20 Francesca
The house smells the same. That’s the first thing I noticed when I came in. I don’t know what it is- old carpet, Gram’s perfume, something- but it’s a specific, distinctive smell.
It smells like home.
I just stand there for a second, letting it settle into me, trying to catch up with everything that just happened.
I don’t blame Christian for his anger.
I left him to take care of her. Left her to decline without me there. Left him to carry something that was never his responsibility in the first place.
It’s almost unforgivable. No, not almost.
Thinking about her makes my chest ache, and before I can stop myself, I turn down the hallway and step into her room.
I pause just inside the doorway.
The space is the same- and not.
Her furniture is still there, her blankets, her things- but now it’s layered with everything that came after. Medical equipment. Mobility aids. An IV stand tucked into the corner.
Proof of everything I missed.
Proof that she died here.
Without me.
I move to my room and collapse on the bed. The night I left, I’d emptied my backpack onto my desk and then packed a few changes of clothes, my new phone charger, and all the cash I had under the mattress. Then I snuck out the window and didn’t look back.
My stuff is still on the desk, like a time capsule. My notebook lies open, dated over three years ago. Notes from an English class. I pull it into my lap and curl up on my side, tears leaking out as I mourn everything I left behind.
It had been fast. Impulsive. Reckless.
I told myself it was for the right reasons but I’m not sure that matters.
And whatever we had… whatever we were…
I broke it. And I don’t think there’s a way back from that.
I need to leave. Stop inflicting pain and just go.
But I need to see Ryan. It feels wrong, having seen Jamie and Christian without him. Like I skipped something important. Like I left something unfinished all over again.
I curl tighter on the bed, the tears coming hard until eventually they wear me down and everything goes dark.
~
I think I wake because it’s too quiet.
I’m used to sleeping through sirens and voices, something always happening in the background. This kind of silence feels wrong. Too heavy. Almost loud in its own way.
I move through the house slowly, still half-disoriented, and make my way to the front room. The streetlights are on now, casting everything in that dim, hazy glow. I look out the front window. Christian’s car sits in the driveway.
He’s home. Jamie may be too.
They’re right there. Close enough that I could speak their names loudly and they’d hear it.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
I lean against the window, my gaze drifting across the street. Lights are on in both houses. A warm glow comes from Ryan’s. The blue flicker of a TV from Jamie’s.
Then Ryan’s storm door swings open and he steps out on the porch. The sight of him makes my breath catch.
He exhales as he drops into a chair and scrubs a hand over his face. He’s too far away for me to see his expression but his demeanor is worn down and I can’t help but assign the blame for that to myself.
I kept up with the guys as best I could while I was gone.
Christian only had business stuff online- no social media.
Jamie was completely off-grid, but I tracked Ryan a little.
He posted when he quit baseball, saying he was changing majors and focusing on school.
He was tagged every now and then in someone else’s photos.
Then he posted when he graduated and got hired as a teacher.
It was all very normal- sounding. I figured he was happy.
But sitting there now, in the quiet glow of the streetlight- he doesn’t look happy.
I don’t remember deciding to move.
One second, I’m standing inside, and the next I’m outside, crossing the yard, then the street, drawn toward him.
At some point he hears me and his head snaps up. He’s already on his feet before I reach the porch, closing the distance between us.
There’s no pause. No hesitation.
No words.
His hands find my waist, and then I’m off the ground, pulled tight against him as his mouth crashes into mine.
For a split second, my brain can’t catch up fast enough to make sense of what’s happening- of him, of this, of the fact that Ryan is kissing me.
I should pull away.
I should stop this. I should say something, do something, remind him of everything I’ve done- of the damage, the time, the fact that I don’t get to just come back and have this.
But I don’t. A small, helpless sound escapes me, and I feel the tears before I even realize I’m crying.
He stills immediately and sets me down, then pulls back just enough to look at me.
“Fuck- I’m sorry,” he says, the words coming fast now, his voice rough. “I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t ask- I didn’t even think, I just- ”
He drags a hand back through his hair, raking his fingers through the wavy strands , taking a half step away from me.
“I’m really sorry,” he adds, quieter this time. “That wasn’t okay.”
“No-it’s- it’s okay.”
“I just… I can’t believe you’re here. That you’re back,” he says, a smile forming as he shakes his head in disbelief.
“I…” I hesitate. “I don’t think I should stay.”
His brows pull together. “Why?” He breathes the word out, almost a whisper.
“Gary,” I say, quieter now. It’s not the truth. Not the whole truth, at least. But I don’t want to voice that Christian hates me, don’t want to say how I’ve destroyed Jamie. So, I just blame Gary.
Ryan studies my face for a second like he knows that’s not the real story - but he doesn’t push. He looks back towards his parents’ place, then holds out his hand for mine.
“Come on. Let’s talk.”
I don’t resist.
He doesn’t let go as he leads me back across the street, through my front door, and down the hallway like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like I never left. Like I still belong here.
He pulls me into my room and sits on the edge of the bed, tugging me down beside him.
“You don’t think you should stay cause of Gary?” he asks and it sounds silly, even to me.
“Yeah. I guess. I mean, he’s still around isn’t he?”
“I’m not sure,” he says after a second, his voice quieter now. “But yeah, I think so.”
His gaze drops, his thumb brushing absently over the back of my hand.
“I, uh, haven’t really been around,” he admits, something like guilt threading through the words.
And just like that, I remember that I’m not the only one who left. I don’t know what to say so I just squeeze his hand.
He exhales. “It just… it hurt too much around here without you. Without you in the center, everything fell apart. We all fell apart. So I left.”
“Ryan- I… broke so much. I thought I was helping, but I just caused so much damage. I’ve hurt everyone and everyone hates me, and I get it- I really do-”
Ryan lifts a finger under my chin, guiding my eyes to his. “I don’t hate you.”
My throat tightens. I feel like I should say something in response to that, but I can’t.
“I tried not to think about you,” he continues. “Tried to just… move on. Do what I was supposed to do. School, work, all of that.”
His grip on my hand tightens slightly. “Didn’t really work.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Because I don’t see a version of this where I don’t cause more damage. It’s too heavy. I feel like I’m drowning in the misery I’ve caused.
So I reach for the first lifeline I can find.
“Why'd you quit baseball?” I ask.
It's a safer topic.
Or at least it feels like one.
Ryan shrugs.
“Everything felt off after you left. Trying to go back to normal felt off. Every time I put on my uniform or walked onto the field, it felt like I was pretending to be the person I was before.”
He lets out a quiet breath.
“I got tired of pretending.”
God. Hearing the actual cost of what I did is physically painful.
“I'm sorry,” I whisper. “I know that doesn't change anything.”
“No,” he says quietly. “It doesn't. Intent doesn't erase impact.”
There's no anger in it. Just truth.
“But you're here now,” he says after a moment.
His thumb brushes across my knuckles.
“And I don't know what that means yet. I don't know what happens next.”
His eyes hold mine.
“But I know I don't want to lose you again.”