13.0 #2
I stared at our joined hands, at the grooves in her knuckles. The memory of his voice—low and cracked, saying he missed me—pushed against my ribs.
"He called me drunk," I said, the confession tumbling out before I could stop it. "And I still went."
Tati didn't let go. "That's because you still love him."
For a moment neither of us spoke, but then Tati leaned in a little, her voice softer. "Do you know anything about his family? His parents still in the picture?"
I shook my head slowly. "No. But I'd bet money nothing's changed."
Her mouth pressed into a line. "It never did, did it? Back then it felt like they owned him."
The thought snagged at me, because even now I could still hear the edge in his voice when he'd talk about them, like every word cost him. He'd look at me sometimes like I was the only place he could breathe. Maybe that was still true. Maybe that was why he called.
I blinked, shaking the thought out before it could take root. "Whatever they were then, I doubt they've loosened their grip now."
To break the tension, Tati shifted slightly, her voice gentler. "And what about Kian?"
I let out a groan. "Don't remind me."
"So you're not serious about him?"
I shook my head. "No. It's nothing. I should've ended it clean a while ago."
Tati gave me that look—the one that said you know better.
I sighed and leaned back against the couch.
"It's just... the last time we talked, it got ugly. He invited me to some event of his uncle's, one of those dressed-up, schmooze-y things. I told him no. Didn't feel right, didn't want to go. And he—" My throat tightened.
"He didn't take it well. Got a little rough about it."
Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean rough?"
"Not like... not hitting me," I rushed to clarify. "But the way he grabbed my arm, the tone in his voice. Like he was entitled to me saying yes. It was enough to put me off."
Tati exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Amira, that's not small. That's a red flag. And you don't wait around to see if red flags turn into something worse. You cut them off early."
"I know," I whispered, twisting my fingers in my lap. "But it's gonna get messy. He's technically my boss. And Kian... he's the petty type. He'd make it ugly if I ended things."
"Messy or not," Tati said, her tone firmer now, "your peace is worth more than some job. I don't like the sound of him."
Her words sank deep, but before I could answer, she leaned back, her expression thoughtful. "And there's another layer you're not thinking about."
I glanced at her warily. "What?"
She met my eyes. "Brooks. You told me Kian's uncle is in politics, right? A name being floated with Brooks's campaign?"
My chest tightened. "His running mate."
Tati nodded slowly. "So if you even thought about starting something with Brooks again—"
"There's no starting things up with Brooks again," I cut in, sharper than I meant to. I pressed a hand to my forehead, lowering my voice. "Seeing him just... set something off in me. But it'll pass. It has to."
Tati didn't push me further. She just reached over, squeezed my hand, and let the kids' laughter fill the space between us.
After a while, Miles came running in with Alina on his heels, both of them red-cheeked and out of breath.
It was the perfect cue to gather ourselves, to smooth things over with snacks and promises of dinner later.
That night, the four of us went out—me, Tati, Miles, and Alina—just a casual dinner at the spot around the corner.
When we got back, Alina crashed quick, her little body gone heavy and limp the moment her head hit the pillow. Tati and Miles lingered only a few minutes before heading back to their hotel, promising to swing by again before they left town.
And then it was just me.
I padded the length of the house in slow circles, the night too quiet, the walls too close.
My mind kept replaying the same reel: the park bench, the taste of lemon squares, Brooks's voice saying my name before he kissed me.
It wasn't just the kiss—it was the way it snapped something loose inside me, a thread I'd worked years to knot back together.
I rubbed at my arms, restless. Tried the couch, tried the window, tried brushing my teeth like routine could anchor me. None of it stuck.
Finally, I sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, thumb hovering over his name like I hadn't done this dance a hundred times in the past. No plan, no words that made sense. Just the ache of wanting to be seen again, to see if the tether between us was really as frayed as I kept telling myself.
That was all I sent. Small, stupid, reckless. But it felt like tossing a stone into water, waiting for ripples.
The three dots appeared almost instantly, pulsing like a heartbeat.
My chest tightened. Typical. Still slick with charm even through a screen. I bit my lip, typed slow.
Another pause. Then—
I exhaled too fast, like my body was betraying me. He wasn't supposed to say things like that, not so casually, not when my head was already knotted.
I stared at the screen, thumb hovering again.
A long pause this time. Long enough for me to lock my phone, toss it to the side, then snatch it back up the second it buzzed again.
My throat went dry. He always did this—slid right under the guard rails.
Heat crawled up my neck. The bench. The kiss. His mouth on mine, reckless and unapologetic.
I meant it to sting, but the truth tasted bitter on my tongue.
I closed my eyes, leaned back against the headboard. He couldn't see me, thank God, because I was trembling—not from fear, but from the ache of recognition.
I didn't answer right away. I couldn't. I thought about Tati earlier, the way she'd warned me, the way she'd tilted her head like she could see right through me. Maybe she could.
Three dots. Then gone. Then back again. He was hesitating, which meant I'd hit something raw.
My pulse skipped.
The pause this time felt heavier, thicker. I imagined him leaning over his phone wherever he was—probably sprawled on some polished sofa in a place that didn't look like it belonged to anyone real.
I stared at the screen until my eyes blurred.
I meant it.
That stopped me cold.
My chest tightened so sharply it almost hurt. I pressed the phone against my lips, like I could smother the truth before it bled out.
I shook my head, the smallest laugh slipping out even though there was nothing funny about any of it.
I regretted hitting send the second the message went out, but it was too late to pull it back.
I hated when he was right. I hated that he could see through the holes in my armor.
I dropped the phone onto the blanket, pressing my palms against my face. It wasn't fair to neither of us. I picked it back up, fingers heavy.
The three dots appeared instantly. I almost threw the phone across the room just to stop myself from watching them.