Chapter 11
LIAM
Icouldn’t sleep. I laid there for hours, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun in slow, hypnotic circles.
The faint hum of the motor filled the silence, a small distraction from the thoughts I couldn’t escape while dim light filtered through the curtains, painting the walls of my bedroom in muted shades of gray.
I hadn’t even bothered to change when I got home.
Holly’s perfume clung to my shirt like a ghost I wasn’t ready to part with.
It was floral but not overpowering, subtle yet unforgettable—just like her.
I wanted to believe everything was fine. That her leaving so abruptly this morning was nothing. We’d had a moment—one I’d wanted so badly, for so long—and yet, somehow, it had slipped through my fingers.
Again.
I sat up slowly, feeling the weight of the night settle deeper into my chest. I ran a hand through my hair, gripping it lightly at the roots as if that could ground me.
There was an ache inside me I didn’t know what to do with, a hollow thrum where my heart should’ve been. It was like my soul had split in two.
A part of me had seen this coming. Holly had run from me before. Why should this time have been any different? People didn’t change. It’s a fact I’ve told myself countless times, but even as I thought it, something inside me protested.
People could change.
Life forced you to, whether you wanted it or not. Every decision, every yes or no, every ignored text or answered call shaped you into someone new. I wanted to believe that. Needed to believe it, because if it wasn’t true, then I was a fool.
I exhaled sharply, the sound breaking the stillness of the room.
I stood and moved through the condo, my steps heavy against the hardwood floor.
I grabbed my phone off the coffee table and stared at it, my thumb hovering over her name in my contacts.
Holly had left so quickly. Something spooked her.
I should’ve given her space. I should’ve given my pride a chance to heal.
But I couldn’t stand this half-empty feeling anymore.
I pressed the call button before I could second-guess myself.
It rang once, then it went to voicemail.
Hey, it’s Holly! Leave a message and I’ll call you back.
Her voice—bright, effortless, full of life—twisted the knife that already lodged itself in my chest. My throat tightened. I couldn’t bring myself to leave a message. Instead, I stared at the screen until the call disconnected and the home screen stared back at me.
She ignored me.
If the call hadn’t gone through at all, I could’ve convinced myself her phone was dead or turned off. But to ignore me… That hurt more than I wanted to admit. I sank onto the couch, the ache in my chest sharpening with every passing second.
Last night felt so real. She’d been there, in my arms, looking at me like she finally wanted the same thing I did. Like she was ready to give us a chance.
God, I’d thought this time was different.
I glanced at the clock—7 a.m. Maybe it was too early. Maybe she had a full day ahead of her, meetings or deadlines she couldn’t ignore. That had to be it. She just needed space.
But even as I tried to rationalize it, I couldn’t stop myself. I opened my messages and typed out a quick text.
Morning. Everything okay?
I hit send and set the phone down, watching it like it might grow legs and run.
The seconds dragged into minutes, then stretched into an hour.
Still nothing. I paced the living room, my movements restless and aimless.
Stopping at the window, I looked down at the street below.
The city was waking up. People bustled to work, taxis honked impatiently, and life carried on as if my entire world hadn’t just been turned upside down.
By lunchtime, I couldn’t take it anymore. I sent another message.
Do you want to grab dinner tonight?
I didn’t expect an answer—not right away—but a part of me clung to the hope that she’d reply eventually. Hours passed. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the room. The silence from my phone felt deafening.
It was almost eight by the time I gave up staring at the screen. I leaned against the window, defeated, and pressed my forehead to the cool glass. The faint trace of Holly’s perfume still lingered on my shirt, cruel and comforting all at once.
I sank back onto the couch, exhaustion pulling at me, but I couldn’t let go of yesterday. Not yet. Maybe it was ridiculous. Maybe I was just fooling myself. But there was this irrational part of me that believed if I held on a little longer, if I waited just a bit more, she’d come back.
But as the hours dragged into the night, a heavier thought settled over me, suffocating and inescapable.
Maybe last night was all I’d get.
Maybe running into her on St. Patrick’s Day wasn’t fate giving us another chance.
Maybe it was just a cruel coincidence.
And maybe—just maybe—it was time to stop chasing someone who didn’t want to be caught.