Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Dustin
By the time evening falls, the sky is a breathtaking canvas of pink and orange, the sun sinking below the horizon with a grace that feels deliberate, as if the world is holding its breath for what’s to come.
The restaurant by the lake is elegant in a quiet, unassuming way. Inside, the glow of candles flickers gently on the tables, the low hum of conversation blending seamlessly with the serene atmosphere, like the world is conspiring to give us this moment.
And then there’s her—Halsey. She’s sitting across from me in a short dress that clings in all the right places, her long legs crossed beneath the table, heels catching the candlelight in a subtle, sensual glint.
Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, framing her face with an effortless beauty that makes my breath hitch.
She’s radiant, almost too perfect in the dim light, and all I can think about is how utterly fuckable she looks.
But I push the thought aside, because tonight isn’t about that.
Tonight is about fixing the suffocating silence between us, breaking down the walls we’ve been carefully building brick by brick.
Opening up and . . . how did my therapist put it?
Oh yeah, “vulnerable communication,” the thing I’m worst at.
We settle at a table near the window, the soft glow of the candlelight casting warm shadows across our faces, giving everything an intimate feel, as if we’re the only ones in the room.
Santos leans back in his chair, his usual tension softened, a hint of his old confidence returning as he smiles at her.
There’s a quiet ease in him tonight, a slight shift, like he’s letting go—just a little.
“So, we need to be honest about how we feel. About what we want.” My therapist would be proud of me. Not only did I start the conversation, I’m setting expectations. I swallow, my voice a little steadier now. “How am I supposed to follow your lead if no one’s giving me a lead?”
Halsey looks up, her hazel eyes meeting mine, and in the dim candlelight, the gold flecks in her irises seem to shimmer, catching the light in a way that makes them almost glow.
She’s beautiful in this moment, but there’s something deeper in her gaze—a vulnerability that pulls me in, makes me want to protect her, even though I know she doesn’t need it.
“I want us to find a way back to each other,” she says softly. “But I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” Santos frowns.
“You two don’t see it, but you’re an established couple,” Halsey says, her voice trembling slightly. “A little fucked up, sure, but for years it’s been you two. There’s a dynamic already in place, and me . . . I feel like an outsider. Do I even belong here?”
The rawness of her words hangs in the air, and I can see the way her hands tremble slightly on the table.
Santos reaches across, his hand hovering just above hers, hesitant, before finally taking it in his own.
He lifts her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her skin, and for a moment, the tension seems to ease.
“Baby,” he says, his voice low and full of warmth, “you’ve been a part of this since the beginning.
Even when you weren’t with us, you are what has kept us together for so long.
Your memory, thinking what would Halsey do, how would she fix this?
It’s always about thinking if Halsey would approve and if Halsey would be happy if we pull apart forever. ”
I nod in agreement, leaning back slightly. “That, and sex,” I add with a slight smirk. “Sometimes it’s very fucked-up sex, if I’m being honest. We always believed you were there with us, in some way or another.”
She considers this, her gaze drifting to the serene expanse of the lake outside. “No wonder we need therapy. Here I am afraid, and you two are just surviving. This can’t go anywhere if we’re continuously in survival mode.”
Before Santos can respond, the waiter approaches. He offers a polite smile, breaking the tension in the air, and we exchange a glance, knowing this brief interruption is both a relief and a delay.
“Are you ready to order?” he asks, flipping open his notepad.
Halsey glances at the menu but doesn’t seem to really see it. “I’ll have the salmon,” she says quietly, handing over the menu. Santos orders a steak, and I go for the pasta, but my mind isn’t on the food. It’s on her—on what she’s about to say.
As soon as the waiter leaves, Halsey draws in a shaky breath, her eyes back on us, and the vulnerability is still there, but so is something else—fear.
“But what if it doesn’t work now that I’m here?
” she asks, her voice trembling just enough to cut through the calm we’d been trying so hard to create.
The question lingers between us, sharp and raw, peeling back the thin layer of stability we’ve been holding on to.
The tension in the air grows heavy and suffocating.
“I’m not some figment of your imagination that’s going to give you the answer—or tell you to mess with your mind while you’re messing with each other. ”
Her words hit like a blow to the chest, and for a second, none of us move. None of us breathe. It’s the kind of brutal honesty we’ve been dancing around for weeks, the kind we’ve been too scared to say out loud.
“No, you’re real,” Santos says, his voice thick with emotion, cracking slightly. “Thank fuck this version of you is real. And you’re still the brightest star among us.”
I glance at him, watching the way his eyes soften when he looks at her, the way he’s not just saying the words but believing them, clinging to them like they’re the only truth that matters.
And maybe they are. Haven’t I been saying she’s the glue we’ve needed, the one that binds us, even if we’ve spent so much time pretending we could be fine without her? That she’s better without us?
Halsey lifts her gaze, something shifting in her expression. It’s not hope, not yet, but there’s a quiet resolve there, like she’s ready to take the leap, even if she’s not sure what waits on the other side. “Okay,” she says softly, her voice steadying. “Let’s try.”
That one simple sentence—let’s try—feels like it holds everything we’ve been too afraid to ask for. Relief washes over me, cautious but real. It’s like we’re standing on the edge of a cliff, but instead of falling, we’re leaning into the wind, daring to believe it might catch us.
Santos offers a tentative smile, the kind that’s not fully formed but still there, fragile yet hopeful. “One day at a time?”
One day at a time. My fucking life has been reduced to that mantra, and it grates at me.
Every morning, I wake up telling myself I just need to survive the next twenty-four hours.
That I need to face the therapy sessions that peel back the layers I’ve kept hidden for years, that I need to push through the grief I’ve been avoiding since I was a kid.
One day at a time means waking up and not knowing whether I’ll fall apart by noon or hold it together until midnight. It means forcing myself to believe that time will heal everything, even when it feels like it’s only dragging me deeper into the mess.
And here we are again, applying that same fragile strategy to us. To this.
One day at a time—because that’s all I’ve got.
That’s all we have. We don’t have the luxury of knowing where this will go or if we’ll even make it out of this in one piece.
There are too many broken parts between us, too much we haven’t dealt with.
But if we don’t try, we’ll never know if we could be whole again.
“Yeah,” I say finally, my voice low. “One day at a time.”
By the time we leave the restaurant, the stars have emerged, their reflections dancing on the surface of the lake. We walk slowly along the shoreline back toward the house, the cool night air filled with the soothing sounds of water lapping gently against the shore.
At the front door, we pause. There’s a lingering hesitation, as if none of us want the evening to end.
“Thank you for tonight,” Halsey says softly, her voice barely more than a whisper as she looks out at the stars. The glow from the sky reflects in her eyes, making them seem even brighter. “I needed this.”
Santos shifts beside me, adjusting his weight on his crutches, his face softening into a small, genuine smile. “Me too,” he says, exhaling slowly, like the tension he’s been holding for days is finally starting to slip away. “It’s good to feel . . . normal again.”
I catch the way his grip on the crutches has loosened, the way his shoulders are no longer tense.
He’s standing a little taller, even if he still leans on the crutches for balance.
Everything we’ve been through feels a little easier in this moment, like the stars above are offering us a brief sense of peace.
I smile, nodding. “It’s a start.” The words feel bigger than they sound—like a promise, or maybe just hope. It’s not perfect, but it’s something, and right now, that’s enough.
Santos gives me a look, one that says more than words could. There’s something about being here, under this sky, surrounded by each other, that makes the distance between us feel smaller. Even with the pain and uncertainty, it feels like we’re beginning to find our way again.
We stand there a little longer, none of us in a hurry to leave the warmth of the moment or the quiet reassurance of the stars above.
We step inside, the warmth of the house wrapping around us like a blanket, soft and comforting after the long, tense evening.
I notice Halsey lingering by the window, her gaze lifted toward the sky. The night has fully settled now, and through the enormous floor-to-ceiling glass, the stars are beginning to show themselves, brilliant and endless.
The sky is so clear here that it feels like you can reach out and touch them.
Orion’s belt shines brightest, the familiar three stars lined up perfectly, leading to the rest of the constellation.
The Big Dipper is also clear, its shape unmistakable as it hangs over the treetops, and to the west, Cassiopeia’s elegant, winding ‘W’ sparkles above the lake.
She turns toward us, her eyes still on the stars, her voice soft but certain. “Look at them,” she says, her hand gently gesturing toward the window. “The stars . . . they’re all aligned tonight. It’s like they’re reminding us . . . that this makes sense. Us.”
Her words hang in the air, and I follow her gaze. She’s right. There’s something about the way the stars have aligned tonight, something that feels impossibly perfect, as if the universe itself is nudging us forward, telling us that maybe, just maybe, this is where we’re supposed to be. Together.
“Orion, Cassiopeia, the Big Dipper . . .” she lists them quietly, almost to herself. “It’s like . . . they’re watching over us.”
I step closer, looking up at the same stars she’s seeing, and for the first time in a while, I feel a sense of calm wash over me.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe this is the moment the universe has been pushing us toward all along—through the chaos, the confusion, the heartbreak.
The stars have been there the whole time, aligning slowly, waiting for us to notice.
“Feels like a sign,” I murmur, half to myself. Santos stands beside me, his eyes flicking toward the sky too, and for a moment, we’re all just . . . still. Standing there, bathed in the quiet light of the stars, it feels like everything is finally starting to make sense.
“Yeah,” Santos says softly, his voice carrying that same quiet wonder. “Maybe it is.”
He pauses, his eyes still fixed on the stars. “Come to my room,” Santos mutters. “You can see them better from there. The stars . . . we can watch them from my bed. And it’s big enough for the three of us.”
“Like when we were kids, and we’d sneak into her room at night so she wouldn’t be alone?” I ask because that was the excuse, but sometimes it was me who needed the other two.
Halsey glances at me and then at him, her expression softening in the moonlight, and for a moment, it feels like the universe holds its breath.
She nods, a small, almost imperceptible gesture, but it feels like the stars themselves are approving, nudging us all toward something we’ve been too scared to fully embrace.
Without a word, we follow.