Page 97 of Everything But Mine

“Shame, really,” Daray says, his voice is almost tender, even as his eyes flash with satisfaction.

There’s pain behind my ribs, but I don’t let it show. He’s not just trying to humiliate me—he’s trying to make me unravel right here, in public, where Amanda could walk out any second. I look up at him calmly, as if I’m not picturing driving my fist straight through his teeth.

“Done?” I ask, voice low.

He blinks, then he chuckles. “Not even close,” he mumbles, and backs away.

Amanda stands next to me a couple of seconds later, just on time to clock Daray’s retreat. “What the fuck did he want this time?”

I shrug. “Same thing as always.”

She reaches for my hand, but I flinch and step away before I can temper my reaction.

Her eyes widen with hurt that she masks well. “Eric, what did he say to you?”

She knows I wouldn’t have pulled away after that kiss. Not unless something broke again. And it has. It always does.

“Come on, Amanda,” I tip my head in the direction of the car. “Let me drop you off.”

She hears the difference. Let’s go home was a promise, let me drop you off is avoidance. She doesn’t respond, but she avoids touching me as we walk in silence back to my car.

I fucked up again.

CHAPTER THIRTY

AMANDA

While he drove, Eric avoided my gaze, nodding at every comment without really responding. He wasn’t dismissive, and yet his attention isn’t there—not fixed on me even when his eyes are on the road. And maybe what I miss most, as the city slides past the windows, is the restless energy he radiates. A little anxious, a little twitchy, like he’s constantly stopping himself from reaching over and touching me.

Inside the apartment, I wait for him to explain, perched at the counter while silence stretches between us. My shoulders knot first, then the baby shifts under my palm, a slow rolling movement that only makes me more aware of how alone I am.

Drawers open and shut in Eric’s room, fabric rustles, and something heavy drops onto the floor. We were in such a good place before this—even before the kiss, things between us had finally started feeling right again. Whatever Daray said dragged us backward.

Eric emerges a minute later, rushing to the front door with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. A belay device knocks softly against the zipper pull, climbing straps, and the edge of his harness visible through the half-open top.

“You okay?” he asks, finally meeting my eyes.

I grip the edge of the counter and tap my fingers on my stomach. I’m not okay. I’m angry. At Daray for saying whatever he said, but also at Eric for withdrawing. I shut my eyes and exhale. As the air leaves my lungs, I remind myself that when Eric holds himself like this, it is because he’s afraid I won’t want his rattling pieces. And Daray rattled the fuck out of him today.

“No.” I stand up. “You’re not, so I am not.”

He adjusts the strap on his shoulder.

“Eric.” I take a step to the front door, toward him. “We said we’d be honest.”

“I will.” He nods. “Just… not now.”

His lips press into a thin line, and his shoulders square under the heavy bag. He needs… whatever this is. I just wish he needed me.

I nod and drop my gaze. His shuffling feet crowd the edge of my vision. When I look back up, our eyes catch for a second, and I can’t bring myself to ask him to stay, but I try to pour it into the silence between us. He adjusts the strap on his shoulder again, fingers smoothing over it while his gaze slips away from mine. His mouth pulls into a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. It worries me more than anything. Then Eric is gone, the door clicking shut louder in the quiet apartment that, right now, doesn’t feel like mine at all.

The hours stretch strangely after he leaves, elastic and airless. I drift through the apartment without settling anywhere, too restless to sit and too heavy to keep moving for long. Tea goes cold beside me. Water sweats untouched on the counter. Every time I look at the clock, another thirty to forty minutes have gone by, until Eric’s been gone for almost four hours. I picture him halfway up a climbing wall, trying to outrun his thoughts. We held hands today. Kissed like neither of us was pretending anymore. And now it’s past nine-thirty, and I’m still sitting here waiting for him to come home.

At 10:02, I open my phone and type:

Everything okay?

A double check mark shows up right away. Minutes pass, and it never turns blue. I double-tap Eric’s name and lift the phone to my ear. The line barely starts ringing before the sound answers from the back of the house.