The words echo, hollow.
A couple of weeks ago, I was in Tuck’s bed. In his space. In his life in a way that felt…real. And he said nothing. Not a word. So either I didn’t matter enough to be trusted with something that big…
Or he was hiding it.
And somehow, I’m not sure which one hurts more.
Don’t ask.
Don’t ask.
Don’t—
“Do you know if he has?—”
The bell over the door jingles, cutting me off. I step back instinctively, like I’ve been caught doing something wrong.
“Hi, Jaxon,” I say, pasting on a smile that feels tight.
“Hey, Maria.” He gives me an easy nod. “You coming to the game tonight?”
“Yes. Taking the boys. Grant’s not feeling well, apparently.”
“Yeah, I heard there’s some twenty-four-hour thing going around.”
And just like that, the tiny flicker of suspicion I’d been holding onto settles. Because if this was some elaborate set-up—if the boys and Grant were scheming—Jaxon wouldn’t be part of it. He wouldn’t casually back up the flu like that.
Which means…
This is real.
All of it.
No grand plan. No hidden push to get me back to Tuck. Just me, walking straight into something I’m not ready for.
“How’s Rowyn?” I ask, grasping for something safe.
“She’s good. You should stop by. She’d love to see you.”
“I will,” I say automatically.
I won’t.
Because the truth is, without Tuck, I’m not sure I belong in their world anymore. I fill Jaxon’s coffee, hands moving on autopilot, and step away before he can say anything else. Before I have to pretend any harder. Customers come and go, voices blending into a low hum. I lean into the rhythm of it—orders, coffee, change—anything to keep my mind from drifting back to tonight.
To him.
But no matter how hard I try, it’s there. Sitting just beneath the surface.
Waiting.
And when the last customer leaves and the café finally empties, the quiet feels heavier than before. I flip the sign on the door to closed, the click loud in the stillness.
For a second, I just stand there, my hand resting against the glass. And then I let out a slow breath. Because in a few hours I’m going to see Tuck. And I have no idea how I’m supposed to survive that.
I head upstairs and throw together a quick dinner, moving on autopilot. Plates, forks, reminders to eat something green—it all feels distant, like I’m watching myself go through the motions instead of actually living them.
Afterward, I take a shower, letting the hot water beat down on me longer than necessary, hoping it might wash away the tight knot in my chest. It doesn’t. By the time I’m dressed—layers of warm clothes I can hide inside—the boys are already at the door, bouncing on their heels. Waiting.
