30. Amanda
CHAPTER THIRTY
AMANDA
While he drove, Eric avoided my gaze, nodding at every comment without really responding.
He wasn’t dismissive, and yet his attention isn’t there—not fixed on me even when his eyes are on the road.
And maybe what I miss most, as the city slides past the windows, is the restless energy he radiates.
A little anxious, a little twitchy, like he’s constantly stopping himself from reaching over and touching me.
Inside the apartment, I wait for him to explain, perched at the counter while silence stretches between us. My shoulders knot first, then the baby shifts under my palm, a slow rolling movement that only makes me more aware of how alone I am.
Drawers open and shut in Eric’s room, fabric rustles, and something heavy drops onto the floor. We were in such a good place before this—even before the kiss, things between us had finally started feeling right again. Whatever Daray said dragged us backward.
Eric emerges a minute later, rushing to the front door with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. A belay device knocks softly against the zipper pull, climbing straps, and the edge of his harness visible through the half-open top.
“You okay?” he asks, finally meeting my eyes.
I grip the edge of the counter and tap my fingers on my stomach.
I’m not okay. I’m angry. At Daray for saying whatever he said, but also at Eric for withdrawing.
I shut my eyes and exhale. As the air leaves my lungs, I remind myself that when Eric holds himself like this, it is because he’s afraid I won’t want his rattling pieces.
And Daray rattled the fuck out of him today.
“No.” I stand up. “You’re not, so I am not.”
He adjusts the strap on his shoulder.
“Eric.” I take a step to the front door, toward him. “We said we’d be honest.”
“I will.” He nods. “Just… not now.”
His lips press into a thin line, and his shoulders square under the heavy bag. He needs… whatever this is. I just wish he needed me.
I nod and drop my gaze. His shuffling feet crowd the edge of my vision.
When I look back up, our eyes catch for a second, and I can’t bring myself to ask him to stay, but I try to pour it into the silence between us.
He adjusts the strap on his shoulder again, fingers smoothing over it while his gaze slips away from mine.
His mouth pulls into a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
It worries me more than anything. Then Eric is gone, the door clicking shut louder in the quiet apartment that, right now, doesn’t feel like mine at all.
The hours stretch strangely after he leaves, elastic and airless.
I drift through the apartment without settling anywhere, too restless to sit and too heavy to keep moving for long.
Tea goes cold beside me. Water sweats untouched on the counter.
Every time I look at the clock, another thirty to forty minutes have gone by, until Eric’s been gone for almost four hours.
I picture him halfway up a climbing wall, trying to outrun his thoughts.
We held hands today. Kissed like neither of us was pretending anymore.
And now it’s past nine-thirty, and I’m still sitting here waiting for him to come home.
At 10:02, I open my phone and type:
Everything okay?
A double check mark shows up right away. Minutes pass, and it never turns blue. I double-tap Eric’s name and lift the phone to my ear. The line barely starts ringing before the sound answers from the back of the house.
The ringtone hums faintly through the hallway, and I follow it to his room, leaning against the doorframe as his phone buzzes unattended on the bed.
For a second, I stare at it, my pulse thudding harder with every vibration against the mattress.
My stomach tightens beneath my palm at the same moment panic rushes hot through my chest. Up until now, I’ve been angry.
Hurt. But now… with his phone here, fear takes hold of me.
My fingers shake badly enough that I nearly miss Diego’s contact.
“Hello?” he answers on the third ring, voice rough and deep.
“Hey, are you busy?”
Fabric rustles. Something creaks. Then, muffled away from the phone, I hear him mutter, “It’s Mandy.” His tone is sharper when he speaks again. “What’s going on?”
“Eric isn’t with you, is he?” My own voice comes through thin and scraped.
“Mandy.” My name sounds tense and brittle. “Why?”
I force air into my lungs. “He left around 6:30. He was… he had a run-in with Daray. He said something to him, Diego.”
“Where did Eric go?” Beneath the curtness, unsteadiness taints his voice. “What exactly did he say?”
“Climbing, I think. He took a duffel bag.” My grip tightens around the phone. “But I don’t think the gym is open this late.”
More muffled movement. A curse under his breath, Diego whispering something urgent I can’t make out. When he speaks to me again, his voice is controlled, and it scares me more than panic would. “Amanda, listen to me. Be ready in twenty minutes. We’re going to look for him. Together. Got it?”
I nod automatically.
“Amanda,” he says sharply. “I need words.”
“Yes. Okay. I’ll be ready.”
He hangs up without another word. No reassurance or pretending this is probably nothing. Just action to quench the fear.
Eventually, there’s a knock on the door, but Diego doesn’t wait for me to answer.
The lock clicks almost immediately—he has no problem opening Eric’s door.
He pushes inside, scanning the apartment, dark brown eyes sharp and wandering, as if part of him expects Eric to be here, and all of this to be some misunderstanding.
Val follows close behind him, eyebrows smooth behind her glasses, her hair falling loosely in dark waves around her shoulders.
“And he really didn’t say where he went?” he asks in a high-pitched tone. His shirt’s buttoned wrong, off by a hole or two, the hem crooked across his torso.
“Just said we’d talk—later,” I manage to say.
Val frowns, stepping in and crossing her arms. “You said he took his climbing bag. That makes sense. It’s his outlet. It’s not self-destructive. It’s centering for him. If he was on edge, it was smart.”
Diego shakes his head. “And he left his phone?”
I point to the cell on the coffee table.
“Motherfucker,” Diego mutters. “Daray got in his head.” He sits on the couch, cushions hissing under his weight, as he drags his hands through his hair.
Val looks at me, and her voice is gentle but firm. “Amanda, how did he seem when he left?”
“Tense. Quiet.” I rub at the ache building beneath my ribs. “But not angry.” My throat tightens around the words. “He looked me right in the eye, asked if I’d be okay.” I swallow hard.
Diego’s head snaps toward Val. “You don’t leave your phone behind,” he says, already pacing again, agitation rolling off him in sharp, restless movements. “Not when you’re responsible for a pregnant woman.”
Something in me bristles at the wording, making me curl my fingers into a tight fist. I’m not some obligation Eric forgot to take care of.
“I can take care of myself.” I breathe in sharply and add, “It’s not like him.”
Diego runs a hand through his face. “It was like that last time.” His voice breaks a little. “And then—” He stops himself, jaw clenching.
Val steps forward, her hand landing softly on my wrist. “Amanda.” She adds pressure to her hold, so I look at her.
“You have to trust him. Withdrawing now is not withdrawing then. He’s worked on knowing his triggers.
He knows how to avoid emotional overload, so he won’t do things he’ll regret.
” She pats the back of my hand. “Climbing is repetitive, physical. It forces him back into his body.”
Diego still looks unconvinced, shoulders rigid with tension.
Val notices too. “If I genuinely believed he was in immediate danger to himself.” She holds me, but looks into Diego’s eyes.
“I would tell you plainly.” She lets the words settle before continuing.
“What you’re describing sounds much more like someone trying very hard not to unravel in front of people he cares about. ”
“But what if he’s alone, making it worse?” I ask quietly.
“He probably is alone,” Val says honestly. “Because shame makes people isolate.” Her expression softens. “But isolation is not catastrophe.”
Diego exhales hard through his nose and darts his eyes.
Val’s words settle in my brain. It’s a body-centered approach that I believe in; grounding behaviors, emotional regulation, and practiced coping mechanisms. My breathing loosens by a fraction, enough for me to realize how tightly I’ve been holding myself together.
But the relief never reaches my chest.
Because Val is talking about Eric like a patient, she trusts him to follow a treatment plan.
And he isn’t a patient to me… He is—my heart hammers.
I press my palm harder against the tight ache in my stomach, and the movement only sharpens the fear curling through me.
Therapy explains the behavior. It doesn’t make waiting for him any less unbearable.
“And if it isn’t working? What then?” Diego challenges her.
Val clicks her tongue and meets my eyes, waiting for me to defend our field, her expertise. She doesn’t flinch when I avert her gaze.
“Believing he can do this is part of supporting him.”
Diego shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Val,” he says, eyes softening with sadness. “There’s always time for that after. But if—” His voice cracks. “I’m not betting his wellbeing on your assessment.”
Val’s lips part slightly around a sharp inhale, and she blinks twice before she nods.
“We’re going?” Diego asks me, leaving her out of it.
I nod, grabbing my bag and phone.
At the door, he glances back. She lifts a hand to stop him from speaking.
“I’ll stay here,” she says. “Let you know when he comes back.” She licks her lips. “He might even need to talk.”
Diego opens his mouth, but I nod and push him out of the apartment.