But he still has it.
Even after everything, he still has it.
The air catches in my throat, making it impossible to breathe. I stare at the keyring like it’s a wound reopened. Something heavy crashes down into my stomach, rooting me to the spot.
He still carries it.
I blink hard, trying to ground myself. But the floor feels like it’s slipping under me. My fingertips twitch at my side. I shouldn’t care. He hates me. Heshouldhate me. And yet, there’s still something about that keyring that makes my chest tighten with hope and heartbreak in equal measure.
“Hayden—” I manage, voice barely a whisper, raw and useless.
He doesn’t even glance at me. Doesn’t stop. He just walks past me again, this time heading over to Mason and Miles like I don’t even exist. Like I’m no one. Like I never meant anything at all.
My throat burns with the words I want to say and don’t have the right to.
I'm sorry. I miss you. I wish I could take it back. I wish you'd look at me like you used to.
But nothing.
I lost him.
And I don’t know how to get him back.
I can’t fix this. No matter how many apologies I give. No matter how many tears I cry when no one’s watching. No matter how long I ache in silence, watching him move through the world like I’m invisible is killing me.
I don’t knowhowto fix it. I don’t knowifit can be fixed.
“Thank you, Mr. Cain,” I say quickly, my voice shaking just enough that I hope no one notices. “I’ll get to work.”
I turn before I do something pathetic, like cry, or beg, or ask Hayden to just look at me and tell me he still sees me.
Twenty-Four
Hayden
Flashback– Prison
“You ever gonna tell me your name?” I ask, voice low, thumb tracing the side of the metal bar on my bed.
He doesn’t answer, just shifts in his bunk above me, his arms slinged over the side of the bed. He’s older than me. His eyes always look like they’ve seen more than they should, they’re fucking hunted by something. But I don’t care because he’s the reason I’m breathing today.
“Rule number one,” he mutters. “No names. You don’t get mine. I don’t want yours.” I have to chuckle to myself because he knows my name, he said it a few times.
“Mr. Cain tell you that?” I ask, waiting to see if that makes him shift on his bed, but nothing. “It’s his thing, right? No names.”
He doesn’t reply.
There’s a silence that stretches between us, and it’s heavy. Neither of us want to talk, because we can’t say much to each other, but the silence is annoying as hell.
He finally speaks again. “So, what’d you do?”
I don’t answer at first. Not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t know how to say it without breaking again. Every time I think about it, a million questions run through my head.
“I didn’t do anything,” I finally say, words sharp and quiet, the burn is still there. “They say I raped her. I never touched her. I fucking loved her. She knows that, too., I would’ve given her everything.” My chest tightens, breath catching in the back of my throat. “All I want to know is why. Why did she do it? Why did she say it? Why did she disappear?”
“Then ask her,” he replies, like it’s that easy.
I let out a bitter laugh and shake my head. “No one knows where she is. It’s like she never existed. No address. No trace. No fucking footprint. My parents, my brothers they’ve all looked. Every path we follow leads to a fucking dead end.”
