Chapter 19
ALEX
I’m so fucked. Completely and utterly fucked.
Emma is in the kitchen, humming off-key as she digs through a drawer, probably still looking for the wine opener she told me she was trying to find twenty minutes ago.
There’s nothing stopping me from walking out the door and pretending none of this ever happened, for both of our sakes.
But I can’t move. My body won’t let me. I stand stupidly in the living room, pretending to admire a damn ceramic cow she has on a bookshelf, like it’s a priceless piece of art instead of the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.
She’s been quiet since the lake. Not cold exactly, just…
distant. She seems to be slowly pulling herself back behind the wall she always builds when things get too real.
I should’ve said something earlier, when we got out of the water, or when she looked at me with those soft eyes and kissed me like we were the only two people left on earth.
But I didn’t. I stayed quiet and let her steer the day into whatever she wanted it to be.
Now, I’m wondering if I made a mistake.
She walks in with two glasses of red wine and a small, crooked smile that used to knock the wind out of me when we were teenagers.
“Could only find the screw-top stuff,” she says, setting one glass down and handing me the other. “Hope your palate can handle the sophistication.”
I snort. “Please. I’ve seen you drink boxed wine straight from the spout.”
Her smile widens. “It was my birthday and Jake had just broken up with me… because of you, if I remember correctly.”
I raise a brow, wanting to tell her what actually happened with Jake all those years ago, but choosing to let her continue to make me the bad guy, if that’s what it takes to protect her. I also just want to change the subject and never think about that idiot ever again.
“You were crying and watching The Notebook.”
“Still counts.”
We fall into silence again, and I hate it. I hate how comfortable and easy it is to be like this with her. It's as if we didn’t spend a decade avoiding each other and pretending like we didn’t care. And now we’re supposed to do what exactly? Move on and pretend nothing happened? Unlikely.
It feels too good to be true. I wouldn’t be surprised if I wake up any second and this all will have been just a dream.
Emma curls into the corner of the couch, her bare legs tucked under her, the hem of her pajama shorts riding up, leaving little to the imagination. She obviously hasn’t taken my advice on actual pants since learning how to start her own fire in the furnace.
She takes a sip of wine and stares at the muted TV screen, pretending to be interested in a rerun of the show Chopped.
I watch her for a long moment. The slope of her neck.
The small wrinkle between her brows like she’s overthinking something in that head of hers.
The way her fingers tap the wine glass, nervous energy bleeding out of her in the tiniest ways.
I can’t take it anymore.
“I think we should talk,” I blurt out.
She freezes, then exhales through her nose. “Can we not do this tonight?” The words come out tight in her throat.
“Em—”
“Alex,” she cuts in sharply, eyes finally meeting mine. “Just… please. Not tonight. I’m tired. Can’t we have one damn day where we don’t ruin it by digging everything up again?”
The frustration in her tone sparks something in me. I set my glass down harder than I should on the coffee table. “Why are you doing this?”
She blinks. “Doing what?”
“This,” I snap. “You’re shut down. Every time something gets too close to being real, you pull away.”
Her expression turns stormy. “I’m the one running?”
“You left,” I say louder now, heart hammering against my ribs. “You were the one who packed your bags and didn’t look back. I woke up the day after our conversation and you were just… gone.”
Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
I push forward. “I waited for you to say goodbye at least. Hell, I waited for a text, Emma. Or a call. Anything.”
“You knew why I left,” she says quietly, almost to herself.
“Did I?” I shake my head. “Because all I got was you yelling at me for five minutes when I questioned your reasoning and then nothing but silence.”
“I didn’t owe you an explanation.”
The words hit like a punch. I stare at her, stunned. “Wow.”
“I didn’t mean—” She sighs, covering her face. “I… I needed to get out of here. Everything reminded me of Mom. And you. And what we could’ve been. And I couldn’t breathe, Alex.”
I clench my fists. “So instead of talking to me about it, you vanished like none of it mattered. That was your solution?”
“It did matter,” she says, her voice cracking. “That’s why I had to leave.”
Silence falls between us, hot and dense. The air feels too heavy in my lungs.
I stand. “Maybe I should go.”
I don’t think she’s going to fight me about it at first. Her eyes are glassy, the wine forgotten on the table. She looks small on the couch, like she’s been slowly shrinking under the weight of everything she won’t say. Then, as I’m about to turn toward the door, she speaks.
“Don’t.”
I stop.
“Don’t go,” she says softly, her eyes locked on mine. “Please.”
I hesitate, every muscle in my body feels pulled tight, but I find myself walking back and sitting beside her. This is the first time she hasn’t told me to leave, or let me, willingly. It seems like she might be trying to make an effort and I appreciate it more than she’ll ever know.
We don’t touch or even speak for a while. The only sound is the low hum of the TV and the ticking of an old clock in the hallway. Finally, she whispers, “I used to think about it.”
I glance over at her. “About what?”
She pulls her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them.
Her voice comes out more hushed like she’s telling me a secret I shouldn’t know and is scared someone will overhear.
“The future. You and me. Here.” She looks around the room like she’s seeing something else entirely.
“I used to picture fixing up this yellow house. Us repainting the porch. Putting up that stupid swing I always talked about. Feeding the chickens. Herding goats. Maybe three or four wild little kids running around with too much energy and your hazel eyes.”
My chest aches as she continues.
“I used to imagine all of it so clearly it felt real,” she adds. “And then I would remember that you hated me.”
“I never hated you,” I clarify immediately.
She laughs, bitter and quiet. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“I was angry.” I admit. “You hurt me. But that doesn’t mean I ever stopped caring about you.”
She turns to look at me, eyes shining with built up tears that want to fall out but she won’t let them. “I always assumed you would’ve stopped after a while. I wanted to reach out multiple times when I was in New York, but I figured you had moved on or just wouldn’t want anything to do with me.
“That’s not true. And deep down somewhere, you know that I would’ve dropped everything for you. I still would.”
I reach out and run a hand through her hair, gently messaging her scalp the way I used to when she couldn’t sleep. Her eyes flutter closed almost immediately.
She exhales slowly, moving closer as her body melts into mine. “This is dangerous,” she murmurs. “Pretending.”
“I know.”
“But it feels nice, doesn’t it?”
I kiss the top of her head. “Yeah. It really does.”
Her breathing evens out after that and I realize she’s already fallen asleep on my chest, hand curled lightly into my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear in the night. I debate taking her to the bed but decide not to in fear of waking her up.
So instead, I hold her tighter and continue watching TV until the weight of everything presses down on me and I fall asleep next to her.
I’m not sure how many more nights like this we’ll get before reality hits and something goes wrong, but I’ll take whatever she’ll give me.