February

Chapter 14 Love’s Debris

Arlo drew a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. His voice, when it came, was barely more than a rasp.

"First, let me start by apologizing," he said quietly. His voice wavered, almost breaking. "For every bit of hurt you've felt because of me. I've got a list of regrets longer than I can count, Feb but hurting you will always sit at the top."

He drew in a shaky breath, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor.

"If I could go back, I'd burn those damn letters before I ever let them touch your hands.

I'd get help and be ready to have a good and healthy relationship.

I'd learn how to love without breaking everything I touch.

I'd try to become someone actually worthy of you and of the kind of love you gave me so freely. "

He gave a hollow laugh, bitter and small. "But that's not how life works, is it?"

I sat perfectly still, fingers twisting together in my lap. The air between us felt thick like the silence itself was holding its breath.

He exhaled slowly. "So here goes nothing."

His eyes flicked to the floor, then back up to me. "I already told you how I was homeless at fifteen. How my dad threw me out. But what I never told you... is how awful and harsh that was and that Lyra literally saved my life."

The sound of her name hit me like static under the skin. My chest tightened. I tried to keep my face neutral, but he saw it.

"Anyway," he went on, voice tightening, "she found me my first job at a car garage.

They paid in cash, no questions asked. I swept floors, cleaned oil spills, handed tools to guys who barely looked at me.

It wasn't much, but it kept me fed. Some nights, when I had nowhere else to go, I'd sleep behind the building—right under the vent where the heat from the engine room blew out.

It smelled like grease, gasoline, and burnt coffee, but it was warm, and back then, warmth meant survival. "

He gave a faint, humorless smile. "I'd wake up to the sound of engines roaring, pretending it was normal life, pretending I belonged there. Lyra used to bring me scraps from the vending machine—stale chips, a half-eaten sandwich. I loved that someone actually cared."

He rubbed his thumb over a scar on his knuckle, lost in memory.

"She was the only constant in all that. We'd crash wherever we could—abandoned buildings, park benches, sometimes the back of trucks if we were lucky.

We shared everything: food, cigarettes, even the same blanket that smelled like rain and smoke. "

His voice cracked a little. "We.." he stopped, swallowed hard, then forced the words out. "We got lost in everything we were trying to escape. The drugs, the noise, the hunger. Even the touch."

He let out a shaky breath, eyes clouded.

"She helped me survive the streets, but not the damage that came with them.

We clung to each other like addicts, not just to the drugs, but to the chaos, the pain, the constant rush of almost losing everything.

Every high ended in a fight, every apology came with a bruise you couldn't see. "

He paused, voice low and uneven. "I used to think that was love, that the fire and the desperation meant something real.

But looking back, I see it for what it was.

I was drowning, and she was the only hand I could reach for.

I mistook survival for passion. She loved the control, and I loved the feeling that I mattered. "

His pain pressed against me like heat, close enough to touch, but I didn't move. I just stared forward, afraid that if I looked at him, I'd break.

He sighed and added, "I never told you any of this. I was so ashamed of who I was and what I did. I wanted you to just see me as the smart, tough guy who had his life together. I wanted to be at your level. But instead, I ended up hiding half of who I was."

He rubbed his palms together, like trying to scrub off invisible dirt.

"With you," he continued quietly, "it was different.

Too calm. Too safe, and I was stupid enough to think that meant it wasn't real.

I didn't know what a healthy relationship looked like, so I compared.

I thought love was supposed to burn. Rather than dealing with my past or my feelings, I shoved it all down until it started eating through the walls and you got caught in the middle of that. "

Silence again.

I stared at the space ahead, my hands trembling in my lap. "You were comparing me," I said, my voice tight and unsteady. "While you were with me."

He opened his mouth, eyes wide with regret. "I know—"

"No, stop!" The words came out sharper than I intended, my voice cracking halfway through.

"Don't. I get it. Yes, I never lived like you, I don't know what it's like to go through what you did.

But none of that, none of it, gives you the right to hurt me.

To start something when you weren't ready to love anyone. "

I took a shaky breath, my throat burning.

"God, Arlo," I whispered, almost to myself.

"I'm tired. I'm so damn tired of never being enough for anyone.

Not for my parents, not for my ex, not for you.

" My voice cracked, low and uneven. "I keep loving people who already belong to someone else, people who make room for me but are never all in. And I'm exhausted."

For a moment, the park fell into silence.

"I know," he finally said, voice unsteady.

His eyes shone with something like grief.

"I know, Feb. You didn't deserve any of it.

You gave me peace, and I didn't even know what to do with it.

I ruined the only good thing I ever had because I didn't know how to stop surviving long enough to just.. . love you."

He exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair.

"It's all my fault. I admit that. I'm sorry for every bit of it.

I kept comparing you both in my head, trying to measure you against that chaos wondering.

.." He gave a strangled, hollow laugh. "If what we had was love, then what the hell was that?

I thought I was healing by writing. I thought I was finally coming to terms with my past. But none of it mattered. None of it was fair to you."

He dragged a trembling hand down his face, voice cracking on the last words. "I thought I could prove to myself that I'd escaped her. But instead... I dragged her ghost into everything. Into us."

"You still haven't escaped her, Arlo," I said, my voice flat, hard. "All it took was one phone call and you brought her into your house. Just like that."

He flinched. "Yeah... temporarily, and becauseI owed her."

I let out a bitter laugh that scraped raw against my throat.

"You owed her?" I stepped closer, heat coiling in my chest. "You had choices, Arlo!

So why?" My voice cracked, rising into a shout.

"Why not a motel? Somewhere safe — away from you?

You had a hundred ways to help her without dragging her into your life.

But no. You brought her here. To the same place where we—" I choked, the memory stabbing me. "God... why?"

He stared at the floor, shoulders tight. "When she called, she was terrified because her husband threw her out. I didn't think. I just... reacted. I thought it is just temporary. I thought I owed her that much."

I stared at him, the words slicing through me. "You keep choosing everyone else's pain over mine." My voice trembled with rage. "You say you love me, but it's never me you think about first."

He shook his head, words tumbling out like he was gasping for air.

"I'm sorry, Berrie. The next morning, I told her I'd found a motel.

She... she just fell apart. Crying, shaking so badly I thought she'd pass out.

She said her ex would find her, that he has people, money, friends who track her down no matter where she goes.

She swore he'd hurt her, maybe even kill her, if he ever saw her again. "

I frowned. "But didn't he throw her out?"

"Yeah," Arlo said, voice tight. "But she says it's worse this way.

Once he finds her, he apologizes, pretends it didn't happen, and then.

.. he becomes even more controlling, more dangerous.

She can't risk that cycle. And even the police can't guarantee he won't track her down.

She's terrified of being caught, of being powerless again.

She won't go to a motel because she knows he'll find her or worse, someone he's paid off will. "

He dragged a hand through his hair, his voice raw. "I don't even know if it's true, but I believed her because I know that kind of fear, Berrie. I've lived it."

He took a careful step closer, eyes pleading.

"I wasn't thinking straight," he said, voice trembling.

"All I could see was someone terrified, and all I could think about was keeping her alive.

Maybe... repaying what she once did for me, even if just for a while.

But I see it now — how it looks, how it feels.

" He swallowed hard, eyes glistening. "And I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry."

My chest rose and fell unevenly. I whispered, almost to myself, "You still don't get it. There were other choices."

"I know," he said quickly, his voice breaking. "And I swear to you, Berrie, I'm fixing it. Levi and I have been looking into shelters — places that help pregnant women start over safely. Somewhere she can have a bed, a job, protection..."

I froze. "Pregnant?"

He muttered something under his breath, dragging a shaky hand down his face. "I keep screwing this up. Yeah. She's pregnant. That's why when I suggested a motel, and she started shaking, I... I felt guilty. For the baby, I mean."

My throat tightened. "Is it... yours?"

He went still. His eyes widened, wet with panic. "No. God, no. I haven't touched her in years, and I never will. I know you have every reason to doubt me, but—"

He reached for my hands, holding them like they were the only thing keeping him steady.

"Before those damned letters, before everything, did I ever give you a reason to think I wasn't all in? That I'd cheat? That I was unhappy with us?"

"No," I whispered.

He gave a small, broken smile. "Then believe that."

I looked at him for a long moment, my voice quiet but trembling when I finally spoke. "But then again," I said, "I never knew there was a whole part of your life where Lyra was still the center."

He nodded, his eyes dropping to the floor.

"Yeah," he said after a pause. "I hid that.

I admit it. I hid the letters, the memories — hell, even my thoughts.

I kept feeling guilty for loving you," his voice softened, fraying at the edges, "and guilty for still missing her.

.. or what I thought we had. I was pulled in every direction and didn't know how to let either of you go. It was a mess, Berrie. I was a mess."

The honesty in his tone cut deeper than the lies ever did. The truth didn't heal, it tore things open.

He looked up again, voice trembling. "You talk about not being enough," he said.

"But if anyone's unworthy here, it's me.

You're the only person who ever loved me without conditions, without rescue attached.

And if I ever made you feel small, or second-best, that's on me. I broke the one good thing I had."

His throat tightened, his breath catching like he was fighting a sob.

"Even if you never forgive me," he said, voice breaking, "please know this: you were always more than enough.

God, you were everything. You were soft where I was rough, steady where I fell apart.

You gave me peace, and I didn't know what to do with it because I'd only ever known chaos.

You were perfect for me in ways I was too blind, too broken to see.

And I hate that it took losing you to finally understand that. "

He drew a trembling breath, eyes glistening. "It wasn't you, Berrie. It was never you. It was me. I didn't know how to hold something good without ruining it."

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to steady my breathing. "So now what?" I asked softly. "You're going to be her... baby daddy? A father figure? What's next?"

"No. God, no," he sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "I've been checking out shelters with Levi, but I haven't told her yet. She'll panic, and I don't want to deal with that explosion right now."

I inhaled slowly, forcing myself to think beyond the anger. "I can help with that," I said, my tone gentle but firm. "Her name still makes my blood boil, but she's a pregnant woman escaping something awful. That has to matter more."

He blinked, surprise flickering into relief. "Really? That... that would be incredible. Thank you."

For a moment, neither of us moved. The air between us felt heavy — not hostile, but full of everything that still lingered, unsaid and unresolved.

Then his phone rang.

Lyra.

The sound sliced through the quiet. My eyes flicked to the screen, then to him.

He hit decline.

It rang again. He declined without looking.

A third time, the vibration lingered in the air like a pulse. He exhaled shakily, jaw tight.

Then a message appeared.

"Maybe it's urgent," I said quietly. "Just... read it."

He hesitated, then turned the screen toward me. My heart sank as I read aloud, voice trembling: "I think I'm bleeding. Please, Arlo. I need help."

The words hung between us, heavy and cold.

I took a sharp breath, the ache rising in my chest. "You should go," I said softly. "Take care of her."

He shook his head immediately. "No."

He typed something quickly, sent it, then shoved the phone deep into his pocket. "I told Levi to go. He can't stand her, but he owes me and he'll help. I'm not leaving you, Berrie. I won't let doubt crawl back in. I won't make the same mistake again."

I stared at him for a long time, my heart caught between ache and understanding, something fragile breaking, but something else quietly stitching itself back together.

Finally, I whispered, "Let's go for a walk."