn’t watching, I might have missed the sudden tension in his shoulders before he shakes them out in the next breath, asking casually, “Thursday, right?”
I hum an agreement. “It was my first time seeing them in months, actually.”
Dillon shoots me a surprised look. “What happened to monthly dinners?” He finishes doctoring the coffees and puts one down in front of me. I look at the cup, my eyes tracing over the black script covering the side of the cup.Don’t talk to me after my coffee either.
“I took a break,” I answer simply, wrapping my hands around my mug, letting the warmth seep into my palms. I take a sip, stifling a smile at the realization that he’s made it just how I like it—the perfect ratio of creamer to coffee, landing just a little more heavily on the sweet side.
Dillon dips his chin, brows furrowed. “Well, is it wrong of me to say that I’m glad you did?” He’s standing across the kitchen, his hazel eyes fixed on me.
It was an impulsive decision to come today after everything I learned last night, but standing here…There’s something different about him. Something I didn’t see that night at the pub. It isn’t just the fact that nothing has changed around the apartment, as if my absence was always just temporary, and he was just waiting for everything, forme, to come back.
It’s also him.
The longer we stand here in silence, the more Dillon’s frown deepens. He opens his mouth, but then shakes his head, like he thinks better of whatever he wants to say. “It’s good to see you, Charlie,” he says quietly. “I didn’t think I’d see you so soon after last week.”
I nod, looking down at my coffee, trying to get my thoughts in order. “I wasn’t planning on coming today, but some things happened last night. Or I learned something, and I wanted to talk to you about it.”
He goes still, his expression frozen. “You…learned something at your mother’s?” he says, dread coating each word. “Is this about?—”
I can’t stop the curve of my mouth. “About you running into her a couple days ago?”
Dillon grimaces, guilt turning his face red. He rubs the back of his neck. “Look, I’m sorry, Charlie. The last thing I wanted to do was make things worse for you. She started talking and I…I just got so angry.”
“She mentioned you were a bit”—I pretend to search for the word—“uncouth.”
He snorts. “That’s one way to describe it.”
“I walked out not long after that, and Barrett filled me in on what you told him.” I sip my coffee. “It’s not surprising the two sides are a little different, yours and hers.”
Irritation flickers across his face. “Not surprising in the least,” he mutters, before defiance firms his tone. “I wouldn’t take it back. She needed to hear it.”
