The stale taste of recycled cabin air still clung to my tongue as the plane bumped to a stop at the gate.
Most of the guys on the job stayed put on weekends—dive bars, beaches, whatever passed for decompression. I always came back. Not because I wanted to. Because I couldn’t not.
I stepped off the plane, jaw clenched tight and shoulders already tensed, feeling like each stride toward the terminal was one taken into a confrontation rather than toward my own damn house.
Airports always got under my skin. Too much noise, too many people moving with purpose while I felt stuck somewhere between things, between jobs, between versions of myself, between who I’d been and whatever I was becoming. The loudspeaker announcements echoed overhead, destinations that sounded as distant as I felt.
The last time I’d been home, Dani and I had fought.
Not raised voices or slammed doors. In a lot of ways, it had been worse than that. The kind of argument where every wordlanded exactly where it was meant to. Neither of us walked away clean.
I’d accused her of meddling.
She’d accused me of freezing my life in place.
And the look on her face when I saidThis is Elena’s house,like I’d drawn a line she hadn’t known was there, had stayed with me ever since.
So stepping off the plane this time didn’t feel like coming home. It felt like walking back into the aftermath.
I tried to convince myself I’d done the right thing. Told myself I was preserving something sacred. But the truth grew heavier, like a lead weight in my gut, with every mile closer to home. I hadn’t really been protecting Elena’s memory.
I’d been protecting myself. Not just from Dani, but from the gut-deep fear that returned every time I let myself want her. It wasn’t just the risk of wanting—I was afraid of losing. Losing her, losing control, losing the hard-won life I’d built. Opening up, even hoping for more, felt reckless. Being close to Dani was like standing knee-deep in the surf, undertow pulling at my legs, knowing if I relaxed for a second, I’d be dragged under.
The fear wasn’t just about vulnerability or change. Or having someone become important and then watching them leave. It was that I could already feel the current dragging me. Everything in me said keep my feet planted and don’t let go.
That scared me more than anything the world could throw at me.
I thought back to the early mornings in the kitchen, lingering with a mug in hand, Dani leaned back against the counter, her hair falling forward as she grinned at me. “So, do all Southern men make coffee this strong, or is this a special form of torture?”
“It keeps me awake,” I said, ignoring the way her smile made my throat go tight. “And you drink it anyway.”
She nudged my hip with her socked foot. “Someone’s got to make sure you don’t poison yourself.”
I snorted, but she just laughed. The sound bounced off the tile. Our stories wandered, circling old arguments about movies, who made the best sandwiches, and the smallest details that secretly mattered. The clinking of mugs filled the pauses. Some silences stretched out longer, until it was hard to remember why I’d been keeping walls up at all.
Conversations with Dani had fallen flat in the last week. Texts that had been playful and cheeky had fallen back to simple updates on Harper’s day-to-day movements. There were no more FaceTimes that stretched into hours of talking and teasing banter. Her making fun of what she called my “southern twang” or hearing about the way she fought for clients in a courtroom, it was all gone. The fun pictures of Dani and Harper, tangled up in their usual chaos, stopped, replaced by ones that showed only my daughter. And while I loved seeing Harper’s face, I also missed seeinghers.
The shift left a hollow ache in my chest. Each message felt like a door closing. Each was a reminder of how easily connection could slip away. I’d find myself scrolling through old messages just to remember the warmth in her words. I caught myself wishing for another dumb joke or a picture of her smile. The silence stung more than I wanted to admit. Even with Harper and work, the loneliness crept in. It settled in the quiet spaces where she used to be.
Dani had said she’d be busy this weekend; errands, catching up. She’d said it lightly, as if not acknowledging the intentional space she’d been placing between us. And that was likely for the best; space was good, necessary.
I stepped outside into the dry California heat, spotted my waiting Uber, and slid into the back seat. As the car pulled awayfrom the curb, I tried to relax, tilting my head back against the headrest while we merged into traffic, leaving LAX.
Hunter:BBQ tomorrow @12pm.
Pool’s open.
Nick:The kids and I are in!
My jaw clenched.
I knew Dani would be there. Instantly, my brain betrayed me: sun-kissed legs, that unbidden laugh, the oversized sunglasses forever on her head. I shifted in my seat, irritated I’d let myself go there. I didn’t deserve to picture her like that, didn’t deserve to want anything that complicated my life, my grief, or my daughter’s stability.
She wasn’t mine; just someone who’d slipped past my defenses when I wasn’t looking.
Me:Might be tired.
A lie. I was always tired, and the reply came almost instantly.
