Chapter 40
Forty
Alaric
Icheck the mirrors out of habit as I speed away from Evie’s house, but I don’t remember pulling out of the driveway. I could almost laugh at myself, though, because for once, it has nothing to do with Evie.
Dylan’s words are what keeps replaying in my head, sharper every time.
Liz is on Unsingle. She matched with Dylan. They have a date.
I grip the wheel, jaw clenched, struggling to pull in a full breath. I have really messed this up.
I imagine her profile photo, imagine her smiling at someone who isn’t me. The pressure in my chest spikes. I should have told her what I wanted. I should have stopped pretending distance would protect her. I pushed her away until she finally believed me.
A memory flashes—her sitting on the edge of my desk, laughing as her hair slipped over her shoulder. The faint scent of vanilla on my shirt after she brushed past me. Her voice, her hand on my arm, the way she watched me when she thought I wasn’t looking.
I’m not okay with this. I’m not okay with her moving on. I’m not okay with someone else getting the version of her I threw away.
Jealousy simmers in my stomach. I hate how it feels—petty, ugly—but the thought of Dylan sitting across from her makes me physically ill. The rush of shame soon follows. I’ve lost any right to feel this way. I walked away, leaving a mess in my wake.
I loosen my grip on the wheel, coaxing blood back into my fingers, then tighten it again. I want her. I never stopped wanting her.
The road straightens, and clarity descends. I’m done pretending this is fine, that it’s for the best. I’m done living with less than what I truly want.
I want Liz, and I’m going to fight for her.
I turn onto my street, and the houses look the same, but somehow, everything is different. I told myself Liz would be better off without the mess I carry, that she deserved someone steady. I convinced myself that letting her go was the right thing. It was a lie.
The car glides past my driveway before I register it. I screech to a stop, pull over, and rest my forehead against the wheel. My hands shake, not with anger but fear.
What if I’ve already lost her?
I lift my head. Again, I imagine Liz sitting across from someone else, laughing with someone else, giving someone else what she was trying to give me. If she goes on that date, it will be because I stayed silent.
So I can’t do that.
I straighten in my seat and breathe until I feel steadier. She deserves steadiness. Honesty. A man who doesn’t disappear when things get hard.
I reach for my phone. We need to talk forms in my mind, but it looks weak—another half-step. I set the phone face down on the seat.
I know what I need to do. I’m going to see her, be honest with her, and finally quit hiding. I grip the wheel and pull away from the curb again, making a U-turn.
I ease into my driveway and stop with the engine running. The house feels far away, as if walking inside would undo the clarity I reached on the drive. I grab my phone and scroll to Trinity because she’s the only one who will tell me the truth without twisting it.
When she answers, her voice is warm but alert. “Alaric? What happened? Is everything okay?”
I take a breath. “Did Liz say anything to you about dating again?”
A pause settles over the line. My stomach knots.
“Why are you asking me that?”
“Because Dylan said something tonight, and I need to know if it’s true.” My voice roughens. “Is she seeing someone?”
Another pause. “She told me she was trying Unsingle,” Trinity says after a moment. “She said she needed to stop waiting for things to change.”
I have to nod. That’s exactly right. “Did she tell you who she matched with?”
“She said she had plans to meet three guys for coffee. She didn’t tell me names.”
I shut my eyes and press my forehead against the steering wheel.
“If this is upsetting you,” Trinity says, “you might want to ask yourself why.”
“I know,” I tell her. “I should have told her everything a long time ago.”
“Then tell her now,” Trinity suggests immediately. “Before she talks herself into something else.”
I thank her, we end the call, and the car falls silent. I shift into reverse, back out of the driveway, and go to get this done.
Paradise is quiet as I drive. Porch lights glow in soft circles. Here and there, windows shine with hints of people finishing their days. None of it reaches me. The only thing I can think of is Liz, my heartbeat urging me forward.
I stop at the four-way intersection downtown, which sits empty. I picture Liz opening her door. The surprise, the guarded look, the way she squares her shoulders when she’s preparing for disappointment. Often because of me.
I turn onto her street and slow as I approach her house, then I see movement near the walkway.
A guy—I think the one I saw her with at Dot’s not long after she moved here—stands beside her on the porch steps. Liz has her hands tucked into her coat pockets, and her shoulders seem relaxed. He says something that makes her smile.
I come to a stop across the street, and she doesn’t seem to notice me. She’s focused on him.
He touches her elbow lightly as he says goodnight. It’s respectful. Familiar. Comfortable. The kind of gesture that tells me they’ve spent more than a few minutes together.
She watches him get into his truck. He gives a small wave when he’s settled, and she returns it before turning toward her door.
I stay in the shadow of a maple tree until her porch light clicks off and the house returns to its usual stillness.
There’s no anger in me. Just emptiness. There’s no space left for pretending.
While I hesitated, someone else stepped in.
Now, I don’t know what fighting for her looks like or if I need to accept that it’s too late.
I only know that the way I’ve been living isn’t working, and I remind myself yet again that the only thing I can change is me.