26. fallon
TWENTY-SIX
fallon
T he ridiculously long flight from New Hampshire to California allowed me time to think and process. Since this trip is work-related, it gave me enough of a distraction not to completely break down. It will require me to focus and be my usual, bubbly self. Weeks ago, I agreed to be a moderator on a panel at the book convention. The topic discusses where authors draw inspiration from when writing their books. I came up with fifteen questions to ask, which should cover the entirety of the panel. I have various sponsor events to attend, including a luncheon with agents and publishers—a perk Ryan secured for me.
Every minute of my time at the book convention will be accounted for. I arranged for some after-convention dinners with people I’ve become friends with over the last year. I’ve tried to fill my schedule with little to no free time. I’ve always been a pro at boxing my feelings and keeping them locked away until I’m ready to face them. And that’s how I need to approach this sudden change in my life. But the truth is, I'm struggling to keep it together. The pain of Fitz's absence is a constant weight on my chest, making it hard to breathe at times.
If I allowed myself to feel it, I would recognize that Fitz had become part of my daily routine over the last two weeks. I looked forward to his texts. I enjoyed seeing him at the store, laughing with Thomas. I was falling for him. I trusted every word he said. I believed we’d fallen into a good rhythm with each other. He was slowly thawing.
But it was all an illusion.
And that’s the thought I can’t bear to confront.
I’ve always prided myself on my ability to see through exteriors and actually see the person behind the mask. As puzzling and aloof as Fitz was, I was drawn to the parts of himself he allowed me to see. Every moment spent with him resembled assembling a puzzle; he kept handing me pieces. I didn’t realize until he ended things between us that the pieces justweren’t fitting. I was forcing corners.
I keep trying to convince myself to despise him.
I’m failing miserably at this self-imposed task.
I’ve tried watching the encouraging videos on TikTok. I nod along when the beautiful, strong women on the other side tell me to move on. I listen to every word they say, including the podcasts they recommend on how to move forward. But how can I do that when each thought is of him?
I believe I’m one breakdown away from the tarot card readers popping up on my feed, promising he’ll return.
Throwing myself into work is the only solution, so I find myself standing outside a small café, waiting for a familiar face to join me for a drink before we share an Uber to the hotel where the convention is being held.
An involuntary squirm from the unexpected hand on the small of my back tightens every muscle in my neck. Being touched right now by anyone other than Thomas is akin to being held down and forced to live a nightmare. Physical touch has always been one of my top love languages, but it’s something Fitz ruined for me, at least temporarily. I learned to chase the addiction of the feeling his touch brought me.
“Did I scare you?” Ryan asks with his brow furrowed.
I give him my most convincing smile, though even I know it must look fake. “Just tired, I guess. Long trip.”
He didn’t buy my excuse, as evidenced by his concerned nod. “Let’s get you caffeinated.”
The café was quiet, the kind of place where the clink of a spoon against a mug felt like a personal conversation. We stand at the counter, silently reading the menu boards on the wall. I see the words, but I can’t focus on them. Instead of ordering a specialty drink, I settle for a plain black coffee.
“So, where are you staying while you’re in town?” Ryan asks. “It’s in West Hollywood, right?”
I force another smile, finding a place to sit after ordering to stall before answering. “Yes. A boutique hotel. It’s... intimate. Very small. Only three floors.”
Fitz had suggested it, of course. He mentioned the place during one of our conversations, and even though I barely knew him, I respected his taste. He told me it was perfect for someone like me—a quiet, intimate spot to unwind after a long day, with a rooftop bar and pool offering a stunning view of the city. It was tucked away from the city’s bustling crowds, much like I was trying to be in my own life.
My heart tightens, a confusing mix of appreciation and longing stirring inside me. He hadn’t just suggested a place to stay. He shared a piece of himself with me, which I didn’t think he often did. But why? Why would he do that if he was just passing through my life?
“Intimate,” I echo, my voice quieter now. I hate how much the word feels loaded in my chest. “Fitz suggested it.”
Ryan’s smile falters just for a moment before he leans in, clearly sensing the shift in my mood. “What’s going on?”
The barista brings our drinks to the table and takes the numbered stand, departing once she ensures we need nothing else. I wrap my hands around the warm cup, breathing in the smell of the dark-roasted brew. “We, um…” I trail off, unsure how to explain the last two weeks to Ryan. “I don’t know.” I huff a dry laugh, unable to stop the water welling in my eyes.
Every interaction with Ryan has always been surface-level. I kept it that way on purpose. Something I’m learning about myself since Fitz walked out of my life is how few people I’ve allowed in my life since leaving Missouri. I have superficial relationships and keep everyone at a distance as a safeguard. It hasn’t made it easy to open up to anyone, but I find myself longing for voices aside from the ones in my head.
Ryan scoots his chair closer to mine. He doesn’t touch me this time. I suppose he picked up on my previous reaction. “You can talk to me,” he offers softly.
I lick my lips, still tasting the salt from the last time I shed tears over this man. “He’s… gone.” My voice is raw from how often I’ve repeated those words. “He blew through my life like a tornado, leaving nothing but destruction behind.” I think of his final words to me—how easy I was to destroy. “And it’s weird, right? How broken I feel over him?”
He places his arm on the back of my chair, facing me fully. “No, Fallon. It’s not weird. He was… intense. I only met him once, but I could tell how enraptured you were with the other. The chemistry was very obvious.” He laughs then, slightly shaking his head. “If there’s anything I’ve learned from working with authors as long as I have and reading their manuscripts, it’s how rare a connection with someone is.”
I close my eyes to prevent tears from escaping.
“People who don’t read say how often books dramatize relationships. They claim no one can exist as fictional characters do. It’s bullshit.” I hear him take a sip of his drink. “Authors bare their souls on pages to put into words how humans function and exist. Just because you’re experiencing something that seems disorienting and foreign doesn’t make it any less real. You should know as well as anyone how well fiction mirrors real life. Don’t invalidate how you feel just because of the notion that you shouldn’t feel the way you do after a short time.”
This is the most eloquent I’ve ever heard Ryan speak. He’s put aside the persona he’s built to actually empathize with what I’m feeling. It’s given me a refreshing outlook on him. And what he’s saying to me is making me feel like I’m not crazy. My experience with Fitz and the short time we lived as two souls attempting to merge into one was real.
Those events did happen.
I did imagine what it’d be like to have Fitz in my life permanently because he allowed me to do so. He gave me a false sense of security. It’s normal for me to be reeling from the loss. More than that, it’s okay. His time with me might not matter to him, but our time together mattered to me .
I shouldn’t discount how I feel to compensate for how he might not feel. He no longer deserves that much power and control over my emotions.
“Thank you,” I whisper, gifting Ryan with an actual, albeit small, smile. “Thank you for listening to me.”
He holds his cup up, waiting for me to grab mine and mirror him. “To brighter days,” he says, knocking his cup against mine. “We are in California, after all.”
“To brighter days,” I repeat.
* * *
On my last day in California, I made it to the beach. I had dreaded it since Fitz planned for us to visit as many beaches as possible during our trip, but I decided that missing out on something I looked forward to would’ve been unfair. I had planned to go to a beach prior to meeting him. There wasn’t any reason I shouldn’t honor what I longed for.
Ryan stayed by my side for the entire convention. He kept my mind busy and never allowed me to settle. Before this trip, I never looked forward to his visits to Sanderling. Now, I can truly say that I’ll enjoy catching up with him. I’ll never feel for him what he might wish I did, but I’ll never be able to repay him for keeping me afloat when I wanted to sink. He offered to come with me to the beach, but I needed to be alone.
I love being out on the water. During the summer in Sanderling, Thomas rents jet skis for us. Ansel is a boat club member, so he can rent sailboats to take us out. Nearly every evening, when it’s warm, and the sunshine glistens on the water, we’re out there. Thomas burns easily. I always brought two bottles of sunscreen with me, blaming his Irish roots for being so delectable to the sun. Before summer ended, he ordered matching Friends-esque shirts for us. Each shirt has a picture of two lobsters holding claws with the text, ‘You’re my lobster’ printed underneath.
It’s the shirt I wore to the beach in Santa Monica when I decided to let Fitz go. I stood along the jagged short, allowing the cold water to brush my toes, and welcomed it. I wanted any feeling aside from the constant fear of never breathing deeply again—the swelling in my chest for every thought of him that crossed my mind.
And as I stared across the open water, still desolate from the departing winter, tears sprang to my eyes at the realization of one simple concept. As much as I loved the water, as often as I had dreamed of living near it, if there was a sudden lack of it, it would never be worth drowning to prevent its goodbye. And that same theory needed to apply to losing him.
Everything I felt for him had been vast and alive, but our wreckage needed to wash away in the waves.
Forever missing.
But never forgotten.
* * *
And now, I’m home. Well, at the store. Thomas is closing the registers, Ansel is asking for every detail of my time in California, and none of us thought to lock the door to prevent anyone else from coming in. Not that a lock could even stop someone like the man who breezes through the front like he’s the one who owns the place.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Thomas asks.
I squeeze his arm. “It’s okay, Thomas.” I meet Jace halfway, blocking him from going any further. “We’re closed.”
Jace sits on the edge of a table, the books sliding a few inches to make room for him. I exercise extreme patience while outright glaring at him. “I want to take you to dinner,” Jace says, extending his legs and crossing one ankle over the other.
“Um… no?” I’m dumbfounded by the demand.
He picks up one of the books from the table and pretends to flip through it. “Come on, Fallon. It’s over between you and Fitz. He won’t care if you come to dinner with me.”
I resist the urge to snatch the books from his hands and yell for Ansel to escort this cockroach from my store. “I declined once already, Jace. Do I need to repeat myself?”
The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. “Ah. You think that a second chance with Fitz won’t ever be possible if you come to dinner with me.” He drops the book back to its stack. “Here’s the beauty of it, Fallon. Fitz knows.”
Nausea settles in my stomach. “Excuse me?”
With a nonchalant shrug, Jace stands. “Yeah. I asked him if I could ask you out if things between you didn’t work out. He didn’t give a fuck.” He pulls his phone from his pocket. “I can call him to double-check if you’d like.”
My ears start ringing. I truly meant so little to him that he’d willingly let his best friend ask me out? “My answer still stands, Jace. I have no interest in going to dinner with you.”
Bravely, since I feel Thomas creeping up behind me, he takes my chin between his fingers. “Come on, Fallon. I know you find me attractive. One dinner won’t kill you.”
I jerk my chin away as Thomas moves between us, shoving Jace back a step and nearly causing him to trip over the table. “No, but I will. Get the fuck out of here.”
Jace recovers smoothly, his cocky grin returning as if nothing happened at all. “Text Fitz for my number if you change your mind.” He lazily salutes us before exiting.