Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Melissa
Kayla doesn’t ask what happened right away.
She just hands me a glass of wine and nudges my leg with her socked foot as she curls up beside me on the couch. Her laptop is open, cursor blinking patiently on a half-finished sentence, but she closes it anyway, like she knows this matters more.
I stare at the dark red liquid, watching it swirl as I tilt the glass.
“I didn’t cry at work,” I say finally. “Which feels like a lie because I definitely cried in the bathroom, but not in front of anyone.”
Kayla hums. “Gold star for emotional containment in a professional setting.”
I snort despite myself. She waits for me to continue.
“That’s the problem,” I say quietly. “He didn’t.”
Her expression softens, humor fading into steadiness.
“He shut down,” I continue. “Just … vanished. Right there. I could see it happen in his eyes, like a door slamming shut.”
Kayla leans back against the couch, studying the ceiling. “Men do love a dramatic internal exit.”
“This wasn’t dramatic,” I say. “It was … controlled. Almost surgical.”
That gets her attention.
She turns to me. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
I take a sip of wine, then another. It tastes sharper than usual.
“I know he’s grieving,” I say. “I know Frank mattered to him. And I don’t blame him for not being okay. I just …” My voice wobbles, and I hate it. “I was right there. Crying. And he looked at me like if he stayed, he’d break.”
Kayla’s voice is gentler now. “And that scared you.”
“It scared me,” I agree. “But it also hurt.”
She nods, like this is the most reasonable thing in the world.
“You didn’t chase him,” she says.
It’s not a question.
“No,” I admit. “I wanted to. God, I wanted to, but I didn’t.”
“Good,” she says confidently.
I blink, then look up at her. “Good?”
“Yes,” she says firmly. “Melissa, listen to me. You spent years holding yourself together for someone else. You are not doing that again. Not even for a man who makes you feel what you feel.”
I swallow.
“I didn’t say anything,” I say. “I didn’t text him. He sent one message later. I’m sorry.”
Kayla rolls her eyes. “Ah. The emotionally constipated apology.”
I laugh, a real one this time. It cracks something open in my chest.
“I told him I need someone who stays,” I say.
“Good,” she repeats. “Again.”
I turn toward her. “You don’t think I’m being cold?”
“No,” she says immediately. “I think you’re being healthy. And that is deeply inconvenient for men who don’t know how to sit with feelings.”
I stare at my glass. “What if he never comes back from this?”
Kayla doesn’t sugarcoat it. She never does.
“Then he’s not ready,” she says. “And that will hurt, but it won’t mean you did anything wrong.”
What she says settles heavily between us.
“I care about him,” I whisper. “I … love him.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t want to punish him for being human.”
“You’re not,” she says. “You’re giving him space to figure out whether he wants to show up as one.”
I lean my head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling the way she did earlier.
“I don’t want to lose myself again,” I admit. “I don’t want to shrink just to keep someone comfortable.”
Kayla reaches over and squeezes my hand. “You won’t. You’ve already proven that.”
Silence stretches between us. I lift myself up so I can take another sip of my wine. It doesn’t hit like it used to. The passion behind it all feels gray.
Finally, I see Kayla smirk. “Also, for what it’s worth, if he fumbles you, I will personally haunt him.”
I laugh again, softer this time.
“Thank you.”
She bumps her shoulder into mine. “Anytime. That’s what emotionally evolved best friends slash romance novelists are for.”
I glance at her laptop. “What were you writing?”
“Oh,” she says lightly. “Just a scene where a broody man realizes he’s an idiot and grovels appropriately.”
I raise a brow. “Fiction?”
She grins. “For now. One day, maybe it won’t be.”
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I can feel my heart flutter with hope, but I know deep down that it’s not what I want.
I reach for my phone anyway. Kayla notices but doesn’t comment.
No new message. Just an email.
I exhale, setting it back down.
“I’m proud of you,” Kayla says quietly.
I look at her.
“For what?”
“For standing still,” she says. “That’s harder than chasing.”
I let that sink in. For the first time all day, my chest loosens a little.