She studies me for a second, then nods. “Okay.”
I grab my mug and move toward my desk before she can say anything else. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“That’s not coffee,” she calls after me. “That’s whatever’s left of your sanity.”
Despite myself, I smile. “Then it fits the morning.”
I make it to my desk and set the mug down. The screen’s still dark, waiting for me to turn it on, waiting for me to pick up where I left off. I see myself on the screen, the same tired eyes, and the same steady face.
Ellie’s voice echoes in my head.He’s still in your heart, no matter how much you try to move on.
I open my inbox just to have something else to look at, something that doesn’t feel like truth staring me down.
The first message waiting at the top of the list isn’t work. It’s a campus-wide memo about an upcoming fundraiser for the athletics department. It was sent by my boss and apparently this is mandatory and our office is in charge of set up and coordination that night.
I flag it for follow-up. Mandatory or not, the thought of showing up makes my stomach twist.
I take a breath, open a blank document, and start typing a list of media prep tasks that don’t actually need doing.
…………
By the time the office empties again, the clock’s pushed past nine. The hum of the vending machine is the only thing keepingme company, low and steady like it’s trying to fill the silence. I pack my bag slower than necessary, checking drawers for things I don’t need, just to avoid leaving.
Ellie’s already gone home. She waved from the door two hours ago with a pointed look that said,Don’t stay too long.
I told her I wouldn’t. I lied, obviously.
The building’s quiet when I step into the hall. My heels echo off the tile as I make my way toward the exit, steady and lonely against the stretch of empty corridor.
Outside, the air is damp and heavy. It must’ve rained again while I was inside. It slicks the pavement outside the university event center, mirroring the glow of the glass doors and every polished car that pulls into the loop. Somewhere in the distance, a car door slams. A voice laughs. Then it’s gone.
I pause at the edge of the sidewalk and look toward the fieldhouse. It’s dark, but the faint hum of the stadium lights bleeds through the night. There’s a smell I remember, wet turf, rubber, and the faint metallic tang of rain on aluminum bleachers. It’s ridiculous that I notice it at all.
“If you were really over him,” I whisper to myself, “that scent wouldn’t make you instantly think about him.”
I shake my head and keep walking.
The wind catches the edge of my jacket. It’s cool against my skin. I pull it tighter, the motion automatic, almost practiced. Thesame way I fix my face before meetings or keep my voice steady when a call comes in. It’s all habit now, holding myself together in public, then falling apart in private.
By the time I reach my car, my chest feels tight. I unlock the door and slide inside, letting the door shut out the rest of the world. The quiet hits hard. No voices, no screens, no excuse to stay busy.
The steering wheel feels cold against my palms. I start the engine just to have something making noise. The radio kicks on mid-song, a static hum before the words come through, some country track about missing what you shouldn’t. I turn it off immediately.
For a long minute, I just sit there, watching the rain make trails down the windshield. It blurs the lights outside into streaks of white and red.
I wonder if Jace stays late, rewatches game footage until the noise feels like comfort. If the life he built is everything he wanted it to be. I shouldn’t care. I don’t, I tell myself.
Another lie I’m good at.
The truth is, I built this life to survive the one I never got to live. To stay busy enough that I wouldn’t have to notice the hollow parts.
But grief has a way of hiding in the quiet things, the smell of rain, the buzz of lights, the sound of cleats on wet pavement. It sneaks in through memory and routine until it feels normal.
My phone buzzes once on the seat beside me. A calendar reminder:University Fundraiser – Athletics Dept.
The same event from that memo this morning.
The one I flagged instead of deleting.
