CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SIXTEEN YEARS OLD
· · ·
He said I need you so much and then disappeared.
Gives you everything and then acts like he didn’t.
Except this time I couldn’t let it sit.
This time I needed to see him.
· · ·
The next day after school, I go to Cassian’s house.
As I walk up to the door, something stops me.
I’ve never knocked on this door before.
Not once.
We’ve spent eight years next door to each other and I’ve sat on his driveway in the dark and stood on his lawn and looked up at his window — but I’ve never knocked.
He always came to me.
My parents have spoken to his dad here and there, before that it was his mom. Quick conversations at the curb, check-ins when Cassian was always at ours. Brief, polite. My mom doing what my mom does — making sure everyone in orbit felt seen. Taken care of.
But me?
Never.
I hesitate for a second.
Then knock anyway.
Once.
Twice.
· · ·
The door swings open.
His dad stands there.
Tall. Sharp. The kind of face that doesn’t arrange itself into welcome easily. I’ve seen him a handful of times over the years and he’s looked exactly like this every time — like your presence is a mild inconvenience he’s choosing to tolerate.
“Oh. Rowan.” His voice is flat. “What do you want?”
He’s dressed in a suit, like he just got home from work. Attorney. The kind who wins. I’ve always known that about him the way you know things about people you’ve never spoken to directly.
Same size house as ours.
Different life inside it.
Where my parents hang lights for every holiday, his dad turns off the porch light on Halloween so no one knocks.
He doesn’t step back to let me in.
His eyes move past me, briefly, to the street. Then back. Something checking, calculating — like he’s assessing how public this is.
“Sorry, sir,” I say quickly. “I was just looking for Cassian. Is he home?”
He makes a sound.
Then the door slams in my face.
· · ·
I stare at it.
For a second I think I imagined it.
Then I hear footsteps.
Voices, muffled.
Something in the tone of them makes my chest tighten.
Time stretches.
Right as I’m about to leave — the door opens again.
Cassian steps out, already halfway outside before it shuts behind him.
He looks — off.
Tense. Rushed. Something in his eyes that he covers quickly when he sees me.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He whisper-yells.
And just like that I feel like I’ve done something wrong.
Again.
After last night.
After everything.
After I need you so much, Ro .
I thought it was different now.
“I — sorry.” I drop my gaze. “It’s just — I wanted to see if you wanted to come over.”
He drags a hand through his hair, pacing once across the porch.
“No,” he says finally. “I don’t want to hang out, Ro.”
That stings more than I expect.
I need you so much , Ro .
“Please just go home.”
The door closes behind him before I can say anything else.
And I’m left standing there.
Alone.
Again.
· · ·
I don’t remember the walk back.
Just the feeling.
Heavy.
Empty.
And the strange thing is —
I’ve been on that porch before.
Just not like this.
· · ·
We were twelve. Maybe thirteen.
I woke up in the middle of the night to something I couldn’t name. Just a feeling. Wrong.
I went to the window and looked out without knowing why.
And there he was.
Sitting at the end of his driveway in the dark. Just sitting there. Still.
I pulled on shoes and went out without waking my parents.
I didn’t say anything when I got to him.
I’d learned that from him — the not saying anything. I felt like it comforted him just knowing I was there.
I just sat down next to him on the concrete.
He didn’t look at me.
Didn’t tell me to go away.
Just — let me be there.
We sat like that for a long time.
I wasn’t sure, but I think he was crying.
For a while.
Long enough that the sky started doing that thing it does right before it gets light.
He never told me what happened.
I never asked.
But when we finally went back inside, he went to my room.
Not his.
Mine.
I’ve thought about that a lot.
That he could’ve been alone in that house.
That he chose not to be.
· · ·
My mom sees my face the second I walk in.
She doesn’t ask what happened.
She just smiles gently.
“Movie night?” she offers.
I nod.
Talking feels like too much.
· · ·
My parents go all out.
They always do.
The movie room already set — giant blanket across the couch, popcorn, candy, soda. Everything exactly the same as it’s always been.
Something animated starts playing.
And for a little while —
I can breathe again.
My mom leans into me. My dad tosses popcorn into his mouth the way he always does, missing half of it, acting like he didn’t.
“Mom?” I ask quietly as the credits roll.
“Anything, baby.”
I hesitate.
“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”
The TV clicks off immediately.
Both of them turn.
“Why would you say that, Ro?” My mom’s already reaching for me. “You’re perfect.”
I shrug, staring at my hands.
“I went to Cassian’s house today.”
That’s all it takes.
I tell them what happened. His dad. The door. The way Cassian looked at me like I’d shown up somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be.
My mom exhales softly, her hand moving over my hair.
“Don’t you dare feel bad about that man,” she says. “He’s difficult. He’s never liked anyone. Not even us.”
My dad nods.
“We have each other,” my mom continues. “You, me, your dad. His family is smaller now. And that can be hard for one person to carry. Try to imagine how difficult that is.”
I swallow.
“So it’s not me?”
Her expression softens.
“It is absolutely not you.”
She presses a kiss to the top of my head.
And the weight lifts.
Not completely.
But enough.
Cassian never talks about his dad.
About his life.
About any of it.
So maybe — this really isn’t about me.
Maybe it never was.
· · ·
Later that night I’m back in my room.
Alone.
I check my phone.
My stomach drops.
· · ·
A string of texts from twenty minutes ago.
Ro.
Open the window
now
“Shit.”
I rush over, pushing the window up —
And there he is.
Blonde hair catching the moonlight. Breathing a little heavier than usual, like he walked fast or ran or just needed to get here before he changed his mind.
Relief floods through me so fast it almost makes me dizzy.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he says immediately. “My dad is —”
He trails off.
Doesn’t finish.
And I don’t push him.
I should have.
But I don’t.
Because he steps closer — and pulls me into him.
Tight.
Like he needs it.
Like I do.
For a second I forget how to breathe.
Everything else disappears.
The slammed door.
The porch.
The last two weeks.
It’s just him.
He climbs in, dropping onto my bed like he belongs there.
He gestures for me to join him.
I don’t hesitate.
I never do.
This time, when I get under the covers — he pulls me in.
Closer than ever before.
Arms wrapped tight around me.
Like he’s holding on.
Or maybe — like he’s afraid I’ll disappear too.
We don’t talk.
We don’t need to.
We just stay like that.
Tangled together.
Breathing each other’s air.
And for a few hours — everything feels right again.
· · ·
By morning — he’s gone.
Again.
No note.
No message.
Nothing.
I stare at the empty space beside me.
And for the first time —
I wonder if I’m imagining these nights.
If I made them up just to make myself feel better.
· · ·
There’s one I know I didn’t make up.
I was eleven. Some virus that knocked me flat for four days. Fever, chills, the whole thing. My parents took shifts sitting with me.
But at some point in the night I woke up and it was Cassian.
Just — there.
Sitting on the floor next to my bed with his back against the wall, half-asleep himself.
I asked him what he was doing.
He said nothing. Like it was obvious. Like of course he was here.
He stayed until morning.
That’s the thing about him no one else knows.
He can disappear on me — and then do something like that.
And I forget everything.
Every time.
Because nothing about this feels real.
Not anymore.
But that night was real.
He was real.
And somewhere underneath all of this —
I have to believe he still is.