Twenty Eight
Unfinished Business
AUSTIN
SHE RAN. NOT LITERALLY—Mia doesn’t do dramatic exits—but I know a retreat when I see one.
She turned, she said goodbye, and she left me sitting here. My heart hammering, my mind scrambling as I watched her disappear into the street like she wasn’t just sitting in front of me, tearing open wounds I thought had finally started to heal.
I should get up. Should shake it off, order a coffee, get back to my day. Instead, I sit here, jaw clenched, fingers curled into a fist on the table, staring at the door she just walked out of like an idiot.
She came here.
To York.
To me.
Why?
I know why. I saw it in her eyes, in the way her fingers tightened around her cup, in the way she could barely look at me when she said she was leaving in two hours. And I should have said something.
I should have stopped her. But I didn’t.
Because three months ago, she made her choice.
And I made myself stop hoping she’d change her mind.
“Did you order?” April’s voice cuts through my thoughts, but it takes a second to register. She’s standing beside me, phone tucked away, expectant.
I don’t answer.
Not because I don’t want to. But because I can’t.
Because all I can think about is Mia.
The way she looked at me, like she was barely holding herself together.
The way she said goodbye like she meant it this time.
And maybe she did. Maybe that was the whole point of her coming here—to see me one last time, to prove to herself that she could walk away again.
A bitter taste rises in my throat. Because if that was her goal, she fucking succeeded.
“Earth to Austin?” April nudges my arm lightly, and I blink, finally turning to her. She frowns. “You ok?”
Am I ok?
The woman I spent the last three months trying to forget just walked back into my life, looked me in the eye, and walked right back out.
So no. I’m not fucking ok.
I force a nod. “Yeah. Just—” I exhale sharply, rubbing a hand across my jaw. “Just lost in thought.”
She studies me, eyes narrowing slightly. She’s sharp, April. She sees too much.
I don’t give her the chance to press further. “Let’s go somewhere else,” I say, standing abruptly, grabbing my coat.
She lifts a brow. “Changed your mind about coffee?”
Yeah. Or maybe I just can’t sit in this café a second longer, knowing Mia was just here. “Something like that,” I mutter, already heading for the door.
And as I step outside, I swear I can still feel her. Like a ghost of something I should have held onto.
“... AND IF WE PUSH back the deadline, we can allocate more resources to the city centre project without compromising the Clifton site.”
I hear the words, and I register the voice of Daniel, one of the senior associates, but I don’t actually take any of it in.
Because my mind is somewhere else.
Or rather, with someone else.
Mia.
Mia, sitting across from me in that coffee shop, her fingers gripping her cup like it was the only thing keeping her steady.
Mia, looking at me with eyes that tried so hard to be indifferent but weren’t fooling either of us.
Mia, leaving.
In two hours.
Two hours until she’s back in London. Two hours until she disappears from my life again.
I should be focusing. I should be listening. I should be sitting here, nodding along, talking project timelines and budget allocations like I actually give a shit about Clifton or York or anything that isn’t currently ripping my head and my fucking heart apart.
Instead, I’m staring blankly at the surface of the boardroom table, jaw tight, hands balled into fists beneath it, fighting myself.
Let her go, man.
She walked away first.
She made her choice.
You don’t chase someone who’s already left.
But Christ, what if . . . what if she didn’t want to?
What if she regrets it?
What if she came here, and perhaps stood outside my office and waited for me like they would in the movies, because some part of her was hoping I’d tell her to stay?
What if I let her leave now, and it’s the worst mistake of my life? Could I ever live my life knowing I didn’t at least try?
The thought claws at me, sinking into my chest, curling around my ribs like a vice.
“Austin?”
I blink.
Daniel is looking at me expectantly. So is everyone else.
Shit.
I clear my throat, forcing myself upright. “Yeah. We’ll, uh—” I can’t do this. I can’t sit here pretending like my entire body isn’t screaming at me to get the fuck up and go after her.
Because if I let her leave now, I know—I fucking know—it’s over. Properly, finally, irreversibly.
And I don’t think I can live with that.
The chair scrapes violently against the floor as I push back from the table and stand.
The room falls silent.
“Austin?” Daniel again, frowning.
I don’t answer.
I just turn, stride to the door, and walk the hell out.
Because if Mia’s getting on a train in two hours, I’ve already wasted too much time.
I DON’T THINK I’VE run this fast in my entire life. I barrel through York Station like a man possessed. It’s heaving, packed with people who seem to have nowhere urgent to be, which is infuriating considering I’m literally trying to rewrite my fate here.
The departures board looms ahead, flickering between destinations, and my eyes frantically scan until I see it.
London Kings Cross. Platform 7. On time. Departing in five minutes.
Five fucking minutes.
“Excuse me . . . sorry . . . pardon me,” I blurt as I push through the sea of bodies, heart slamming against my ribs, dodging a businessman dragging a wheeled suitcase directly into my path.
Fuck me, could these people go any slower?
Finally, I reach the barriers. My legs are burning despite the fact that since living here, I have taken up running. I try to push through but a large, hairy hand lands on my chest.
“Ticket?”
I blink at the station guard, who looks entirely unmoved by my near-cardiac arrest.
Shit. Right. Tickets. People need tickets to board trains.
“I—” My brain short-circuits. “I don’t have one.”
The guard raises an unimpressed bushy eyebrow. “No ticket, means you’re not getting through.”
I exhale sharply, dragging a hand down my face. “Mate, listen, this is life or death.”
The guard looks around sarcastically. “Not seeing any life-threatening situations.”
“It’s my life,” I grind out. “And it is absolutely under threat right now.”
Still, the old bastard does not move. “No ticket, no entry, mate.”
I clench my jaw so hard my teeth might snap. “Fine.”
I spin on my heel and run to the ticket office, because of course I have to do this the long way. The universe is not on my side today.
A family sprawls out across the entire walkway, walking like they have all the time in the world. I sidestep them, only to be blocked by a couple strolling like they’re in a goddamn romance movie.
Fuck me what is with people today?!
“Move, move, move—” I mutter under my breath, ducking and weaving like I’m dodging gunfire. I make it to the ticket office—only to find the queue from hell. It’s at least twenty people. Minimum.
Fuck this shit.
I storm straight to the front, where a broad, bald, and currently very pissed-off man stands with his arms crossed.
“Hey,” I say “I need to go first.”
He slowly turns to face me, revealing the mother of all scowls. “You what?”
I motion to the ridiculous queue. “I need to jump the queue. It’s urgent.”
His expression does not change. “Do I look like I give a shit? Do you Cockneys think you can come here and treat it like London?” He asks in his broad northern accent.
Jesus Christ.
I rub a hand down my face. “Listen, mate, my ex—the love of my life—is getting on a train to London right now, and if I don’t get a ticket in the next two minutes, I’ll lose her forever.”
The bald guy blinks. “Still don’t care.”
Yanking out my wallet, I grab a fist full of cash, and peel off way more than is reasonable for a ticket queue bribe. “What about now?” I ask, holding up at least eighty quid.
His eyes flick to the money. Then back to me. Then back to the money.
He grabs it. “Pleasure doing business,” he says, stepping aside.
I nearly kiss his buffed bald head.
Instead, I shove forward, throw more cash than necessary at the bewildered ticket officer. “One single fare to London Kings Cross, please.
The ticket officer simply nods and scoops up the notes before printing out a ticket. She hands me the ticket and I grab it.
“Go get her, sir,” She smiles.
I nod and turn on my heels, sprinting back to the barrier.
The same guard is still there. Smirking.
Smug bastard.
I wave the ticket aggressively. “There. Happy now?”
“I will be when you put it in the slot,” He says, pointing to the barrier.
I roll my eyes and feed the ticket into the machine, watching with relief as the barrier swings open.
The guard steps aside with a slow nod. “Go on, then.”
I don’t reply, instead I bolt through onto the platform, my eyes sweeping the crowd. My eyes search each and every corner of the platform.
She’s not here.
A hollow pit opens up in my chest.
Did she get on an earlier train? Did she change her mind? Did I—
And then, just as I’m about to give up hope, I see her.
Mia.
She standing alone, with her arms wrapped around herself, staring down the tracks like she’s already somewhere else.
My breath catches and my chest aches.
Because there she is.
And I have no idea what I’m about to say to her.