Chapter 30
My body moves before my brain catches up. I hesitate outside the door for a second, the faint sound of her labored breathing making me feel like an intruder. But my protective instinct wins out. I knock softly and try the handle, finding it unlocked. “Lex, I’m coming in.”
When I step inside, she’s slumped against the wall, her knees pulled to her chest. Her face is pale, her hair sticking to her damp forehead. She won’t meet my eyes. I grab a washcloth from beneath the sink, wet it under the tap, and crouch in front of her.
“Hey,” I say softly, pressing the cool cloth to her forehead. She closes her eyes, leaning into it just enough to break me.
“I’m sorry,” she croaks. “I’m so sorry I ruined the night.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” I say gently. Her trembling shoulders and unsteady breathing have me worried that she might be on the verge of something more intense than a panic attack. “Do you feel like you’re going to be sick again?”
She shakes her head, pressing her knees tighter against her chest. “My stomach’s okay, but I need my pills. I feel a headache coming on.”
“Do you have them here?”
“Yes, but I should go back to the cottage.”
“Why? I can take care of you.”
“Thank you, but that’s not your responsibility.”
Her response fucking hurts. I manage to keep my voice steady, though an edge creeps in. “Given that I just told you how I feel, I think we can safely assume I want that responsibility.”
She nods slightly, wrapping her arms around herself. “It wasn’t because you said you love me. I didn’t freak out because of that.”
I wait, giving her the chance to explain. But she doesn’t. “Then what is it?” I ask, desperate for something—anything—that makes sense.
“I cherish the song—your words. I’m not rejecting them or you. Please don’t think that.”
“To be honest, Lex. I don’t know what to think.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to talk to me.”
“I can’t,” she whispers, her voice cracking like porcelain. “I just need to go.”
“You don’t have to do that. If you need space, you can take the bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“I don’t deserve your kindness.”
What the fuck is happening? I focus on what’s tangible. “Let’s get your pills so your headache doesn’t get worse,” I say firmly, standing and offering my hand.
For a moment, she just stares at it, and I can see the conflict in her eyes like she’s not sure if my hand is a lifeline or a threat.
Finally, her fingers close around mine, and I gently pull her up. Once she’s on her feet, she drops my hand, cutting off the contact.
I’m so confused; my head feels scrambled, but I know her too well to push.
In the bathroom, she takes her pills, then clutches the sink as she brushes her teeth.
I do the same, but there’s no easy chatter or laughter between us now.
There’s nothing but tense silence. She taps the excess water off her toothbrush and slides it into her travel case instead of the holder we’ve been sharing.
It’s a small action that feels like a massive shift.
Patience isn’t my strength. But for her, I always find it.
She brings out my better qualities and instincts.
I want to be what she needs. I want to be someone who understands that when she’s overwhelmed, crowding and pushing her won’t help.
I can’t take her reactions personally. That’s the hardest part.
No one wants to hand over their heart only to watch the person they’ve offered it to crumble. It feels like shit, but I’m trying.
She meets my gaze in the mirror, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion and something deeper. “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs again, and I know she means it.
“Please stop apologizing, Lex. It’s not necessary.”
“Of course, it is. I can only imagine how you’re feeling, and I can’t make it any better right now. That’s not fair, and I hate that I’m hurting you.”
The more she says, the less I understand. But seeing to her comes first. “Do you want a heated blanket?” I ask. “I ordered something similar to the cordless one you have. It’s in the closet.”
“You bought me a heated blanket?”
“I know it brings you comfort. I wanted to keep one here in case you needed it.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “You’re always so kind and thoughtful, and I’m being terrible to you.”
“Lex, stop that. I fell in love with you because you’re warm and caring. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not you being terrible.”
She wipes at her cheeks, looking lost, guilty, and fragile. It tears at me to see her like this, but I don’t know how to help when I don’t even know what’s wrong. I get her the blanket, which is already charged, and turn it on. Once she climbs into the bed, I drape it over her. “How’s your head?”
“The meds are kicking in.”
“Good. Try to get some rest.”
She burrows into the blanket’s warm softness, pulling it tightly around her with only her eyes peeking out the top as if warding off the world—and me.
“Do you need anything else before I go?”
“No,” she whispers. “But please don’t sleep on the couch. I’ll feel worse if you do.”
“You don’t have to feel bad—”
“Please, just stay.”
“All right.” I take off my shirt and slide into bed beside her, still wearing my sweatpants. An hour ago, in this same spot, we were in the throes of pleasure. Now we’re in some kind of bizarre and distant hell. I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help myself. “Can I hold you?”
I hear her sniffle before she responds in a small voice, “If you do, I’ll fall apart.”
“If you fall apart, Lex, I’ll catch every piece and put you back together.”
“I know you would,” she whispers, barely audible. “But I just can’t, okay?”
“Okay,” I lie. Nothing about this is okay. She’s so close, inches from me, yet I’ve never felt farther from her. It’s like a wall of reinforced plexiglass has slammed down between us, where I can see her but can’t reach her.
I stare at the ceiling, sleep impossible, as questions churn in my head. What isn’t she telling me?
The night stretches into the early hours, the sound of her uneven breathing the only sign she’s still here. At some point, exhaustion drags me under, but my sleep is restless and full of fragmented dreams. When I wake, I feel the cold emptiness beside me.
“Lexie?” Her name feels too loud in the stillness of the room, and when there’s no response, the hollowness in my chest spreads. I sit up, my heart racing, scanning for any sign of her. But I already know—she’s gone.
Her side of the bed is neatly smoothed, the blanket folded as if she was never there. And then I see it—the silver ring I gave her and a folded piece of paper resting on the pillow. My hands are unsteady as I pick up the note, unfolding it with dread.
Clutching the note in my hand, I reread it once, twice, a third time. The words only add to the storm of confusion. What the hell does she mean by being worthy? And knowing the truth? I feel like she handed me a riddle that only she can solve.
I fumble for my phone and call her, but it goes straight to voicemail.
“Fuck,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my face.
I quickly dress, shoving my legs into my jeans, and slip her ring into my pocket.
I’m determined to put it back where it belongs.
Nothing else is acceptable. I grab my coat and rush to the garage.
Sophia has the Jeep, so I hop on my snowmobile to get to the cottage as fast as possible, praying she’ll still be there.
The ride is a blur. My hands grip the handles, steering through the snow, heedless of the wet cold and wind that I hadn’t dressed for.
When I pull up, my heart drops. The driveway is empty. Her car is gone.
I race up the steps, turn the key in the lock, and push open the door.
The air inside feels untouched. Everything is neat and tidy.
But her puzzle is still on the desk, the center unfinished.
Upstairs, I find some of her clothes still in the closet and drawers.
My entire body sags with relief. I didn’t realize I was holding it together so rigidly,
But the questions still plague me: Why did she leave in the first place? What truth is she referring to? Why is this something she has to do alone? None of it makes sense. Surrounded by her things and lingering scent, I hold on to her promise that she’ll be back.
Pulling out my phone, I try her number again. When I still get her voicemail, I send her a text:
Chaz: I’m here for you, Blue. Whatever you need, say the word. Nothing you tell me is going to change the way I feel. Nothing! I’ll be here waiting to give you back your ring and my heart. I love you. Always.
I stay a while longer in the space she once filled, but soon, the emptiness feels like too much.
The sun is just beginning to rise when I get to the café.
Its pale orange light settles across the horizon, the glow spilling over the snow-dusted street.
Jamar is already there and greets me with a wave.
I nod and thank him for opening. He must sense my mood as he gives me a wide berth.
I start the coffee machines, falling into the familiar rhythm of the morning routine.
The motions ground me, though her absence feels just as big here.
I can see her laughing with my customers or sending me a quick smile over the bustling crowd.
I touch the ring inside my pocket, running my fingers over the ridges . . . and keep going.