Chapter Fifteen
The Weight of Hello
Ethan
Present Time
T he gym is quiet in the early morning, the hum of fluorescent lights the only sound as I push through another set of squats. The burn in my legs and the ache in my chest are a welcome distraction, keeping my mind off the upcoming wedding. No matter how many weights I lift or how fast I run, nothing drowns out the thought of seeing Emma again.
I rack the barbell and lean against it, catching my breath. My phone buzzes on the bench beside me, and I glance at it, half-hoping it’s something that’ll pull me out of my own head.
It’s Jace.
Jace : Don’t forget the tux fitting Friday at 3.
I swipe to reply, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. The fitting. Another reminder that this wedding isn’t just some distant event anymore—it’s happening. Soon.
Me : Got it. Friday. I’ll be there.
I set the phone back down and grab my water bottle, staring at the mirrored wall across from me. My reflection looks just as unsettled as I feel, my shoulders tense despite the workout. Seeing Jace will be easy. He’s my friend, my family. But Emma?
That’s a whole different story.
I don’t even know what I’ll say to her. Sorry for walking out of your life? Sorry for not fighting harder? Or maybe just sorry for being a coward.
A memory flashes through my mind—Emma laughing at something I said, her eyes bright, her head tilted just slightly like she couldn’t believe I was real. The realization slams into me, heavy and unavoidable—I haven’t seen her in years, yet she’s still the first person I think about when things get quiet.
I swipe a towel over my face and grab my phone again, scrolling mindlessly through Instagram. I’ve been avoiding looking at her page, telling myself it’s better to keep my distance. But my thumb has a mind of its own, typing her name into the search bar.
Her profile pops up, and there she is. Her most recent post is a candid shot of her in a coffee shop, a book in one hand and a cup in the other. She’s smiling, but it’s not for the camera—it’s real, unposed, the kind of smile that used to make my day.
I stare at it longer than I should, my chest tightening. She looks happy. Or at least, she looks like she’s doing fine without me. I wonder if she even thinks about me anymore, or if I’ve just become a chapter in her story she’s already closed.
My phone buzzes again, and I snap out of it, closing the app quickly. Another text from Jace.
Jace : Emma’s bringing Sarah man. I’m not sure how to deal with that.
Me : Sorry man, that sucks.
The words make me pause, and I sit back on the bench, staring at the screen. I’m relieved, if I’m being honest—glad Emma’s not bringing a real date, that it’s just Sarah. But Jace? I’m not sure how he’s going to deal with that. I know for a fact he’s still in love with her, even if he won’t admit it.
Love.
The word lingers in my mind, a heavy weight I’ve been avoiding for years. Because if I’m honest with myself—really honest—I still feel it too. I just haven’t admitted it in a long, long time.
Jace : Thanks. I’m sure I’ll be fine, I have Sierra. You good? I mean, with Emma being there and all?
Am I? I stare at the question, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I could lie, tell him I’m fine, but what’s the point? He knows me too well.
Me : I will be. It’ll just be… weird seeing her after all this time, you know?
Jace : Yeah. But maybe it’s a good thing. You two have some unfinished business.
Unfinished business. That’s one way to put it. Another would be ‘an open wound that never fully healed.’
Jace : Honestly, I’m not even sure I should be saying this, but… I’m kind of freaking out about the wedding.
That gets my attention. I frown, already typing.
Me : Freaking out how?
Jace : I don’t know. It’s just… big. Final. Sierra’s amazing, and I love her, but sometimes I wonder… am I even ready for this?
I sit back, letting his words sink in. Jace has always been the steady one, the guy who’s sure of himself in every situation. To hear this kind of doubt from him is… unsettling.
Me : You love her, right?
Jace : Yeah. I do. But what if that’s not enough? What if I screw it up? What if I’m not the guy she thinks I am?
I rake a hand through my hair, trying to find the right words.
Me : No one’s perfect, Jace. You’re not supposed to have all the answers. But if you love her, if you’re willing to put in the work, that’s what matters.
Jace : Easy for you to say. You’re not the one standing in front of everyone, promising forever.
I snort softly.
Me : No, I’m the guy who let the best thing in his life slip away. Trust me, you don’t want to be that guy.
There’s a long pause before his reply.
Jace : Do you still love Emma?
I don’t answer right away, but I know he can read between the lines.
Me : Yeah.
Jace : So you get it, then. Seeing her there, being around her again. That’s gonna mess with your head.
Me : Already is.
Jace : Maybe that’s a good thing too.
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. Only Jace could take my turmoil and spin it into a silver lining.
Me : Maybe, but not so sure I agree with that.
Jace : Just… don’t let it eat you alive, man. And if there’s something you need to say, say it. You don’t want any regrets.
I stare at his words, my chest tightening. Don’t want to regret not trying. That’s the thing about regrets—they sneak up on you, twist your insides, and never really let go.
Me : Same goes for you, Jace. You’re gonna be fine. You and Sierra? You’ve got this.
Jace : Thanks. I mean it.
I toss my phone back on the bench and head to the treadmill, cranking the speed until the sound of my feet pounding against the belt drowns out everything else. Maybe Jace is right. Maybe seeing Emma again will give me the closure I’ve been avoiding.
Or maybe it’ll remind me of everything I’ve been trying to forget.
The next few days blur together in a mix of practices, meetings, and workouts. I keep my schedule packed, hoping to push the wedding out of my mind. But every time I sit still for more than a minute, my thoughts drift back to her.
By Friday, I’m standing in the tux shop, surrounded by Jace and the other groomsmen. The tailor pins my sleeves, adjusting the fit as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. The black tux fits perfectly, sharp and clean, but it feels wrong—more of a costume than something that truly belongs to me .
“You good?” Jace asks, stepping up beside me. His tone is casual, but his eyes are sharp, studying me like he already knows the answer.
I nod. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
“About her?” he asks, his voice low enough that the others won’t hear.
I glance at him, surprised. “Is it that obvious?”
Jace smirks. “A little. Look, man, I don’t know what happened between you two, but maybe this is your chance to fix it. Or at least figure it out. You know she’s single right?”
I don’t answer right away, my gaze fixed on the mirror. Fix it. The idea sounds simple, but the reality is anything but. Still, Jace has a point. If I don’t say something to Emma now, when will I?
I ignore the single comment, “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” I admit, my voice quieter than I intended.
Jace claps me on the shoulder, his grin widening. “Start with hello. The rest will figure itself out.”
I force a smile, nodding as the tailor finishes his adjustments. But as I leave the shop and head back to my rental car, Jace’s words linger in my mind. Start with hello. It sounds easy enough.
But with Emma? Nothing ever is .
I rub my temples, trying to shake the tension crawling up my spine. The idea of being back in town stirs up a mix of emotions I’d rather not deal with. Nostalgia. Dread. Anticipation. And under it all, a sharp pang of guilt I can’t quite shake.
Jace had just left, his tux slung over his shoulder with a parting reminder: “Make sure you’ve got everything sorted, man. Don’t make me regret trusting you with this.”
I’d rolled my eyes at the time, giving him a lazy salute. “Relax, Jace. I’ve got it covered.”
Now, sitting in my car, I glance at my phone, which buzzes with a text from him.
Jace : Don’t forget to double-check your suit. Wouldn’t want you showing up in basketball shorts.
I laugh, shaking my head as I type back.
Me : You’re the one who dragged me to the shop. You know I’ve got it.
Jace : Just making sure. You’re not exactly Mr. Reliable with this stuff.
I smirk, staring at the screen for a second before a new notification pops up—an Instagram story from him. Against my better judgment, I tap on it.
It’s a photo from earlier today, taken during the bridesmaids’ get-together at Jace’s fiancée Sierra’s family home. The setup is simple but elegant, with string lights casting a warm glow over the backyard and tables scattered with small floral arrangements. Everyone looks relaxed, sipping drinks and laughing, but my eyes go straight to Emma. She’s sitting with Sarah, her hair loose and falling over her shoulders, a soft smile on her face that hits me harder than I want to admit.
My thumb hovers over the screen, debating whether to swipe out or keep watching. But before I can decide, the next story automatically plays. It’s a candid shot of Emma. She’s sitting on a couch, her head tipped back as she laughs at something out of frame. The sight of her crashes over me like a tidal wave.
I didn’t expect to see her, not like this. Not looking so damn happy.
Her hair’s longer now, brushing the middle of her back in soft waves, and there’s this light in her eyes I’d forgotten she had. Or maybe it’s just one I hadn’t noticed before. My throat tightens, and I swipe out of the app, tossing my phone onto the console like it’s burned me.
The thing about Emma is… she’s always there. Not physically, obviously. But in my head, in the memories that creep up on me when I least expect them. It doesn’t matter how many years pass, how many miles stretch between us—she’s still the first thing I think of when someone asks me who I’d call if I needed sa ving.
I lean back against the couch, letting out a long breath. This wedding is going to be hell. Being in the same room as her after all this time, pretending we’re just old friends catching up—it’s going to rip me apart.
But I can’t avoid her. Not this time.
My phone buzzes, pulling me out of my thoughts. It’s Jace.
Jace : Hey man, can you do me a solid and swing by Jensen’s Jewelers? I forgot to pick up my cufflinks, and Sierra’s about to lose it. They’re special order—something her dad had made for me.
I huff a laugh, shaking my head. Classic Jace, always forgetting something important.
Me : On it. You owe me.
Jace : Add it to the tab. And don’t be late to anything, alright? I know you and Sierra’s got everything running on a schedule.
Me : Got it. Jensen’s, cufflinks, don’t be late. Anything else?
Jace : Yeah, maybe a Xanax for Sierra. But seriously, thanks, man.
I chuckle, pocketing my phone. Leave it to Jace to rope me into wedding errands at the last minute. Still, it’s better than sitting around my hotel room overthinking everything .
I set my phone down and grab my keys. If nothing else, running errands will give me a break from the thoughts swirling in my head. And maybe, I’ll figure out how to survive this wedding without making an absolute fool of myself.
The drive to the jeweler is uneventful, but my mind’s anything but calm. The streets blur past as I wrestle with the one thought I can’t seem to shake: What the hell am I going to say to her?
The last time Emma and I spoke, it felt like we were standing on opposite sides of a canyon, neither of us brave enough to take the first step across. She let things drift, pulling back little by little, and I told myself it was for the best. That she was doing what she needed to, and maybe I needed it too. But now, all these years later, I wonder if I was just a coward—letting her go because chasing after her, fighting for us, would’ve meant admitting just how much she meant to me. And I wasn’t ready for that.
I pull into a parking spot and kill the engine, taking a moment to collect myself. The jeweler’s shop is small and tucked away on a quiet street. I step inside, the little bell above the door chiming softly, and a man behind the counter greets me with a polite smile.
“Picking up or dropping off?” he asks.
“Picking up,” I reply, clearing my throat. “Cufflinks for Jace Prescott. ”
He nods, disappearing into the back room. As I wait, I glance around the shop. It’s all polished glass cases and soft lighting, the kind of place that feels too pristine to breathe in. My eyes land on a display of engagement rings near the register, and my chest tightens.
The thought of Emma wearing one—of someone else putting it there—sends a jolt of something sharp and ugly through me. I push the thought away, shaking my head like that’ll somehow knock it loose.
The jeweler returns with a small velvet box and hands it over. “Here you go. All set.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, sliding the box into my pocket. I leave a generous tip and head out, the bell chiming again as the door swings shut behind me.
Back in the car, I sit there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel. My phone buzzes in the cup holder, and I glance down to see another text from Jace.
Jace : Almost forgot—rehearsal dinner’s at 6 on Friday and the bachelor party is on Thursday at 8. Don’t be late.
Me : Got it.
Jace : You good? You’ve been kind of quiet lately.
I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Jace and I have always been close, but this isn’t something I can just unload on him—not when he’s about to marry Sierra, not when he’s got his own shit to focus on.
Me : Yeah, just busy. See you Thursday.
I toss my phone aside and start the car, pulling out onto the road. My hands tighten on the wheel as I replay his text in my head. You good? It’s such a simple question, but it’s one I don’t have an easy answer to.
Because the truth is, I’m not good. I’m not sure I’ve been good since the day I let Emma slip through my fingers.
Back at the hotel, I toss my keys onto the desk and kick off my shoes, the silence of the room pressing in on me. I pour a glass of water from the bar, but as I lean against the counter, my mind goes straight to Emma—again. It’s been like this all day, and now, with no distractions, there’s nothing to stop the flood of memories.
I can still see her as clearly as if she were right in front of me—the way her lips curved when she smiled, the way her laugh always seemed to echo in my chest. And now, imagining her as she is now, older, more confident, with that same sharp wit that always left me in awe, something stirs deep in my gut.
I sit on the edge of the bed, running a hand through my hair. I know I shouldn’t, but my fingers move on their own, unlocking my phone and pulling up her Instagram. Her latest photo loads—a shot of her in a sundress, the sunlight catching the golden highlights in her hair. She’s laughing at something off-camera, and the way her lips part, the light in her eyes—it’s enough to make my throat go dry.
Fuck. I shouldn’t be doing this. But I can’t stop myself.
I picture her here, standing in front of me, that same teasing smile on her lips. My hand tightens around the phone, and I set it down, my breathing uneven as the image shifts in my mind. She’s closer now, her fingers trailing down my chest, her lips curving into that smirk that’s always driven me insane.
My chest tightens as I lean back, closing my eyes and letting the fantasy take over. I imagine her pushing me back onto the bed, her knees on either side of me, her hands sliding under my shirt as she whispers my name in that breathless way I’ve dreamed about too many times to count.
“Ethan,” she’d say, her voice low, teasing. “You’re always so in control. Let me see what happens when you’re not.”
A low groan escapes me as my hand drifts lower, my body reacting to the vivid image of her—the way her body would feel pressed against mine, the soft gasp she’d make when I gripped her hips, holding her exactly where I wanted her. In my mind, I pull her closer, my voice rough as I murmur against her ear, “You’ve got no idea how badly I’ve wanted this,” I growl, my voice low and rough. “Every fucking inch of you—your mouth, your skin, those noises you make when you’re close. I’ve been losing my mind thinking about how good you’d feel wrapped around me.”
I shift on the bed, the pressure building as my fingers press into the mattress, the urge to touch myself almost unbearable. But it’s not enough—I want her. I want to feel her skin under my hands, hear her moan my name, watch her fall apart because of me.
“Fuck,” I mutter, sitting up and gripping the back of my neck, trying to shake the heat coursing through me. My body is tense, every nerve alive, and it takes everything in me not to give in completely. I’m so fucking hard right now it’s painful. Instead, I pace the room, trying to burn off the energy, but the fantasy lingers, her voice echoing in my head, her image seared into my mind.
It’s nearly impossible to sleep after that. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, my chest heaving as I fight the pull of her memory. Every time I close my eyes, she’s there, and the ache in my chest—and lower—is a reminder of just how much I’ve been holding back.
And the worst part? This is just the beginning. Seeing her in person is going to wreck me.
I must have fallen asleep because the daydream shifts, and I’m standing alone in the empty room, her laughter echoing in the distance. I wake up with a start, my chest tight and my pulse racing.
I run a hand through my hair, letting out a shaky breath. The dream felt so real, and now that I'm awake, the emptiness is almost unbearable.
Lying back down, I close my eyes and try to steady my breathing. But no matter how hard I try, her voice lingers in my mind, soft and haunting.
“What are you waiting for?”
I sit up in bed, the dream clinging to me like a second skin. My room feels too quiet, too still, and I rub my hands over my face, trying to shake the weight pressing down on me. What am I waiting for? It’s a question I’ve been running from for years, one I’ve buried under excuses and distractions. But with the wedding just days away, the answer is breathing down my neck.
Emma’s going to be there. And for the first time in a long time, I’ll have to face her—not as the boy who let her go, but as the man who’s still not sure if he can ever truly let her go.