She smiles at me in that way she does when she calls bullshit. “Was it fake, my darling?”
The question catches me off guard. I lift my head, meeting Queenie’s eyes. “Was what fake?”
“Your feelings for her.” Queenie’s gaze is steady, unflinching. “When you were with Marley, pretending to be just Nitro, the Uber driver, were your feelings for her real?”
“Yes.” The answer comes immediately, with absolute certainty. “God, yes. Every second with Marley was real. The wayI felt about her, the way she made me feel, it was the most real thing in my life.”
“Thenthat’swhat matters, sweetheart.”
“But I still lied to her.”
“You did,” Queenie agrees. “And thatwaswrong. But lying about your bank account doesn’t mean you lied about loving her.”
I close my eyes, fresh tears burning behind my lids. “She won’t even talk to me, Queenie. She’s blocked my number. Returned everything I ever gave her. She’s done.”
“That girl loves you, sweetheart.”
I shake my head. “Loved. Past tense.”
“Present tense,” Queenie corrects firmly. “Love doesn’t just disappear because of one mistake, Nitro. It doesn’t vanish overnight because you screwed up. She’s hurt, yes. She’s angry, and she hasevery rightto be. But that doesn’t mean she’s stopped loving you.”
“You didn’t see her face.”
“No… but I know what it looks like when someone’s heart is breaking. And I know the difference between a heart that’s breaking and one that’s already broken.” She reaches down, cupping my face with both hands, forcing me to look at her. “If she didn’t love you anymore, she wouldn’t be this hurt. She’d be indifferent. The fact that she’s devastated? That means there’s still something there worth fighting for.”
Hope flickers in my chest, fragile and desperate. “You think so?”
“I know so.” She releases my face, settling back in her chair. “But you need to give her space, sweetheart. You can’t force her to forgive you. She needs time to process, to heal, to figure out if she can trust you again.”
“And if she can’t?” The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with possibility and dread.
Queenie is quiet for a long moment, and when she speaks, her voice is gentle but firm. “Then you have to let her go. But until she tells you there’s absolutely no chance, you don’t give up. You give her space, yes. You respect her boundaries. But you donotstop fighting for her. You don’t stop showing her that you’re worth a second chance. You be fearless, my boy. You get that woman back, you restore her trust in you!”
I nod, even though everything in me wants to go to Marley right now to beg, plead, and promise her the world if she’ll just give me another shot.
But Queenie is right.
I need to give her time.
Even if it kills me.
“How do I show her I’m worth it?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“By being the man she fell in love with.” Queenie’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently. “The one who saw her worth when no one else did. The one who made her feel beautiful, valued, and loved. Show her that man is real, Nitro. Show her he’s not going anywhere.”
A knock at the door interrupts us, and Ethel pokes her head inside, her eyes lighting up when she sees me.
“Well, well, well… if it isn’t my favorite heartbreaker.” She shuffles in, followed by Harold and Mrs. Henderson. “We heard someone was having a crisis. Thought we’d offer our unsolicited advice.”
Despite everything, I feel my lips twitch. “Of course you did.”
“Don’t get smart with us, young man.” Mrs. Henderson points a gnarled finger at me as she settles into Queenie’s other chair. “We’ve got three hundred years of combined relationship experience in this room. You’re going to listen to what we have to say.”
Harold leans against the wall, arms crossed. “What’d you do to mess it up?”
“I lied about who I am.”
“Oh, bad move,” Ethel tuts. “Women hate that.”
