My gaze shifts to the back door on instinct, only catching the sway of leafy branches through the glass. “Good for them.” I settle on the couch, absorbing the heat of her body pressing against me. “How do you feel about it?”
“I love it,” she says, braiding our fingers together. “Can you imagine them ending up together? Getting married? And then if you and I…”
Her voice trails off, tripped up with emotion.
I turn toward her but don’t press. I feel the way her grip tightens, how her thumb stops moving over mine. She doesn’t need to finish the sentence. I already know the ending she was afraid to say out loud.
Get married.
Have a future.
Had more time.
The silence that follows is different now. Sadder.
Laughter from earlier still echoes faintly in my mind, muffled and strained, but it doesn’t quite reach. Not anymore.
I lean back into the couch and stare at the ceiling, a cedar blur above me. I focus on her hand in mine. Something I can feel.
“I hate not knowing,” I admit, my voice quiet. “I hate waiting around to see how much worse it gets. Every day feels like someone’s flipping a coin I don’t get to see land.”
Annie doesn’t say anything at first, just shifts closer, her head resting on my shoulder. “It’s not going to get worse tonight,” she says softly. “That’s all we need to worry about right now.”
She tries to sound hopeful, but I can sense the way the words stick in her throat like they don’t quite fit, too neat for what she’s really thinking.
She stays there for another minute before pulling back, sitting up straighter. Her fingers slip from mine. “I, um…I need to go out of town for a few days.”
I blink, caught off guard. “What?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll leave early and head back right away. I already talked to Kenna and the guys. They’ll stay with you and make sure you’re okay.”
I study her face, but it’s impossible to get a read. I can’t make out her expression, just the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, the violet stripes streaked from roots to tips, and the neon-yellow pattern on her sundress. “Where are you going?”
She hesitates for several seconds. “There’s just something I need to take care of. A meeting. It’s probably nothing.”
“Annie.”
“I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t important.”
I huff a perplexed sound, fused with disbelief and worry. “That’s not an answer.”
She exhales, the way she does when she’s trying to keep herself from unraveling. “It’s not something I want to explain yet. Because it might not lead anywhere. And if it doesn’t…I don’t want you building hope on something that turns out to be a dead end.”
That lands sharp.
I want to argue, want to demand more. But I know her. I know that tone. She’s not shutting me out—she’s protecting me. The same way I tried to protect her when I left.
So I swallow my frustration and nod, even though everything in me tightens. “You’ll tell me if it matters?”
“The second it does.”
Emotion bubbles behind my eyes, cracking my voice. “And you’ll come back?”
“Chase…” She grips my hand again, holds tight. “Of course I’ll come back.”
Annie leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek, lingering there, trying to memorize the shape of me.
I believe her.
