Chapter Twenty-Six
Hayden
One More Light
Linkin Park
The apartment has felt wrong since she walked out of my bedroom. It’s too quiet, too clean, and so fucking empty.
I stand in the middle of my kitchen Monday morning staring at the coffee maker for a solid thirty seconds before realizing I already made coffee ten minutes ago. Excellent. Mental stability seems to be going well. The mug I pulled out of the cabinet still sits untouched on the counter.
Everywhere I look, there’s evidence of Vanessa.
Her favorite tea shoved beside my coffee grounds in the cabinet.
A hair tie around the base of the lamp beside my bed.
The toothbrush she uses when she stays, still on the bathroom counter.
Her cream sweater, draped over the chair in my bedroom, forgotten after she left it here last weekend.
My chest tightens in pain at the sight of it. I drag one hand roughly over the stubble lining my face before turning away from the chair to stare out the large window into nothingness.
Space. It’s all she asked for. After she confessed she was in love with me. Which means I need to give it to her. Even if every instinct I have is screaming at me to get in my car and go to her. It’s only been twenty-four hours, but the hours feel more like days.
I don’t go to the studio. Instead, I pace a steady rhythm, back and forth, back and forth, across the span of my living room. By noon, I’ve typed out six different texts to her, and deleted every single one.
I miss you.
Deleted.
Please come back.
Deleted.
I understand now.
Deleted.
You are not a secret.
Deleted.
Forgive me.
Deleted
I love you.
Deleted.
None of them feel right and I know not a single one of them is fair. Because Vanessa didn’t leave to punish me. She left because I hurt her. Even though it was the last thing I ever meant to do to her. And somehow that realization feels so much worse.
By Monday evening, I’ve managed to somehow still not text her. Luc calls once around seven. I let it ring until it goes to voicemail. He doesn’t leave a message.
Mikey sends a text asking if I’m dead. I stare at it for a long second before finally responding.
Not yet.
His typing bubble appears immediately.
Dude, don’t say shit like that. Want me to come over?
My reply is instant.
No.
I look around the apartment again. At the silence.
At the absence of her. The unbearable stillness where Vanessa had somehow already woven herself into every corner of my life without me noticing exactly when it happened.
Christ. I silence my phone and spend the rest of the night sitting alone on my couch listening to records without hearing a single song.
Tuesday is worse. Because now the shock has worn off and there’s an aching I’m not familiar enough with to know what to do with it. I force myself into the studio in the afternoon, and steel myself for what I’m sure is about to rain down on me.
I’ve never missed a session before. Ever. And honestly, at this point, I just don’t particularly care what the hell anyone thinks.
The second I walk inside, conversation dies. Not in a dramatic way, but enough that it’s noticeable. Dean looks up first from where he’s sprawled across the couch with a guitar in his lap.
“Well,” he drawls, “nice of you to show the fuck up.”
On any other day, I’d tell him to go fuck himself. Today I just toss my coat over a chair and reach for my bass. That alone seems to set off alarm bells to everyone.
Mikey lowers the cup in his hand. “Oh no.”
“What?” I grunt.
“You didn’t insult Dean.”
“Something must be seriously wrong,” Mikey summarizes, angling his head at me as he stares in my direction.
Sadie appears from the small kitchen area carrying a protein bar and frowns when her gaze lands on me. “You, okay?”
“No.” The honesty slips out before I can stop it.
Silence descends around the room. Not awkward silence. Concerned silence. And somehow that feels worse.
Luc watches me without a word from across the room for another long second before nodding once toward the recording booth and breaks the strained silence. “Let’s run Angel’s Curse.”
We try. Christ, I try. I really do. But my head isn’t in it. I miss notes. Come in half a beat late twice. Play too aggressive during one section hard enough that Dean stops mid-song and stares in disappointment at me.
“Okay,” he chuffs. “Either tell us what happened or you need to step the fuck off.”
I drop my head, my chin resting against my chest. Exhaustion presses behind my eyes like a migraine. “She left.”
Nobody speaks for two full seconds. Then, “Oh,” from Sadie. And somehow that tiny word nearly breaks me in half. Because now it’s real.
Luc walks out from behind the mic, his brow furrowing. “Take five everyone, and give us the room.”
Nobody argues. I set my bass in its stand before rubbing both hands over my face. God, I’m so tired. When did I get so damn tired?
Luc waits until the others disappear before speaking again. “You wanna talk about it?”
I laugh once without humor. “Do I ever want to talk about it?”
“Fair.” He doesn’t push me for more. That’s always been the thing about Luc. He waits people out instead of cornering them. I watch as he grabs two beers out of the fridge, opens both and then hands me one.
“She said I only know how to love her behind closed doors,” I blurt out in shame.
Luc listens, nods, but still doesn’t speak.
“I thought I was protecting what we had.” My throat tightens around the words. “Turns out I was hiding her inside it.”
Silence stretches between us, Luc blowing out a small exhale before speaking. “You love people like losing them is inevitable.”
The words hit hard enough I physically flinch. Because fuck, he’s right, and Emily flashes through my head. Six years old. Dark curls. Blood on snow. I look away, pressing my eyes closed against the memory.
Luc notices, of course he notices. “I’m not saying you did anything wrong.” He takes a sip of his beer. “I know you, Hayden. And I know why you hold on so tight.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
“No.” Luc sits on a stool across from me. “But maybe you could try to help her understand why, instead of just assuming she knows.”
Christ, he has a point. Because Vanessa looked at me with tears in her eyes and still told me she loved me. Which means I hurt her while trying to love her. I can do better. She deserves better.
“I don’t think she wants perfection from you,” Luc offers after another moment. “I think she just wants to stand beside you in the daylight.”
Something painful twists in my chest. Because in that instant I realize Vanessa never asked me for less intimacy, she asked me for more life. And somewhere along the way, I confused the two.
Luc studies me for another second before grabbing his coat from the back of a chair. “Let’s get the guys and go to Paddy’s.”
“I’m not really in the mood.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion.”
A tired laugh escapes me despite myself. There he is. The leader of the band. Taking charge in the quiet way he does when it’s needed. Luc waits while I grab my coat, and twenty minutes later we’re all sitting around our regular table.
The bartender doesn’t bother asking what we want. He brings a bottle of the good whiskey, four shot glasses and a bucket full of beers.
Luc pours each of us a shot and lifts his glass between us. “To emotional devastation.”
I stare at him, not amused in the least, yet somehow a smile tugs one corner of my mouth up.
He shrugs. “You’re not fun enough right now for inspirational speeches.”
Another reluctant laugh pulls out of me before disappearing just as fast as it came.
Because underneath all of it, there’s still one thing sitting in my chest. Fear.
And it’s not because I think Vanessa stopped loving me, even though that part somehow feels like it could be possible now.
No. What scares me is that I finally found the right woman, but she loves herself enough to know she deserved to be loved better.
And for the first time in a really long time, I realize any control I thought I had when it came to her, to love, to feeling safe, was just an illusion.