“That scared the shit out of me.”
There. I said it.
Not just,he got hurtorit was the right thing to do. No more excuses.
I was scared.
Because caring that much—again—felt like inviting lightning to strike twice.
“I wanted to keep him,” I whisper. “But I didn’t know how to do that and keep him safe at the same time. So I convinced myself that letting him go was love. That it was the right kind of damage.”
My throat burns. My chest aches.
“But I didn’t do it for him,” I admit. “I did it for me.”
Cella doesn’t move for a long beat. Then she nods once, slow and deliberate.
“That’s the work, Silas,” she says. “That right there. Naming the fear. Claiming the pattern. You’re not broken—you’ve just been trying to survive.”
A shaky breath escapes me. “It’s been over ten years.”
“And it took ten years for you to be ready,” she says. “That doesn’t make it too late.”
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
By the time the session ends, I feel like I’ve been through a war.
My body is heavy. My mind’s exhausted. I sit in my car outside her office with the engine off and my hands still gripping the wheel like I need something to hold me upright.
But there’s something else, buried underneath all that weight.
A shift. A thread of something like… hope.
Not for fixing everything overnight. Not even for getting Luke back. But for letting go of the guilt that’s been rotting me from the inside out.
A first step.
Finally.
THIRTY-ONE
LUKE
I’m sosick of being sad.
It’s been months. Not weeks—five fucking long months of sadness. Of pretending for the team, for my friends, for everyone who looks at me as if I might fall apart if they breathe too loud.
But I’m done.
Done crying over a guy who left me without even so much as a glance back over his shoulder. Done waiting for a message that won’t come. Done carrying around the heartbreak as if it’s some kind of armor.
I need to remember what it feels like to laugh so hard my stomach hurts. To scream atMario Kartand eat too much popcorn and be with the people who make me feel like me again.
Tonight, I’m taking my joy back.
I poke my head into the shared living space where Will’s half-eating, half-analyzing a slice of leftover pizza, while Ty scrolls on his phone from upside-down on the couch.
