Chapter 7
SEVEN
ELISE
It’s amazing how fast a life can unravel.
One minute, I’m wrapped up in Hayes, warm and safe and sure of everything.
The next, I’m back home—in my apartment, in my bed, going through the motions.
The days blur together. Coffee. Work. Sleep. Repeat.
I should be happy. I have a job lined up for the fall. My future is bright. But every day feels gray and washed out, like I’m living in the shadow of something I can’t quite reach.
Dad doesn’t push. He’s there, hovering in the background, but he doesn’t bring up Hayes. Not directly.
But he watches me. He sees the way I’ve lost the lightness I’d finally found again.
One Saturday morning, a few weeks after I’ve returned back to monotonous life, he knocks on my door and lets himself in before I can answer.
I’m on the couch, still in pajamas. There’s a book open on my lap, but I’m not really reading.
“Morning, kid,” he says, setting a bag of donuts on the coffee table.
“Morning.” I give him a tired smile.
He sits, looking too big for my tiny couch, and studies me for a long moment.
“You’re not mad at me, are you?” he asks.
I blink at him. “Mad at you? Why would I be mad at you?”
He shrugs. “For… intervening.”
I look away. “I get it. You’re my dad. You were trying to protect me.”
“I was trying to protect both of you,” he says. “Hayes… he’s a good man. One of the best I’ve ever known. But he’s stubborn. Set in his ways. He thinks he doesn’t deserve nice things.”
I swallow hard, my chest aching.
“And you?” I ask.
He smiles, sad and a little wry. “You’ve always deserved the world, kid.”
Silence stretches between us.
“You miss him,” Dad says. It’s not a question.
I nod, my throat tight. “It’s not just him. I miss the space. I feel…”
“Claustrophobic?”
I nod. “It’s like I can’t breathe here sometimes.”
He sighs and rubs a hand over his face.
“I wasn’t trying to tear you two apart,” he says. “I just wanted to make sure you both thought it through. That you weren’t rushing into something you’d regret later.”
I sniffle and swipe at my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Don’t be sorry,” he says. “Just be happy.”
He stands, brushing crumbs from his jeans.
“I, uh, brought you a surprise,” he says, jerking a thumb toward the door. “A belated graduation gift.”
I frown, confused, and get up to follow him.
When he opens the door, my heart stutters.
Hayes is standing there, looking uncomfortable, but hopeful, and entirely too handsome in his worn jeans and flannel.
My breath catches. My hands twitch at my sides, torn between bolting forward and staying frozen.
“I’ll, uh, leave you to it,” Dad says, clapping Hayes on the shoulder as he slips past him.
Hayes steps inside, closing the door behind him. The room suddenly feels too small, too charged with everything unsaid.
For a moment, we just stare at each other. He shifts, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
“Your dad… he gave me a talking to,” Hayes says. “Told me I’d be a damn fool if I let you slip away.”
“Smart man,” I whisper, a smile tugging at my lips.
Hayes crosses the room in three strides and pulls me into his arms.
I go willingly, melting against him, breathing him in. His scent, clean and familiar, wraps around me like a blanket, and I feel myself begin to breathe for the first time in weeks.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs against my hair. “For letting you go.”
“I’m sorry for not fighting harder,” I whisper back.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his thumb brushing my cheek. His eyes search mine, dark and steady.
“I love you, Elise,” he says, his voice rough and raw.
Tears spill over, hot and fast, but they feel like a release more than anything else.
“I love you too,” I say.
He kisses me then, slow and deep, like he’s making up for every second we’ve been apart. His hands are firm at my waist, anchoring me, grounding me.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless, foreheads pressed together.
“Do you want me to come inside?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. I want to go home.”
“Home?”
“Where?” I nod, not even hesitating. “Let me just grab a few things.”
Ten hours later, we’re in his truck, the heater on low, even though it’s July. My bags are tossed in the back.
We drive in comfortable silence, the city giving way to open road, to wilderness, to the life waiting for us.
As the miles pass, my heart slowly unknots. Each turn of the tires on asphalt unwinds the tension inside me, replacing it with something warm and sure.
When we pull up to his cabin, it feels different—not just his space, but ours.
He cuts the engine, and for a moment we sit there, the engine ticking as it cools.
He leans across the cab and brushes his lips against mine. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”
I rub my nose against him. “It’s good to be back.”