Chapter 36
thirty-six
. . .
Maci
Encrypted Voicemail Rune
Misunderstandings seem to grow fastest in silence. I guess you’re busy.
The spreadsheet on my monitor blurs. I blink a few times, rub my eyes, and take another sip of coffee that's gone cold. Inwardly, I chuckle because Witt says, “That’s dessert.”
Three knocks tap against my open office door. I glance up and Dara stands there with a leather portfolio tucked beneath one arm.
"Do you have a minute?"
"Of course."
She steps inside, smiling the way she always does. "I found three apartments I think you'll like."
I stare at her.
"...Apartments?"
"Yes." She opens the portfolio and spreads glossy printouts across my desk. "One is in City Center, one's closer to the lake, and this one's about fifteen minutes from here."
I don't move. My whole-body freezes and my brain glitches. None of this computes.
"I know you've been busy, so I narrowed them down."
My pulse starts pounding. "I... don't understand."
Her smile falters.
"Oh no. Witt never told me to stop looking. He never brought it up… to you?"
I feel tears start to well but I’m not about to let Dara see that.
She continues quietly. "I almost asked him, but Witt is so precise. I assumed maybe he felt it was too soon for the two of you to live together when your relationship is still so new." She winces. "I'm sorry."
The room suddenly feels too small.
"I honestly thought I was helping."
I look toward the glass wall of Witt's office.
Empty.
He isn't there.
Of course he isn't.
"So..." Dara says gently. "What would you like to do?"
I swallow against the ache in my throat.
It hurts to breathe.
"Which one do you think I'd like?"
She studies me for a moment before sliding one page closer.
"This one."
Willow Heights.
Large windows.
Walking trails.
Two bedrooms.
Nothing like home or should I say the penthouse?
"It’s fine." My voice sounds far away. "I'll take whichever one you think is best."
Relief softens her features.
"I can call them."
I nod. "Ask if I can move in tonight.”
I don't remember leaving the office. Only that I looked into Witt's office—still empty.
Coward.
The word slips into my head before I can stop it. He couldn't even tell me himself.
Just three weeks ago...
No.
I shove the thought away.
Don't think about Arizona.
Don't think about stars.
Don't think about him whispering that he loved me.
Because if I do, I won't be able to leave.
Packing is ugly.
Nothing is folded.
Nothing is organized.
Sweaters disappear into reusable grocery bags.
Shoes land in laundry baskets.
My makeup goes into a backpack beside phone chargers and granola bars.
Every drawer I empty makes the penthouse feel less like ours and more like his. Why did I think I belonged here?
I slump onto my bed, not Witt’s guest bed. The bed I haven’t slept in for almost three weeks and text my mom.
I need to talk. Are you busy?
My phone immediately sounds with her ringtone. I snatch my phone up, pacing around the room.
“Mom…”
“What’s wrong?”
The second I hear her voice, my own breaks.
"Oh, sweetheart."
I slide down the bedroom wall until I'm sitting on the floor surrounded by half-packed bags.
"I don't understand," I say with a lump in my throat.
"What happened?"
"Dara..." I wipe at my face. "She found me an apartment."
A pause.
"And?"
"Witt never told her to stop."
Another pause.
"I guess..." My voice cracks. "I guess he always planned for me to leave."
"Did he tell you that?"
"No."
"Did he ask you to move out?"
"No."
"Then what happened?"
I laugh through my tears. "He didn't have to… he told Dara."
Silence settles between us.
Then Mom speaks so softly I almost miss it.
"Maci..."
"Yeah?"
"When someone loves you... don't decide for them that they're saying goodbye."
Fresh tears spill down my cheeks. "I thought... I really thought he…”
"I know. I heard the way you talked about him after your trip.” She exhales. "You don't imagine that kind of happiness."
"But what if I imagined the future?"
"Honey..." Her voice is calm. "The people we love sometimes make mistakes. And sometimes... we make the mistake of deciding what they meant before they have the chance to explain."
I stare at the open closet.
"What if I'm wrong?"
"Then you'll apologize."
"And if I'm right?"
"You'll survive."
"I don't want to survive." A sob escapes before I can stop it."I wanted... him.”
Mom let’s out a long breath. The kind that comforts. “I know, sweetie. I know.”
She lets me cry for another minute before saying quietly, "If he's your forever... he'll come after you."
I suck up my tears. "I love you, Mom."
"I love you more."
The call ends.
I wipe my face, picking up another armful of clothes and throwing them into the box. More Important Stuff.
Keep packing. I don’t want to be where I’m not wanted. I got too comfortable and he saw how messy I am.
“Maci. Maci.”
I hear his voice echoing against the walls. There’s virtually no softness in the living area. It’s all stone and wood except for the couch, but somehow this place still feels like home.
"Witt?" I whisper to myself before realizing he isn't calling for himself.
"Maci!" His voice gets louder.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Not yet. I can’t handle seeing him right now. I’m sure he’ll revert back to not being able to look me in the eye and that’ll hurt almost as much as leaving.
His footsteps pound down the hallway.
Fast.
Not stomping, more like he’s worried.
He appears in the bedroom doorway just as I lift another overloaded tote.
He stops so abruptly I think he forgets how to breathe.
Boxes.
Laundry baskets.
Open suitcases.
Half-empty drawers.
His eyes sweep the room once then land on me. I can see his brain calculating.
"What are you doing?" he asks, his face doesn’t wear anger or guilt. His brows pinch together and his eyes look like they’re trying to understand.
I tighten my grip on the tote. "I'm leaving."
"What?"
"I'm moving out."
His lashes open and close in quick succession before he says, "Maci..."
He steps toward me.
I instinctively step back.
His face pales. "Why are you moving?”
The tears I've been fighting all afternoon finally win.
"You told me you loved me."
"I do." He answers so quickly there's no hesitation. "I do."
"Then why am I moving?"
His forehead creases. "What are you talking about?"
"Dara."
His expression changes. Not defensive or guilty, slightly confused.
"What about Dara?"
"She found me an apartment."
Silence.
“She said, ‘I almost asked him,’" I continue, my voice shaking. "’But Witt is so precise. I assumed maybe it was too soon for the two of you to live together.’"
I laugh bitterly.
"I said, 'Fine. I'll take whichever one you think is best.'" I reach for a tissue. "I even asked if I could move in tonight."
He stares at me, motionless.
"I looked into your office. It was empty. I thought you timed it perfectly so you wouldn’t have to see me." I shake my head. "You couldn't even have the conversation yourself."
He’s shaking his head, as he reaches for me and I shirk away.
"Just three weeks ago we were..." The memory catches in my throat. "I wasn't even worth a conversation?"
For the first time since I've known him, Witt O'Ryan looks completely lost.
Then he says one quiet word.
"Dara."
Not in anger.
In realization.
Like his mind has finally found the missing piece of a puzzle neither of us knew we were solving.