Then he steps aside so I can pass.
The gesture is small.
But it’s everything.
The final proof that we’re ending the only way we ever really existed. Quietly, without dramatic apologies or grand declarations.
Just two people letting go.
I lift the box, its weight steadier than I expected, and carry it toward the door. My boots are soft against the hardwood, each step pulling at something in my chest.
When I open the door, the world is brighter than it was when I started packing.
Cool air rushes in.
Knox is waiting at the bottom of the steps, leaning against the rail. He straightens when he sees me, chin lifting the slightest bit like he’s been tuned into every movement inside this house.
“You good?” he asks quietly.
I nod, even though my body feels both too heavy and too light. “Yeah.”
He takes the box from my arms without asking, he turns toward my car. He’s just trying to ease what he can. He sees I’m barely holding it together, and the box… it’s the only part he can take from me.
He sets it gently in my back seat and shuts the door.
Griff’s truck rumbles in the driveway, and he’s already in the driver’s seat, jaw tight, staring straight ahead like if he looks anywhere else he’ll break something.
Knox heads toward the truck with my box. I move to follow him but stop when I feel eyes on my back.
I turn.
Jace stands in the doorway, hands still in his pockets, shoulders slumped in a way he probably doesn’t realize is visible. He’s not trying to stop me. He’s not reaching for me. He’s just… standing there.
Holding a silence we’ve been building for months.
His eyes meet mine.
And for a single breath, everything slows.
The weight of years.
The ache ofalmosts.
The truth we never managed to untangle.
He opens his mouth, once, then again, but nothing comes out. His jaw works, like he’s fighting through something he’ll never say aloud.
I offer a small, tired smile. The kind you give someone you loved once but can’t carry anymore.
“Take care of yourself, Jace.”
He swallows hard. Nods once. “Yeah. You too.”
Knox is by the truck now, waiting.
Not pulling.
Not rushing.
