Chapter 13
thirteen
Five Days Later
God, I miss her.
The day starts the same way it has all week. Coffee first. I make it strong because she says it helps clear her head, even if I don’t fully buy into it.
She drinks half, leaves the rest, wanders into the living room and pulls her phone out even though she’s supposed to limit screen time. I don’t say anything.
It’s been a tense five days since Hope stonewalled me. She and I have barely spoken, let alone addressed our conversation.
We’re not fighting, no.
Instead, we tiptoe around each other with pleasant smiles and polite words.
The effortless chats and laughter are gone. There’s been no physical affection. No stolen kisses.
No sex.
All the good stuff has been replaced by a strained cordiality, and it’s wearing me thin.
Though I try not to show it, I’m a mess.
I open my laptop on the table. Emails are stacking up, deadlines inch closer, and I respond to what I have to while keeping part of my attention on Hope. Tracking her movements without making it obvious.
Perhaps I should go back to the office and work.
Instead I catch myself staring at her as she opens cabinets, grabs a glass of water, and sits down in the spot she’s claimed on the couch. She taps away at her phone, grinning as she gets a response.
I look away when she glances up, not fast enough to pretend I wasn’t doing it.
For fuck’s sake, I might as well admit it. My brain’s stuck on a worry loop. She’s actively moving on with her life.
Don’t get me wrong, her steps toward independence are exactly what she deserves. I’m happy she’s piecing her life back together.
I never wanted her to be a caged bird.
I’m in love with her, though. I want to be along for this part of her journey and I’m being iced out ever since she got the green light from her neurologist to start working again, with conditions, of course.
So yeah, I’m proud but also panicked of becoming irrelevant in Hope’s colorful world.
Left in the dust.
Yesterday she told me Zane’s wife, Fiona, offered her a gig as a host at her fine-dining restaurant, Gus. It’s perfect, really. She’ll earn some money in the soothing atmosphere of a high-end establishment and won’t be subjected to The Mission’s sensory overload as a bartender.
Tonight’s her first shift.
An hour later, as Hope’s about to head out, looking gorgeous in a black, fitted dress, I muster up a weak, “You look beautiful. Good luck tonight.”
God. My attempt at normalcy is so forced. Even to my ears.
She pauses. “Thanks, Alek. I… Do you think I’ll be okay? It’s only a couple hours to start.”
Hope wrings her hands, clearly anxious. I hate she doubts herself.
“Absolutely.” I paste on a smile. “You’re gonna be great. Fiona is lucky to have you.”
Her grateful smile permeates her entire being and she visibly relaxes.
It occurs to me the distance between us is as much my doing as hers.
“I’ll see you later?” She sounds almost hopeful as she reaches for the door.
My heart lightens a bit. “Yeah, see you later. Sure you don’t need a ride?”
“No, my Uber’s here.”
After Hope’s gone, the silence in the apartment is deafening. I can’t imagine living without her ever again.
I’m half-expecting her to tell me she’s moving out. The past few mornings, I’ve woken up to find she’s turned fully away from me. She rejected me last night when I offered to go down on her, claiming she was still on her period.
I don’t want to make anything bigger than it already is, but there’s no evidence of discarded feminine products in the bathroom. I can’t help but think she doesn’t want to have sex with me again.
A week ago, she couldn’t get enough and neither could I. The best part of my day was when I’d burrow my cock into her delicious, sweet heat and we’d both achieve nirvana every single time.
Now, I’m painfully hard and I have no choice but to jack myself off at the memory of our last time together when she sucked me off as I ate her out at the same time. Another first for me.
I make a mess and clean myself up. Find myself on the verge of tears.
I’m losing her. There’s no question in my mind. Hope’s pulling away to help lessen the blow.
Needing someone to talk to, I dial my dad and let it all spill out.
“Alek,” Dad finally interrupts my rant. “You’ve got to remember, healing happens in layers. Hope needs to return to her own definition of normal. Whether you’re her friend or her significant other, your job is to always be her anchor, not her chain.”
“What if she moves on? Realizes she doesn’t want to be with me?”
There’s a long pause before my dad speaks. “Son, relationships aren’t static. They’re tested, stretched, reshaped. You’re in your own head. She’s your first love. If you survive this? You’re set for the long haul.”
“If we don’t?” I pinch the bridge of my nose with my fingers, trying not to cry.
His voice is soothing. “I’ll help you pick up the pieces and move on.”
Dad’s words echo in my mind.
I sit on the couch where she usually sits and stare across the room. My phone buzzes with work messages. I answer a few, ignore more. No texts or calls from Hope.
My thoughts circle one idea I don’t want acknowledge. She doesn’t need me.
Knowing this doesn’t make it easier.
I decide to straighten things up, wipe an already-clean counter, open the fridge and close it again. None of my efforts do anything to quell my spinning mind.
Hope returns three hours later. I hear the lock turn and my entire body relaxes before I even see her.
“How was it?” I try to keep my voice level.
She drops her bag and leans back against the door for a second. “Good. Busy. A little overwhelming.”
She pushes off and moves into the room, brushing close enough for me to notice, not close enough to read into.
“I’m glad.” I nod.
We stand there for a second, both waiting for the next part of the conversation to show up.
It doesn’t.
Eventually, we end up on the couch with Chinese takeout between us. She eats more tonight than she has in a few days, which I register but don’t comment on.
God, I want to kiss her. It takes every ounce of willpower not to reach for her, but my hands stay to themselves. I can’t bear another rejection. Too humiliating.
She glances at me a few times like she’s about to say something, then looks away again. “You’re being weird.”
“I’m trying not to be.”
“It’s not working.”
I don’t argue. She isn’t wrong.
“I miss you,” she admits after a minute. Quiet enough I almost think I imagined it.
I turn my head. “I’m here.”
“I know.” She stays where she is, surveying me as if she’s trying to figure out where I fit now.
I don’t have an answer for her so I keep quiet.
Once we finish eating, I take the containers to the sink, rinse them out, set them aside. When I turn back, she’s stretched along the back of the couch, eyes on me. I walk over and sit down at the opposite end, leaving space.
I don’t know what she’s comfortable with.
“Alek. You don’t have to sit so far away.” She blows out a frustrated breath.
I try not to sound pathetic and fail. “I wasn’t sure.”
She shifts, closing part of the distance. Not all of it. Enough.
I move closer too until our shoulders brush against each other.
My hand stays on my knee. I don’t reach for her hand. She doesn’t reach for mine either. The quiet settles heavier this time, but not necessarily uncomfortable.
More aware. More deliberate.
At some point, she leans her head back and closes her eyes. I don’t know where I stand. I have no idea what comes next.
One thing is clear, I can’t go back to a version of my life where she isn’t in it. However she’ll have me.
I let out a slow breath and lean back into the couch, keeping the space between us instead of testing it. Her hand shifts slightly, resting closer to mine than it was a minute ago. Not touching. Definitely close enough I could close the gap if I moved a hair.
I don’t. I stay where I am and let the moment hold without trying to shape it into something else. I’m terrified to break whatever balance we’ve found.
I pray, on the other side of this struggle, Hope and I will have a stronger, deeper bond.
In the meantime, I’ll take my dad’s advice.
Give her time.