25. Drew
DREW
I wake slowly.
Something warm is pressed against my chest.
Warm, steady breaths flow across my neck.
My eyes pop open.
Violet.
She’s curled into me, one arm tucked between us, her face turned slightly toward my shoulder like she belongs there.
Something in my chest tightens, soft and dangerous.
If I let this last one more second... I won't be able to pretend it doesn't mean something.
I freeze.
I don’t want to wake her, but I don’t want this to stop.
Even though I know I should.
Her eyes pop open. A slow smile curls her lips. “You’re staring.”
I swallow. “Am I?”
She nods, completely unbothered. “I don’t mind.”
The moment stretches.
Then something in me snaps back into place.
I clear my throat, shifting slightly. “I should get going. I have… things to do.”
Before I do something stupid. Like stay.
I catch the flicker of disappointment on her face.
Most people would've missed it. I don't.
“Okay,” she says lightly. “Let me just get up and change.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, realizing it’s too late.
I messed up.
And now I don’t know how to fix it.
She nods too quickly, her shoulders tense. “I’ll be right back.”
She disappears upstairs.
The second she’s gone, I exhale hard. "Yeah... I definitely messed this up."
I run a hand through my hair, trying to tame it.
I stand, fluffing the pillows and folding the blanket. I look around, but I’m not sure where it goes, so I set it on the couch.
"Did I... make her mad?" I murmur aloud.
The grandfather clock ticks, but that’s the only sound.
My chest tightens. I hope the ticking of the clock isn’t an answer.
Violet’s light footsteps hit my ears seconds before she enters the room.
She looks at me. "How about I make us some coffee? Then I’ll take you home.”
"Okay."
The ride is quiet.
Which somehow feels worse.
Violet drives like nothing’s changed.
Like I didn’t wake up with her curled into me.
Like I didn’t freak out the second it started to feel real.
Like I didn’t see that flicker of disappointment on her face.
I shift in my seat, dragging a hand down my face.
Say something.
Anything.
“You didn’t have to drive me,” I say.
That’s not what I meant to say.
“I know,” she replies. “But I didn’t want you to call an Uber. Or your brother.”
There’s a teasing smile before she looks away.
And I... don’t know exactly what that means.
Is she driving me home because she feels obligated? Or because she wants to?
I glance over at her. She’s focused on the road, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting loosely in her lap. Composed as always.
I look away.
“What?” she asks after a beat.
I blink. “What?”
“You’re staring again.”
My stomach drops slightly. “Am I?”
Her lips curve faintly. “You do that.”
I huff out a quiet breath. “Didn’t realize it was a habit.”
“It is,” she says. “But I don’t mind.”
Something about the way she says it makes it sound like she’s giving me permission.
It makes it harder to breathe.
I shift again, tugging at the collar of my shirt.
Say something else. Fix it.
“I didn’t mean to just… shut it down.”
There’s a small pause. “I know.”
I frown slightly. “You do?”
She nods once, her eyes still on the road. “You get overwhelmed,” she says simply. “It happens.”
The words hit harder than they should.
She’s right.
She noticed but didn’t call me out.
She just… understood.
Like it wasn’t even a question.
“I wasn’t overwhelmed,” I say automatically. Even though I was.
She hums softly, like she doesn’t believe me.
Or she doesn’t feel the need to argue.
The silence settles again, thicker this time.
“You stayed,” she adds after a moment.
I glance at her. “What?”
“You stayed,” she repeats. “That’s what matters.”
My chest tightens. I don’t know what to do with that.
I look out the window, trying to slow the thoughts racing through my head.
This shouldn’t feel like something shifted. But it does.
She pulls up in front of my place and puts the car in park.
The engine hums softly between us.
I don’t move right away. Neither does she.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say finally.
“Of course.”
I reach for the door handle and pause.
“Thanks for the date. And everything... last night.”
She smiles softly.
“Anytime.”
She says it like she means it.
We sit there, staring at one another. Tension crackles between us.
Finally, I break it by turning away.
“Drew,” she says quietly.
I look at her.
“Have a good day,” she says instead.
I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “You too.”
I get out and start toward the door.
I don’t turn around.
I want to, but I don't.
Not even when I hear her driving away.
Her absence hits me, sharp and immediate.
And the worst part?
I know exactly why.
I’m the one who pulled away.