Chapter 43
Forty Three
The world had started to sound normal again. Not good, not new, just normal.
The steady hum of the fridge. The creak in the floor near the couch. Leo snoring softly against her leg. Morning light slipped through the blinds, cutting the room into long, quiet stripes.
She hadn’t meant to wake early, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept through the night. Her body seemed to keep score even when her mind didn’t want to.
Leo stretched, paws twitching, and let out a low groan that made her smile before she could stop herself. “You’re getting old,” she murmured. He wagged his tail once, half asleep.
The coffee pot gurgled in the kitchen. She stood barefoot on the tile, waiting for it to fill, and tried to name the strange calm that had settled over her. It wasn’t peace. It was what came after running out of ways to stay angry.
She poured a mug, no cream, no sugar, and leaned against the counter. The apartment smelled like rain and dog shampoo, both faint but familiar.
For the first time in days, she didn’t feel hollow. She just felt tired.
Her phone sat on the table, facedown beside Leo’s leash. She’d stopped flipping it over every time it buzzed, but the habit hadn’t died completely. Sometimes she still caught herself listening for a vibration that never came.
She hated that she missed Jamie. Hated that the wanting had survived everything else.
Erin took her coffee to the couch. Leo followed, hopping up and curling against her side. She rubbed behind his ear, the same spot that always made his back leg kick.
“You’re too easy,” she said softly. “You forgive everything.”
He thumped his tail against the cushion, unconcerned.
The quiet pressed close again, gentle but insistent. For weeks she’d been trying to outwork it, outwalk it, outfeel it, but it had waited her out. Now there was nowhere left to run from the truth: she missed Jamie more than she hated her.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t smart. It just was.
She set her mug down and stared at her phone. Her hand hovered over it for a long time. The message she wanted to send was too big to fit in words, and the one she could send felt small and stupid.
Still, she unlocked the screen. Her thumb moved before her mind could stop it.
You can come see Leo if you want.
She read it twice, debating whether to delete it. It sounded pathetic, like a peace offering wrapped in denial. But she couldn’t think of a better way to say what she meant: I want to see you, but I don’t know how to ask.
Leo shifted beside her, letting out a contented sigh. Erin exhaled too, thumb hesitating over send.
Then she hit it.
The message sent with a quiet whoosh. The tiny, final sound of her armor giving way.
She set the phone down on the table and tried not to look at it. Leo rested his head on her thigh. She scratched the soft fur between his ears and whispered, “Now we wait, huh?”
He didn’t move, but his tail flicked once, like he understood.
Minutes stretched. The clock on the microwave ticked too loud. Her coffee went cold.
When the phone finally buzzed, she jumped.
For a heartbeat she couldn’t move. Then she reached for it with shaking hands.
Yeah. I’d like that.
Erin read it twice, the words settling somewhere deep in her chest.
Another buzz followed.
When?
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She could picture Jamie sitting there, phone in hand, afraid to push too hard. The image softened something inside her.
There’s a dog park on Brookline. Around seven? It’s usually quiet then.
A pause. Then:
I’ll be there.
Erin stared at the screen, her pulse steadying for the first time in weeks.
Leo nudged her arm, and she rested her hand on his head, feeling the warmth under her palm.
“Guess we’re going out,” she said quietly.
Outside, the day was already brightening. The world felt different. Still fragile, still heavy, but not hopeless. For the first time in a long while, Erin let herself want something good.
* * *
The sun had started to dip by the time she reached the park. The air held that soft, early-evening chill that meant fall wasn’t far.
Leo trotted a few steps ahead, tail high, his leash weaving between her fingers. Erin’s stomach hadn’t stopped twisting since she left the apartment. Every block she walked made it more real.
The park was quiet, just a few people scattered along the fence line, dogs running through patches of light and shadow. She spotted Jamie almost immediately — standing by the gate, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, head tipped down like she was talking herself into staying.
Erin’s chest tightened.
She slowed her pace, tightening her grip on the leash. “Alright, buddy,” she said under her breath. “You’re gonna be cool, okay? No jumping, no slobbering, no embarrassing me in front of… in front of her.”
Leo looked back at her, tongue lolling, as if to say she was asking too much.
She huffed out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, me neither.”
Her throat felt tight, but the air was crisp, grounding. She reached down and brushed her fingers along the top of Leo’s head. “Just a walk,” she told him quietly. “That’s all this is.”
Jamie looked different under the streetlights. Softer maybe, or just tired. Erin couldn’t tell. The breeze lifted a few strands of blonde hair that had come loose from her ponytail. She was still in her work jacket, press badge clipped to the pocket. It made something in Erin’s chest ache.
Jamie turned when Leo barked. Her smile flickered to life, quick and unsure.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.” Erin’s voice came out smaller than she expected. She cleared her throat. “He’s been dying to get out.”
Jamie nodded. “I can tell. He looks good.”
“Yeah. He’s… he’s good.”
The words felt safe enough. They stood there for a second, both looking down at Leo, who was already pulling toward the gate. Erin bent to unclip the leash and let him go. He bounded into the mix of dogs like he hadn’t forgotten how to be happy.
They watched him chase a brindle mutt across the grass, his bark cutting through the quiet.
Jamie shoved her hands deeper into her pockets. “He runs crooked,” she said, smiling faintly.
“Always has,” Erin said. “I think it’s the back paw. He overcompensates.”
Jamie laughed softly. “He’s like his mom, huh?”
The sound hit Erin harder than she meant to let it. “Maybe,” she said. “Stubborn. Refuses to slow down.”
They fell quiet again. The wind shifted, carrying the smell of grass and damp earth. Leo circled the fence and came trotting back with a tennis ball that wasn’t his.
Jamie crouched down to meet him, her voice gentle. “Hey, you remember me?” She scratched behind his ears, and Leo leaned into it without hesitation.
Erin watched the scene, the curve of Jamie’s smile, the way Leo’s tail wagged fast enough to shake his whole body. Something in her chest tugged loose.
Jamie stood again, brushing dirt off her knees. “Thanks for letting me see him,” she said quietly.
“Yeah,” Erin said. “He’s missed you.”
Jamie’s eyes lifted to hers, and for a long moment neither of them spoke. The light caught on the fence, scattering across their shoes, and Leo barked once, impatient, like he was reminding them to keep moving.
Erin blinked first, looking back toward him. “He’ll wear himself out soon.”
Jamie nodded, voice soft. “We’ll stay until he’s ready.”
They stood there in the half-light, watching Leo chase something neither of them could see, and pretending that was enough.