But I couldn’t type any of it. Not tonight.
Instead, I set the phone face down and sat on the edge of the bed, the music still humming low in the background.
My chest was heavy, my muscles buzzing with leftover adrenaline that had nowhere to go. The apartment felt too still again, too neat. Everything in its place except me.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and just stared at the floor. The carpet blurred. The sound dulled. My head finally started to empty.
And that’s when the switch flipped.
It’s not something you notice happening. One moment you’re wound tight, ready to jump at every sound, and thenext… nothing. There’s a quiet so deep it hums. Your body shuts down before your brain can argue, limbs weighted with wet sand, too heavy to lift, as if anchored to the earth. The shift is sudden and complete, leaving nothing but a hollow echo where tension used to reside.
So I let it.
I lay back on the bed, still half-damp, still in the same clothes I’d pulled on after the shower. The pillow was cold as I pressed it to my head, attempting to drown out the distant noise outside.
My heartbeat raced until even that faded into background noise.
The world didn’t stop. It just dimmed, edges softening until everything felt far away.
And somewhere between the echo of fireworks and the hum of silence, I fell asleep.
When I woke, morning light cut across the floor in sharp stripes. My mouth was dry, head was pounding. The music must have stopped hours ago, since my phone now lay dead beside me.
But the weight hadn’t gone anywhere. It sat low in me, dull and familiar, the kind of ache you don’t walk off. Guilt. Shame. Both heavy as armor, I couldn’t take off.
I’d lied to her. Lied about being fine. Lied about needing rest when the truth was worse. I couldn’t even show up for fireworks and sparklers in a driveway. Couldn’t stand the noise long enough to see the way her kids’ faces lit up.
And that thought, that I’d failed her before it even mattered, cut deeper than I wanted to admit. If I couldn’t handle that, how was I supposed to show up when things actually gothard? When they needed me?
I plugged my phone in and watched the screen flicker back to life. A missed FaceTime call from Camille and one text waited.
Camille:Zeke saved you a sparkler.
Something so small, so kind, and I didn’t deserve any of it. She had no idea what last night had been for me. The panic. The noise. The part of me I’d thought I’d buried years ago was clawing its way back up.
She still saw me as the steady one. The safe one.
And maybe that’s what hurt most, because I wanted to be. For her. For them.
But I wasn’t there yet. Not even close.
Wanting to be enough didn’t mean I was. And until I figured out how to quiet the war still living under my skin, distance felt like the only way to keep her safe—from me, from this, from everything I still hadn’t learned how to fight.
Chapter Forty Nine
Camille
It had been a week since Hunter canceled on the Fourth of July. Those seven days also came with fewer texts and shorter calls. I tried to give him space, told myself he was busy, that maybe it was just stress. But space turned into silence, and silence felt too much like goodbye.
When he came by that evening, quiet as ever, I watched him move through the apartment like he was already half gone. I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I knew what being half in looked like, felt like, and I didn’t want that for any of them.
I held the towel in my hands, turning it over and over, the familiar action grounding me momentarily.
Breathing deeply, I said, “You’ve been… different lately.” I placed the towel down deliberately, attempting to steady myself, while my heart pounded with each word.
My eyes flickered to Hunter’s face, searching for a hint of reassurance, but finding the same guarded expression.
“And while I respect you might need space,” I continued, my voice softening despite the tightness in my chest, “if there’ssomething going on, I need to know. I need honesty, even if it’s messy.” I took a small step closer, vulnerability lacing my words. “I want us to be able to work through things together.” I finished, the weight of my own fear pressing me to the edge, a silent plea in my gaze.
