Chapter 25
Silence
Reed
I wasn't right for her. I knew this. But it didn’t stop me from feeling it—the pain. I shut everything and everyone out. I didn’t see any other options.
So, when John called, I let it go to voicemail. When Sarah texted asking if I was okay, I sent her a thumbs up. Nothing else.
I stuck with my PT and I kept improving. When the doctor finally cleared me for desk duty, I went back to work with feelings of relief from the silence constantly surrounding me. I buried myself in paperwork, volunteered for every shit assignment nobody wanted. Anything to stay busy.
A week went by. Then two. I didn't reach out—didn't stop me from drafting messages and deleting them at a ridiculous frequency.
But really—what would I even say? She deserved better than anything I could offer.
This was the kindest thing I could do. Let her move on without dragging it out. That's what I told myself.
I knew Lucas's birthday was coming up. I'd put it in my calendar months ago. Got tickets for us to go to a game in April that I was going to give him. His first in Boston.
I kept meaning to delete the reminder, but I couldn't. Just because I wanted her to move on from me didn't mean I could move on from them. The weeks kept passing before John let me have it.
"You look like shit and I'm over watching you play the self-pity game."
"Thanks, man. It’s not self-pity. I’m just focused."
"Whatever. Listen—we need to get you out of the house and do something, man."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're a zombie who happens to go to work daily." He crossed his arms. "When's the last time you ate something that wasn't from a fast food joint or vending machine?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't remember, actually.
"That's what I thought." He grabbed his jacket. "Come on. We're getting lunch. Real food. And you're going to tell me what the hell is going on in that head of yours."
I should have said no. Should have made an excuse about reports that needed finishing or calls I had to make. But the truth was, I was tired. Tired of the silence. Tired of the emptiness. Tired of pretending I was handling this when I clearly wasn't.
"Fine," I said. "But you're buying."
At the diner, I pushed eggs around my plate while John demolished a burger. He let me sit in silence for approximately three minutes before losing patience.
"So. I get you guys broke up. I get that—really. But are you going to tell me what actually happened? Because I’m at the point where I might just start guessing."
"Nothing happened."
"Bullshit. You were practically living at her place. Now you won't even say her name." He pointed a fry at me. "Spill."
I set down my fork. Stared at the congealed yolk on my plate. "I ended it."
John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I gathered that much, genius."
"Then why are you asking?" I stopped, tried again. "Fuck, man. Listen. I can't be what she needs."
"Oh. Yeah. That’s what she told you?"
The question hit harder than I expected. "It doesn't matter."
"It absolutely matters." John leaned forward. "Reed, I've known you for most of our lives. I watched you build something real with her. With those kids. And then you just—what? Walked away because you got scared?"
"I. Got. Shot, John."
"I know. I was there. I was the one pushing down on the fucking wound to keep you from bleeding out. Remember?" His voice was sharp, then softened. "But you made it. You're here. And instead of being grateful for that, you're using it as an excuse to blow up your life."
"It's not an excuse. It's reality." I shoved my plate away. "It was a sign. What are the chances I’d experience almost the exact same thing my dad did? It was a sign! And a chance to save Lucas and Zoe from going through what I did."
"What the fuck? You think it was a sign? Why the hell didn’t you think it was a sign that you didn’t die then!
Why didn’t you consider that it was a sign that you should dig in?
Not fucking run! You didn’t die like your dad.
" He jabbed a finger toward my chest, where beneath my shirt lay the puckered scar tissue.
"That right there—that’s a physical sign that you're alive and healthy. It’s a sign that you could actually be there for them! "
"That’s not it—"
"How the fuck would you know?" John's voice rose, drawing a glance from the waitress.
He lowered it again. "You pray about it?
Meditate? Do some chakra shit or something?
Feng shui yourself? Do anything other than think you know all and have all the answers?
Talk to Maliyah about it? Talk to me? No!
You thought you knew best, so you decided for everyone how it would be.
You made your choice. All. By. Yourself. "
The words landed like blows. I couldn't argue because he wasn't wrong.
"You think you're protecting them," John continued. "But all you're doing is proving that people can't be trusted to stay. Reed—is that really what you want?"
I thought about those kids. About Maliyah. About the way it felt to be with them—to have something real with them.
"No," I said quietly. "It's not what I want."
"Then fix it."
"It's too late."
"It's been a few weeks or so. That's not too late. That's barely the beginning." He threw some cash on the table. "But if you keep going like this—isolating yourself, refusing to talk to anyone, pretending you're fine when you're clearly falling apart—then yeah. Eventually it will be too late."
I didn't respond. Just sat there, staring at the untouched food on my plate, knowing he was right and having no idea how to fix it.
Finally I said, "You know feng shui is like for furniture or something, right?"
John flipped me off, his eyebrows raised in that way they do when he knows he's right. "Fuck you, professor," he said, leaning back in his chair with a smirk that made me want to punch him. "What, you think that invalidates my point? Congratulations, dipshit. The point. Still. Stands."
I exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping. "Yeah.
I guess it does." My lips twitched into the ghost of a smirk—not because anything was funny, but because John had always been able to call me on my bullshit.
The smirk faded as quickly as it appeared, replaced by something heavier.
I met his eyes across the table, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. He was right, and we both knew it.
John's words followed me around for days. Every time I reached for my phone to call her, my hand would freeze mid-air, paralyzed by the certainty I'd only make things worse.
Then, on Saturday morning the calendar notification popped up on my screen. Lucas's Birthday - 4:00 PM
I stared at it for a long time. Seven years old. My serious little man was turning seven. Fuck—not my little man. What the fuck was I doing?
I should delete the reminder. Should have deleted it weeks ago. But I couldn't bring myself to do it—like erasing the notification would somehow erase him from my life completely. As if he wasn't already gone.
I dismissed it instead. Let the screen go dark.
The apartment was too quiet. I turned on the TV just for noise, some old basketball documentary I didn't give two shits about. Paced to the kitchen. Opened the fridge. Closed it. Paced back. Back to the kitchen again. Grabbed a beer and dropped on the couch to stare at the TV.
Time passed, numbing something inside me and, before I knew it, the sun had set.
Then, I thought about them—that somewhere across the city, a party was probably wrapping up.
Cake and candles and kids heading home after a day of running around.
Maliyah owning her success like a queen.
Lucas having blown out candles, making a wish.
Zoe had probably spent the party running around in some princess outfit, excited for all the shenanigans and causing more herself.
What did Lucas wish for? I sat forward from my spot in the couch, head in my hands.
Don't think about it. Don't fucking think about it.
But I couldn't stop. Couldn't stop picturing his face when he’d realized I wouldn't be coming.
Couldn't stop imagining Zoe asking where I was, Maliyah having had to come up with some excuse.
Couldn't stop wondering if Lucas had given up on me yet, or if some small part of him was still wishing me to come through the door.
And Maliyah—God, I missed her more than I had any right to.
I could see her in my mind, the smile. I could feel her soft hands and almost taste her lips.
Remember how it felt to have her arms around me—the smell of her shampoo, softness of her curls against my face.
That's when I felt it—a single tear breaking free, carving a hot path down my stubbled cheek.
I wiped it away with my fingers, surprised by the unfamiliar sensation.
Looking at the moisture on my hand, I sat in wonder—I couldn't remember the last time I'd actually cried.
With actual tears. The weight in my chest had become a physical pressure, constricting my ribs until something had to give.
And my whole body wracked as I let it all go.
No holding back this time. No one here to see me lose my shit.
I’d lost Maliyah, the kids, my dignity. I’d lost my family.
The one I never thought I’d have in the first place.
My body was hot with anger and brokenness.
I needed them back. I don’t think I can survive this life without them.
I didn’t want to survive this life without them.
How, though? How did I even begin? Where did I even start? I leaned back on the couch, pressing my fingers into my eyes, trying to stop the tears but completely at a loss. It wasn’t possible.