Chapter 26
Gavin
Once I’d made it back to the city, I was too exhausted—mentally and physically—to do anything more than leave my bags by the door and collapse into bed.
Even after the weekend, the weariness still lingered. I tried to push past it and pretend I could fall back into my regular routine, but the ache in my chest refused to let go.
I sat at my desk, letting my gaze wander around the apartment.
Allie had put up holiday decorations at some point while she was here.
A small tree covered with hot pink and silver ornaments stood in the corner, some garland had been draped over the fireplace mantle, and an unlit holiday candle sat on the kitchen counter.
The place looked cheerful and festive, but it didn’t take away the emptiness inside me.
My apartment was supposed to be my safe space. I’d lived here for years, through my highest highs and lowest lows, but it no longer offered any of the comfort it used to provide.
My brain traveled back to Cole’s house. It wasn’t sleek and modern like the Manhattan apartments I was used to, but it was warm and cozy. The smell of coffee in the morning, his boots by the front door, and the sounds of him working on projects gave it a sense of home I’d been missing for a while.
What surprised me the most was how quickly I felt at ease there. I’d only been staying with him a short time, yet it had felt so natural, and we’d settled into a comfortable routine. Not having that anymore made the silence in my apartment seem even louder.
My laptop lay open on my desk waiting for me to get to work.
The cursor was blinking at the end of the last line I’d typed before everything fell apart.
Part of me wanted to drag my manuscript into the trash and pretend it had never existed.
The story had cost me something I didn’t even know I wanted.
And yet the other part of me couldn’t bear the thought of erasing all of the words that had finally flowed out of me.
Those pages were proof that what I felt for Cole was real.
He may have hated that I’d written our story, but I couldn’t deny the truth playing out in every single scene.
Zach and Nico weren’t just characters. They were us—or at least, the version of us I’d hoped was possible if we didn’t let worry take over and, instead, could just be honest with each other.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard, torn between deleting the document or leaving it untouched. If I got rid of it, I would lose the only thing left tying me to Cole, but if I kept it, I’d have a constant reminder of how I single-handedly destroyed something good that I’d started to build.
I was still staring sightlessly at the screen when the apartment door opened. My head jerked up, and I saw Allie step in, her cheeks pink from the cold and her tote bag slung over one shoulder.
I blinked. “What are you doing here? I thought you were spending Christmas with Ryan.”
She dropped her bag next to my luggage, which I still hadn’t unpacked, and kicked off her boots. “Christmas is still two days away, and I couldn’t enjoy the holidays without making sure you were doing okay first.”
I leaned back in my office chair. “We’ve been texting. I told you I was fine.”
“Uh-huh.” She arched a brow and walked toward me. “Because nothing says ‘fine’ like hiding out in your apartment with all the blinds closed, no Christmas lights on, and obsessing over a manuscript about a guy you clearly miss.”
“You’ve been here for five seconds. How do you know I haven’t been doing other things?”
She rolled her eyes. “You act like we haven’t been best friends for years. And also”—she held up her phone—“I’ve been checking your location. You haven’t left the apartment since you got back. Not even to get coffee.”
“That’s what delivery apps are for,” I muttered.
Allie crossed her arms. “You can’t keep brooding in here forever.”
“It’s been three days. Besides, I’m working.” I hooked a thumb toward my laptop.
“Working?” She glanced at the open document on the screen. “How many words have you written today?”
I sighed and dragged a hand over my face. “Fine. Maybe I’m brooding. Creatives are allowed to brood.”
“Don’t pull that tortured artist crap with me,” she shot back. “If you want to sit in your feels for a bit, that’s okay. But you’re not going to do it alone and definitely not without a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.”
“There isn’t any ice cream in the freezer. I already checked.”
She moved back to the entryway and grabbed my coat off the hook by the door. “That’s why we’re going to go out and buy some. I want to do some shopping and check out the window displays. Then we can go get some junk food.”
“I don’t think I’m in the mood for shopping.”
“The fresh air will do you some good.” She dropped the coat on my lap. “Now get a move on.”
There was no point in arguing with her when she was this determined. Thank goodness I’d at least thought to shower this morning.
“Okay.” I let out a breath. “Give me a few minutes to get ready, then we can go.”
I went to my room and changed out of my hoodie and sweatpants and pulled on a black sweater and dark jeans. Near the door, I tugged a beanie low over my head, grabbed my gloves, and threw on my wool overcoat.
“Ready,” I announced as Allie typed away on her phone.
She looked up and smiled. “All right. Let’s go.”
Despite my protests, she dragged me to Fifth Avenue. The sidewalks were crowded, and inside the stores were even worse. It seemed everyone in the tri-state area had waited until the last minute to do their holiday shopping.
A light snow started to fall, and it felt as though the temperature had dropped ten degrees.
“It’s freezing out here.” I shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat and shivered, the cold seeping through the material.
She tugged my sleeve with her free hand. “Just one more stop.”
“Allie, it’s snowing. I really just want to go home.” The whiny tone in my voice was annoying to my own ears, but I didn’t really care.
“But we haven’t gone to Rockefeller Center and taken our picture by the tree.” Her big eyes looked up at me hopefully.
“Do we have to?”
“We’ve taken a picture there every year since we met. In a few years, do you really want to look back and remember why the picture from this year is missing?”
“I hate it when you make sense,” I grumbled.
We trudged through the nearly mile-long walk, and the closer we got, the thicker the crowd of people became.
I pulled my coat tighter and kept my head down as we passed the ice rink filled with skaters.
Christmas carols played from hidden speakers, but instead of bringing a smile to my face, the cheery voices grated on my nerves.
As we approached the giant tree covered with thousands of green, red, and white lights glowing brightly, I lifted my gaze and froze.
The sound of the music faded, and everything around me disappeared.
I had to be imagining things.