Chapter 24
JULES
My pulse hammers as I push through the side door, bouquet tucked against my ribs. Cool air slides over my skin, sharp with cut grass and something honest.
He waits under the willow, hands in his pockets, tie loosened. Heavy, not angry. Braced.
He nods at the bouquet. “Nice catch.”
I smile faintly. “This thing nearly took out the chandelier.”
We almost laugh. It dies before it can live.
“I’ve felt you somewhere else all weekend,” Evan says, anything but casual. “I didn’t want to bring it up in front of everyone.”
“Somewhere else?” The words sharpen before I can stop them. “You were supposed to be here, Evan. You’re the one who showed up at the end of the weekend.”
Even as I say it, I hear how small it sounds. Another tally in a fight that isn’t really about schedules or timing.
He exhales, jaw tight. “You know how demanding work’s been.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not like I’ve been sitting around waiting for you,” I say, heat creeping up my neck. “I’ve been here, trying to hold it together. Old friends. Old memories.”
I glance around, swallowing hard. “I haven’t been back here in ten years. Everywhere I look, there’s something I thought I’d outgrown. It’s a lot.”
He studies me, searching. “I get that. But it feels like your mind’s somewhere else.”
“Well, it’s my best friend’s wedding. I’m trying to be present for her.”
Even though I know that’s not what he means. It’s polite. It’s avoidant. The kind of thing you say when you don’t know what else to offer.
Wind stirs the willow branches. I let it move through me.
And before I can stop myself, the truth starts pushing its way out.
“You’re not wrong to question me.” The words scrape out raw. “This weekend… it’s made me see things I haven’t been able to admit.”
I look down, then back at him. “We didn’t choose each other because it was sparks and magic. We chose each other because it was safe. Because it was easier than being alone.”
The bouquet trembles in my hands.
Silence stretches. Shadows shift across his face. His mouth opens like he might speak, but nothing comes. Just a low sound, half grunt, half sigh. His eyes search mine, pleading for a version of the truth that doesn’t hurt as much.
Inside, the band slides into a slow song, the sound muffled and sweet. A bitter contrast to our moment.
“I care about you,” I whisper. “I always will. It just feels too much like autopilot now. And I can’t live the rest of my life half-asleep.”
His eyes soften, wrecked and kind. “I care about you too,” he says quietly. “But what do you mean half-asleep? We’re not on autopilot, Jules. We’ve been building something. We’ll adapt. This is the kind of test that makes us stronger.”
For a moment, I almost let myself believe him. It would be easier to pretend. To take comfort in the shape of what we’ve built and call it enough.
All the memories flood in.
Late-night calls between Evanston and the city. The weight of his voice in my ear as trains screeched past. Coffee cooling on El platforms. Weekends traded back and forth. His maps of coffee routes for me. My midnight taco runs for him. Tiny rituals that once felt like love.
The ache blooms before I can stop it.
My body wants to lean toward what’s familiar, but my gut knows better.
“I don’t know, Evan,” I whisper. The weight of the bouquet suddenly exhausting.
He steps closer, voice low, desperate to bridge the gap. “You don’t know what, Jules? Don’t tell me we’re not even going to try. We can talk this through.”
“We’ve tried,” I say. “So hard. But waiting is how we got here. We kept putting it off, ignoring the truth. And now I can’t anymore. I just can’t.”
“Jules…” His voice falters, soft but raw.
I take a breath. “I can’t. We can’t. It just won’t work.”
He nods once, like he already knew this was where it would end. “I think I always knew you were one step out the door,” he says quietly. “I just thought we’d find our way back.”
“I was all in,” I say softly. “You had everything I could give. But it wasn’t all of me. And that’s not fair to either of us.”
He scrunches his brows, staring at the grass between our feet. “I really thought we’d make it.”
He glances toward the tent. I stare at the ribbon biting into my palm. Somewhere inside, a glass clinks.
He lifts his head. “Jules… seriously. Tell me it isn’t over tonight. Tell me we’ll talk.”
Waiting was always our talent. Delayed trains. Delayed answers. Delayed truth.
“I came all this way, Jules. Doesn’t that mean something?” His voice is small. Lost.
I don’t answer.
His jaw tightens. “And Calvin… I saw the way you looked at him. Am I supposed to believe it was nothing?”
“This isn’t about Calvin,” I say, sharper than I mean to. “Nothing happened. We barely even spoke. It’s not like that. I just need to find who I am again. That’s all.”
The words hang there, heavy between us. True. Honest. Hurtful, but needed.
Silence lingers.
“Well.” My voice comes out soft, almost breaking. “I better get inside, Evan. I’m sorry. I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”
He opens his arms slightly, uncertain. “Can I just…?”
I hesitate, then nod. Because a small kindness feels better than leaving him with nothing.
I step forward, and we fold into each other. The warmth is gentle, familiar, but it doesn’t reach the places it used to. It flickers, then fades. The last glow before a flame goes out.
His cologne is clean, too familiar. My cheek against his shoulder feels like history, not home.
When we let go, it’s slow. Like we’re closing the book after the final chapter.
“You’ll be okay,” he says.
A short breath. A moment passes.
“Thank you, Evan.” My voice is soft, but sure. “So will you.”
He almost smiles. Then he turns. First his body, then his eyes. His head dips as he starts down the gravel path.
Each step grows fainter, swallowed by the dark.
A car door shuts somewhere beyond the trees.
Gravel sputters. Then silence.
The night sounds return. The crickets. The music. The laughter.
I walk to the fence overlooking the field and breathe. The ache is still there. But underneath it, something inside me finally loosens. The night feels bigger now.
And for the first time in years, I’m not sure what comes next.
Only that I can’t keep living halfway inside my own life.