Luke flips them off without turning around. I follow him down the hall, heart lighter than it’s been in over a year. The door to his bedroom clicks shut behind us. And then he’s in my arms.
FORTY
SILAS
I dropinto the familiar leather chair, the one that’s starting to feel like it’s molded to my shape after all these months. Cella’s already settled across from me, mug of tea in hand, that warm, steady smile on her face that always makes the room feel smaller, safer.
“Hey, Silas,” she says, voice soft but bright. “You look… lighter today. Something’s shifted?”
I exhale, rubbing my palms on my thighs. “Yeah. A lot’s shifted, actually.” I meet her eyes, let the words come slow. “Luke and I… we’re back together. Or—talking again. Seeing each other. Whatever you call it when two people who should’ve never let go finally stop being idiots and try again.”
Her brows lift slightly, surprise flickering before it softens into something genuinely pleased. She sets her mug down, leaning forward just a little.
“Wow. Okay. That’s big.” She pauses, giving me space. “Tell me about it. How did this happen? And how are you feeling about it?”
I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “It started at thebar I work at. He walked in with his friends. When I saw him, part of me froze. Then I went on break, and he followed me. He told me he understood why I left—why I thought I was protecting him. Thanked me for it, even. And I—” I swallow. “I told him I was sorry. That I never wanted to hurt him. That I still loved him. Then he suggested we get coffee sometime, and…I texted him the next day…and…” I swallow unsure how she’s going to react to this.Please, don’t tell me I’m doing the wrong thing.“And, we’ve been inseparable since.”
Cella’s smile widens, soft and unguarded, the kind that makes the room feel even warmer. She leans back slightly, giving me space to keep breathing through it.
“Inseparable,” she repeats gently, letting the word settle between us. “That’s a beautiful word to use, Silas. It sounds like something opened up for both of you.” She pauses, eyes steady on mine. “How are you feeling about that pace? The speed of it all?”
I exhale through my nose, fingers still rubbing slow circles on my jeans. “Terrified. And… relieved. Like I’ve been holding my breath for a year and someone finally told me it was okay to let it out.” I laugh again, quieter this time. “We’re being careful, though. Talking—really talking—about the past, about what we want now. No secrets. No disappearing. It’s…it feels right. Scary right.”
She nods, slow and thoughtful. “Scary right is a perfect way to describe it. It sounds like you’re both choosing vulnerability instead of secrets and protection this time. That’s huge growth—for you especially, given how hard you used to try to control everything.”
“Yeah.” My throat tightens. “That’s why I’m here today. There’s something else gnawing at me. I’ve been thinkingabout visiting Xavier. It’s been a couple weeks, and I feel like I need to go. But part of me wants to use it as… I don’t know, closure? A way to say goodbye, so I can be fully present with Luke. But that doesn’t sit right. It feels like I’d be abandoning him. Like if I let go completely, I’m erasing what we had. Xavier was my past—he shaped me. Luke’s my future. How do I hold space for both without feeling like I’m betraying one?”
Cella’s expression softens even more. She sets her mug aside completely now, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, completely present. “It sounds like you’re grappling with loyalty—to your memories of Xavier and to the life you’re building with Luke. What does ‘saying goodbye’ mean to you in this context? Is it about letting go of guilt, or something else?”
Cella’s expression stays soft, steady, as though she’s holding the weight of my words with me. She leans forward just a fraction, voice gentle but clear.
“Silas…that guilt you’re carrying—it’s so heavy, and it makes perfect sense that it’s showing up now. You loved Xavier. You wanted to protect him. You wanted to keep him safe, keep him whole. And when the injury happened, when everything changed, part of you still believes you should have been able to stop it. That if you’d been better, faster, stronger, more…something…the outcome would have been different.”
She pauses, letting that sit for a second before continuing.
“But here’s what I want you to hear, and I want you to really try to take it in: you did not have the power to control that outcome. No one did. Traumatic brain injuries can happen at any time, and they don’t wait for someone to be ‘good enough’ or ‘strong enough’ or ‘prepared enough.’ They don’t respond to love, or effort, or willpower. You couldn’t save him from it—not because you failed, but because it was never within your control to begin with. Outcomes are not ours to command. We can only control what we bring to the moment: our presence, our care, our honesty. And from everything you’ve shared, you brought all of those things to Xavier. You loved him fiercely. You stayed. You fought for him. That matters. Even if he can’t remember it, even if the injury took the memory away, it doesn’t erase what you gave.”
Her eyes are kind, unwavering. “The guilt wants to tell you a story where you had the reins the whole time because you were his coach. But that story isn’t true. It’s just the story grief tells when it’s trying to make sense of something senseless. Letting go of that illusion of control doesn’t mean letting go of Xavier. It means honoring the truth of what happened—and giving yourself permission to stop punishing yourself for something you never had the power to change.”
I swallow hard, throat tight. Her words land like cool water on a burn—painful at first, then soothing. She’s said something similar in the past, and I’ve been working on letting go of the feeling that if I had been able to control it that everything would be different. I think I’m there, and then I have little backslides like today. But that’s why I’m here.
She tilts her head slightly. “What comes up for you when you hear that? That the outcome wasn’t yours to control?”
I let out a shaky breath. “It…hurts. Because if I couldn’t save him, then what was the point of all of it? But it also…feels like relief. Like maybe I can stop carrying the blame. Just a little.”
“That’s exactly right,” she says softly. “Relief and grief can coexist. They don’t cancel each other out. And inviting Luke into this visit—into this part of your story—could help you hold both. You wouldn’t be choosing between them. You’d be saying, ‘This is who I am, all of it, and I want you here with me.’ That’s a really big step in the right direction.”
I nod slowly, the idea settling deeper. “I think… I want to ask him. To come with me again. To let him see it all.”
Cella’s smile is warm, quiet, and proud. “That’s a brave, loving choice, Silas. And whatever happens next, you’re already doing the work. That’s what matters most.”
We wrap up a few minutes later—homework to journal about the conversation I’ll have with Luke, a reminder to be gentle with myself. As I stand, she gives me one last steady look.
“I’m rooting for you,” she says, sincere as always. “This could be a turning point. Let me know how the talk goes.”
I nod, throat thick. “I will. Thanks—for everything.”
She rises too, offering her hand. “You’ve got this, Silas. One honest step at a time.”
