13. The Ex Who Felt Safe #2
“And yet,” I added, shaking my head, “I still stayed. Stayed even now that the other person had already pushed me away.”
Rick leaned back slightly, studying me.
“That’s the difference,” he said.
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
He took a second, choosing his words carefully. “With us, you always knew where you stood. And even when things got bad, you were never guessing how I felt about you.”
That landed.
Because it was true.
“We hurt each other,” he admitted. “But it was never confusing.”
Shit.
“You didn’t have to earn my attention,” Rick added. “Or question if I cared. You knew.”
Something pricked in my chest—might have been a skipped heartbeat or bruised ego.
“Love isn’t supposed to feel like that, James,” he continued. “It’s not supposed to make you question yourself all the time. With the right person, you don’t need to feel anxious all the time… you feel safe.”
That word.
Safe.
It sat differently than everything else.
That made it hit harder.
I didn’t respond right away, because for the first time, I wasn’t trying to defend anything.
Not Victor.
Not myself.
I just let it sit.
Safe.
I tried to remember the last time I felt that.
Not excited. Not wanted. Not chosen in fleeting, overwhelming ways—but safe.
The kind that didn’t make you overthink every word.
The kind that didn’t leave you guessing when the night ended.
The kind that didn’t disappear the moment you started to believe in it.
And slowly, something uncomfortable settled in my chest. Not heartbreak. Not longing. But something quieter and clearer.
I had it before—I just didn’t realize that’s what it was called.
Safe.
I glanced at how steady Rick looked. How easy it was to sit across from him without trying to be anything other than myself.
No performance.
No second-guessing.
No waiting for the moment it would all suddenly change.
And it scared me a little, how unfamiliar that now felt. Like somehow along the way, I had learned to mistake chaos for connection.
I looked down at my drink, exhaling softly.
Maybe that’s why I stayed so long—because I forgot what safe was supposed to feel like.
Rick studied me for a second longer than usual.
“You look tired,” he said gently.
I let out a small breath, like I’d been caught doing something I didn’t realize was visible.
“I am,” I admitted—soul-deep. “It’s been a long night.”
He nodded, like he understood more than I said.
“Let me walk you home.”
I nodded with a shy smile.
The walk was quiet, but not awkward.
The city was still awake around us—distant laughter, the occasional pop of late fireworks, voices carrying through the night—but it all felt farther now.
We walked side by side, not too close, not too far. And for once, I didn’t feel the need to fill the silence.
We turned the corner, and my building came into view.
There it was.
Still waiting. Still unchanged.
Our footsteps slowed down as we reached the entrance, both of us knowing without saying it that this was where it ended.
Again.
We stopped.
Neither of us spoke right away.
Rick glanced at the building, then back at me.
“So…” he said quietly.
I let out a small, almost-laugh. “Yeah.”
Another pause—the kind that held more than words ever could.
“I’m glad I saw you tonight,” he said.
And he meant it.
“I’m glad too,” I replied.
I hesitated, then added, softer, “I didn’t know I needed this.”
Rick smiled a little at that. Not wide. Just enough.
“I think we both did—”
“Please forgive me,” I said immediately, genuinely, my heart crushing and healing at the same time. “Please forgive me for changing.”
He shook his head softly, tears welling in his eyes.
“Forgive me too,” he said, biting his lips. “Forgive me for bolting when you did.”
We stood there for a moment longer, like we were still trying to figure out how to say goodbye to something that had already ended… but still mattered.
“Take care of yourself, okay?” he said.
Simple—but it didn’t feel small.
“You too,” I answered.
And then he said, “I’m so proud of you.”
That one caught me off guard.
“For what?” I asked, even as tears began forming in my eyes.
“For who you’ve become,” he said. “Even without me.”
I bit my lip.
“I stumbled, you know that,” I said, attempting a lightness that didn’t quite land.
He shook his head. “You’ll find your way again. You did after us.”
My chest tightened, and I felt it rising—everything I had been holding in.
I swallowed, nodding slightly. “I will.”
“I know,” he said. There was so much certainty in his voice.
Silence settled one last time.
And this time, it felt like closing a book. Not unfinished. Just… complete.
Rick stepped back a little, like he was giving the moment its space.
I stayed where I was… watching him.
Memorizing him, maybe.
Not in a desperate way, but in a simple understanding that this meeting had already given me everything it could.
“Goodbye, James,” he said.
I smiled, because, after everything, the universe finally allowed us to say the word that had been stolen from us the last time we parted.
“Goodbye, Rick,” I said.
He smiled one last time, before turning and walking away without looking back.
I stood there for a second longer than I needed to, watching him disappear into the night.
And for a moment, it hurt, but not the way it used to.
It didn’t feel like everything was ending.
It felt like something meaningful had finally been placed where it belonged…
In the past.
So I turned toward the entrance, reaching for the door.
And as I stepped inside, one thought stayed with me:
The world didn’t end when we did.
It just kept going.
And somehow—I told myself—I would, too.