Chapter 17
CARA
Iwatch from the edge of the parking lot, morning light too sharp for the mess in front of me.
Jules storms off across the grass, arms stiff, shoulders hunched like she’s holding in a scream. Calvin sinks onto the bleachers, hands limp between his knees. The way he folds inward makes my heart ache. Like the whole bridge finally gave out.
I don’t move. Don’t breathe.
This isn’t a problem I can fix with a checklist. Or a playlist. Or perfectly arranged centerpieces. This is heartbreak, and I’ve never felt more useless.
Sneakers scuff the gravel behind me.
“Hey.” Riot’s voice is low, sheepish. He holds out the ring box like a peace offering. “Was in the gym bag all along.”
I close my eyes. Too late. The kind of too late you don’t come back from. I should be furious, but I’m just tired.
“Did you see her?” he asks, scanning the edge of the field.
I nod toward the far side, where Jules vanished a minute ago. “She needs space.”
Riot follows my gaze and spots Calvin, slumped alone on the bleachers. Shoulders hunched, elbows on his knees, like he’s trying not to fall apart in public.
“Man. That’s rough.” Riot winces. “I just panicked. Didn’t think losing the ring would blow things up like this.”
I exhale, quiet and slow. “I didn’t mean for all this,” I admit under my breath. “I just thought… maybe they needed a push.”
We stand in the silence that follows. Neither of us fixing anything, for once.
“You think I should go after her?” Riot asks, already looking ready to sprint.
“And say what?” I glance back at him. “That everything’s magically fine?”
I shake my head. “No. Let her come back when she’s ready. And Calvin… he’ll make it through, too.”
I pause as Riot settles. “Maybe this is the only way they finally get honest.”
Riot glances toward the field again, like every instinct in him still says go.
I loop an arm around his side, a quick tired hug. “Come on. Let’s return that ring and pretend we knew what we were doing the whole time.”
We walk slowly toward the car, the sun sharp on our backs.
I glance back. The field is empty except for Calvin’s silhouette, hunched and defeated.
Some things aren’t meant to be fixed.
They’re meant to be felt.
Maybe that’s what this is.