I wish I could just go to her, pull her close, and tell her everything’s going to be okay. But I know I can’t do that. Not like this. Not when everything between us is so...broken.
Not when I’m the ghost who reappeared after nearly a decade and expected things to be simple.
And then, when the first threads of pink creep into the sky, bleeding over the rooftops like watercolor, I finally close my eyes for a second. Falling asleep in the driver’s seat.
A soft knock jolts me awake.
My neck is stiff. My eyes burn. And standing outside my window, her breath visible in the cool morning air, is Kenna.
She’s barefoot on the driveway wearing a hoodie that hangs off one shoulder and a pair of old leggings I remember from when she was in high school.
Her hair is in a messy bun, the kind she always wears when she doesn’t care how she looks. But somehow she looks more beautiful than ever.
Like something out of a memory I forgot to grieve.
“What are you doing here, Cole?” she asks, wrapping her arms around herself.
Her voice isn’t angry. It’s confused and guarded. But not cold.
I swallow hard. Pushing the door open, I stretch my arms and rub the sleep from my eyes.
“There’s no way I could live with the guilt if something happened to you. The need to know you’re okay was too strong. Walking away after something like that wasn’t an option for me.”
It sounds like I’m making excuses, but it’s the truth. The only thing on my mind last night, throughout the night, was her safety. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to be sure she was all right.
She looks at me for a long moment, her eyes softening, and I wonder if she can see the sincerity in mine. But then, her gaze flickers, and she looks away. She sighs, taking a step back from the car.
“I’m fine,” she says a little too quickly.
Too clipped, too final. Like she’s trying to shut the conversation down before it opens something vulnerable,
I know she’s not fine. I know better than that.
“You didn’t have to do this, Cole. I can take care of myself, and I didn’t ask you to follow me. Honestly, you shouldn’t have.”
I can’t stop myself from responding.
“Yes, I did.” My voice is firm now, a little more certain.
“But I wasn’t doing it because you asked. I did it because I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you and I didn’t do anything to help you. Plus, I’ll never not look out for you. Not ever.”
Even if it kills me. Even if it means standing in the shadows while someone else holds her hand.
I don’t know whether she understands the depth of what I’m saying. I don’t even know if she wants to hear it right now, but I need her to know that I won’t ever stop caring for her. No matter how much distance we put between us, I’ll always be here for her, always looking out for her, no matter what.
She looks back at me then, and there’s a shift in her expression, like she’s fighting with herself over what to say. Finally, she gives me a small, reluctant smile.
“Thank you,” she says softly. “Really.”
I nod but don’t say anything else. This isn’t about making her feel like she owes me or asking for forgiveness. All I want is to know she’s safe. I just want her to see that someone cares.
When I finally get back to my mom’s house later that morning, I can barely keep my eyes open. I park my truck in the driveway, crawl into bed, and close my eyes, but I can’t stop thinking about Kenna.
I know I don’t have a place of my own. Hell, I never even got the chance to move out. But right now, in this small bedroom at my mom’s house, I feel restless. This house, these walls, they don’t feel like mine anymore. They never really did, at least not the way I wanted them to.
They’re a museum of my mistakes. A cage with clean sheets and the smell of familiarity that I’ve outgrown.
Still living here has been something that’s been weighing on me since I got out. There’s never really been a space that’s truly mine, never a chance to put down roots and make a home of my own.
