“I know,” he says. “I should’ve been out there sooner. I should be doing more.”
I try to swallow past the lump in my throat.
I roll onto my side, the blanket tucked under my chin. I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but the walls don’t give me much of a choice.
“No, I get it. I do,” he continues. “I’m not saying you’re wrong.”
There’s a long pause, filled only by the low murmur of voices drifting up from downstairs. I imagine him standing there, phone pressed against his ear, shoulders tense like they get when he’s trying to make his point.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he says finally. “I promise. I’ll be there to finish chores, and I’ll help. I just… I’ve had something come up.”
Something.
His voice drops low. “Yeah. I get it’s a lot to ask, but I’ll take care of it. Okay?”
Something twists in my stomach.
Another long pause stretches. I stare at the wall, studying the Rixton Wolves hockey poster hanging there.
“I owe you,” Cooper adds quietly. “I’ll be out this weekend. We’ll get caught up, I swear. You can consider it done.”
The call ends shortly after. The bathroom door opens, and I quickly close my eyes, feigning sleep as I hear him moving around. I stay where I am, my thoughts drowning out anything he said.
He missed helping with chores because of me.
That’s the conclusion my brain latches onto. He had responsibilities he was putting off because he was stuck here with me. He’s rearranging his life to help me.
I never asked him to, but that doesn’t matter.
I’ve been here before, on the wrong side of someone else’s generosity. I refuse to become a burden for anyone again.
When Cooper steps out of his room into the hallway, I hear the door shut behind him. The quiet feels heavier now than before.
I sit up slowly, rubbing my palms over my face, dragging myself out of the warmth of the bed. I grab my backpack from the floor and dig through it until I find my notebook. The cover is bent from being shoved into it one too many times, the corners soft from use. The pages inside are filled with half-written notes and lists that never went anywhere.
I tear out a clean sheet of paper.
For a moment, I stare at the page, my pen hovering over the blank space. There’s too much to say. Instead of overthinking it, I keep it simple.
Thank you for letting me stay with you. I know you didn’t have to, and I really appreciate it. More than you’ll ever know.
It doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s honest.
I fold the note carefully and set it on the nightstand, weighing the corner down with the watch so it won’t slide or get overlooked. Then I shoulder my backpack, slip on my shoes, and ease out of Cooper’s bedroom.
The house is quiet now—nothing like the night before. Voices drift from the kitchen, as I take the stairs slowly and cut across the living room toward the front door, careful not to draw attention to myself.
Outside, the cool air hits my lungs and steadies me.
I tell myself I’ll handle this on my own. Whatever this is between Cooper and me, I won’t make it something he has to answer for.
As the door clicks shut behind me, one truth settles in anyway—I already care too much for that promise to be easy.
I’m grateful I wore tennis shoes. The walk back to my loft isn’t far, but it would’ve been miserable in anything else. The morning air feels clean, the sky pale with streaks of blue and yellow just starting to wake up. Gravel crunches beneath my steps as I head down the drive.
Once I’m far enough away and sure Cooper isn’t coming after me, I drop my backpack and fish out my earbuds. Music helps drown out my thoughts, and I let it carry me the rest of the way home.
I tell myself I’ll figure this out without anyone’s help.
