“You’re spiraling over a woman while organizing boxes,” Barret says.
I laugh, humorless.“She’s not just a woman.”
And that’s the fucking problem.
She’s not some passing thing I can write a song about and burn through by morning.She’s not temporary—not anymore—it’s like she’s growing roots.She makes tea like it solves something.She cries in doorways and pretends she’s fine.She reads letters like they’re sacred, and she looks at me like maybe I’m not broken beyond repair.
And her kid?
Her kid looks at me like I’m not invisible.
I told myself this was neighborly.That I was just being decent.But then I started remembering the sound of her laugh in the mornings and how her hair falls loose when she forgets she’s not alone.And last night—last night when she broke down over that letter and tried to pretend she wasn’t falling apart—I wanted to touch her more than I’ve wanted anything in years.
Not just sex.
Not just to fuck her senseless until the ache settles.
I wanted her curled into me.Wanted to kiss her hard enough to silence whatever’s chewing through her ribs.I wanted her to lean into me like I was hers.
And that’s where I lose it.
Because I can’t be hers.
I don’t know how to belong to anything that doesn’t eventually disappear.
But she makes it hard not to hope.Hard not to reach for more than I was ever meant to have.
So yeah.Maybe I’m spiraling.
But at least this time, it feels real.
“See, spiraling over her and her eight-year-old sidekick.”Barret grins, enjoying this.
“Eight and three-quarters,” I correct him.
Dexter, unhelpful, nods.“A powerful combo.”
“This isn’t a joke,” I say, quieter now.“I don’t get attached.I don’t let people in.Every time I’ve tried?—”
I stop.
They know.
Dexter’s voice softens.“But you talked to your therapist.That’s already different.”
“Yeah,” Barret says.“You’ve done way dumber shit in your life.And you’re still alive.”
“Wow,” I mutter.“Thanks for the overwhelming support.”
Dexter shrugs.“Dude.You survived drug binges, a toxic manager, your own anger issues, and that time you climbed the scaffolding at a show because you were ‘feeling the music.’This?A woman and a kid?This won’t kill you.”
My jaw tenses.“It might.”
Barret pats the console.“You’re not gonna drop dead because a girl made you feel something.”
“She didn’t make me feel anything,” I mutter, but my voice betrays me—it’s already too thin.
Dexter grins.“Dance with her.”
