“Do what?” he asks quietly.
“This.” I gesture between us, then yank my hands. I step away, needing space. “You just—showing up. Acting like it’s nothing.” My voice wobbles. I clear my throat, curling my fingers into my palms until my nails bite my skin. “I don’t have room for this.”
“I’m not asking for anything. I just wanted to be here.”
I shake my head, a lump already forming in my throat. I can’t let him say it like that, as if it’s an option. I force a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “I’m glad you’re happy. With Maggie. Really. That’s… good. That’s what this was all for, right?”
His mouth flattens, the softness gone as quickly as it came.
“Nora—”
The elevator doors slide open behind me, and I blow out a sigh of relief. I step backward. “Please,” I say, already retreating. “Don’t follow me.”
Once the doors slide shut between us, the tears come—fast and merciless. This is for the best. He’s free to live his life with Maggie. I just have to stop thinking about the what-ifs.
The ride down feels endless. I curse the hospital when the elevator stops on the second floor. New passengers step in, and I offer them the politest smile I can manage, even though the mirrored wall tells the truth. My eyes are glassy. My shoulders are rigid. I swipe at the tears still slipping free. I need to hold it together. When the doors open on the first floor, everyone files out. I lift my head—and freeze.
He’s standing there.
Instinct kicks in, and I stab the close door button, but his hand slips between the doors before they can shut. I can’t stay. I can’t hear how well everything turned out, how amazing Maggie is, how proud he is of himself. I don’t trust myself to survive another word. My mom is in the hospital. My life is splintering. I’m exhausted. And he came here because he cares. He holds the door open and I step past him.
“Nora.”
The way he says my name breaks me open. An ugly sob rips out of me. My hands fist into the front of his jacket, and I collapse against his chest, because if I don’t hold onto something, I’m going to come apart into pieces too small to put back together.
“I’m so tired,” I whisper.
“I know.”
He doesn’t crowd me. He doesn’t try to fix anything. He only comforts me while I cry into him. He showed up without being asked. Brought snacks my mom can eat. Fireballs for me. Read about her diagnosis because he wanted to understand. Those are the things I don’t know how to survive—because he does them without hesitation.
“I’m not with Maggie.”
I pull back just enough to look at him through watery eyes. He reaches up and brushes my tears away with his thumbs. Instinctively, I lean into his warmth. But as fast as his hands were there, they drop to his sides.
“That should make me feel better,” I admit. “And it does. A little.” I swallow hard. “That’s the problem.”
“But it’s not a problem.”
“It is—because it terrifies me.” My hands curl at my sides, fighting the instinct to reach for him. “I’ve never felt this close to someone who didn’t eventually leave. It’s safer if we forget this ever happened. It was only pretend.”
“It may have started that way, but it isn’t pretend anymore. Not for me.”
A dull ache forms deep inside me from the truth of it. This is what I wanted—something real. And that’s exactly why I can’t stay. “I need to go before I fool myself into believing this is different.” Without a look back, I stride down the hallway and exit through the sliding glass doors.
The afternoon air hits me, and panic tightens around my ribs, squeezing until it’s hard to breathe. My dad said he’d stay too—right up until things got hard. Miles is here now, but what happens when it isn’t easy anymore?
I don’t know if I could survive losing him once I let myself believe he’ll stay.
Twenty-Nine
Somewhere Between Bounce Houses And Card Games
Miles
Nora disappears down the hallway, and for a second I just stand there while doctors, nurses, and patients move around me like it’s an ordinary day and not my entire world is collapsing.
I blow out a slow breath—the kind I take before a tricky takeoff, when the wind is unpredictable and the instruments are quiet, but my gut says pay attention. Do I run after her and demand answers, or do I give her the space she clearly needs? I’ve never needed advice this badly, and I know exactly who to ask.
