Chapter 44
Forty Four
Leo trotted a few steps ahead, tail swaying with each bounce in his walk. He paused every few feet to sniff something with deep, earnest concentration, like the entire neighborhood had reset overnight.
Jamie watched him for a moment, then said lightly, “He seems happy.”
Erin kept her eyes on Leo, nudging a pebble with the toe of her shoe. “He’s pretending I didn’t disrupt his entire routine. He’s better at forgiving me than I deserve.”
Jamie’s chest tightened. “He’s loyal. That’s different.”
Erin huffed out a breath, something almost like a laugh but not quite. “He’s stubborn is what he is.”
Jamie’s mouth curled. “Wonder where he gets that from.”
Erin shot her a look, half warning, half amused. “Don’t start.”
Jamie raised both hands like she was surrendering. “Not starting. Just talking.”
“Careful,” Erin said. “You’re not great at that lately.”
Jamie’s smile faltered. “Yeah. I know.”
They walked a few more paces in silence. Leo found another dog, sniffed politely, then bounded away again. Erin followed his path with her eyes, and Jamie found herself watching her instead.
“You’ve been back at work?” Jamie asked.
“Desk duty.” Erin’s tone stayed neutral. “Typing reports, answering emails. Safe stuff.”
“Still feels weird, huh?”
Erin nodded. “Like I’m waiting for someone to tell me I shouldn’t be there.”
Jamie exhaled slowly. “I know that feeling.”
Erin glanced at her. “No, you don’t.”
Jamie took that quietly. “Maybe not exactly. But I do know what it’s like to feel like you’ve wrecked something you cared about.”
Erin’s jaw tightened. “You didn’t just wreck it, Jamie. You broadcast it.”
“I know,” Jamie said. “And if I could take it back, I would. I wasn’t thinking about the fallout. I thought I could manage it. I thought telling the truth wouldn’t destroy everything else.”
“That’s what you do though,” Erin said, her voice low. “You tell the truth, even when it burns the people standing next to you.”
Jamie winced. “I thought I could do both. Be good at this and be good to you.”
Erin shook her head. “You can’t split yourself like that forever. One side always wins.”
“I know,” Jamie said again, softer this time. “And I picked wrong.”
The words hung there, heavier than the air around them.
Erin stopped walking. Leo noticed first, doubling back to nose at her hand. She crouched to pet him, her fingers brushing through his fur. “You hurt me,” she said quietly.
Jamie nodded. “I know I did.”
“I trusted you more than I should have.”
“I trusted myself more than I should have,” Jamie said. “And I was wrong about both of us.”
Erin looked up at her, eyes tired but clear. “You think that makes it better?”
“No,” Jamie said. “But it’s the truth. And you deserve that, at least.”
For a moment, all they could hear was Leo’s steady breathing. Then Erin straightened. “You said you loved me,” she said, not a question, not angry, just tired.
Jamie swallowed hard. “I do. I still do. Even now.”
Erin’s voice was careful. “You shouldn’t.”
“I can’t turn it off,” Jamie said. “I tried. It’s not going anywhere.”
Erin let out a breath that trembled at the end. “You can’t keep saying that and expect me to know what to do with it.”
“I don’t expect anything,” Jamie said. “I just need you to know it’s real. That it wasn’t some story I was chasing.”
Erin’s expression softened for the first time, just slightly. “I know it was real.”
“Then why does it feel like I dreamed the whole thing?”
“Because we ended it before it could turn into something solid,” Erin said. “It’s easier to remember things that never had a chance to fall apart completely.”
Jamie’s throat ached. “I don’t want easy anymore.”
Erin blinked, her breath catching. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because you mean them,” Erin said. “And I’m not ready to hear them yet.”
Jamie nodded once, looking down. “Okay.”
Leo barked once, dropping a stick between them like an offering. Erin picked it up and threw it toward the fence. He tore after it, tail whipping the air.
Jamie smiled faintly. “He’s the only one who knows what to do in this situation.”
Erin huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Chase the thing you can’t catch and pretend that’s the fun part.”
Jamie’s smile faltered, but she held onto it. “He’ll get tired eventually.”
Erin nodded. “We all do.”
They started walking again, slower this time, closer without meaning to be.
When they reached the gate, Erin clipped Leo’s leash and turned toward her car. “Thanks for coming,” she said quietly.
“Thanks for letting me.”
Erin hesitated, like she wanted to say something else, then shook her head. “Goodnight, Jamie.”
Jamie’s voice was steady but soft. “Goodnight.”
Erin walked away, Leo trotting beside her, tail swinging steady and content. Jamie watched until they were out of sight, her breath fogging faintly in the cool air.
The park lights flickered on overhead. Dogs barked in the distance. Somewhere down the block, a car horn sounded twice and fell quiet. She felt like she was standing in a world that was still moving but had just slowed enough for her to catch her breath.
She replayed the conversation in her head. Erin’s voice low and guarded, the way her hand had trembled just slightly when she’d clipped Leo’s leash. The way she’d said you mean them, and the softer, quieter part that came after: I’m not ready to hear them yet.
That single word looped in her mind. Yet.
Jamie hadn’t realized how starved she’d been for something to hold onto. It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t even a promise. But it was proof that Erin hadn’t shut the door completely.
She walked back to her car slowly, the gravel crunching under her shoes. The park was almost empty now, one couple near the far gate, their dog chasing shadows. The sky had gone violet, the air damp and sharp.
She slid into the driver’s seat and gripped the steering wheel, letting the cold leather bite into her palms. She could still smell grass and rain and Erin’s shampoo when the wind shifted.
Her hands still shook, but not from panic anymore. Something else was there, something small and steady that felt suspiciously like hope.
She leaned back, eyes closed, the memory of Erin’s voice running through her head like static: I’m not ready to hear them yet.
Yet.
It wasn’t a door slamming shut. It was one left cracked open, just enough for light to get through.
Jamie let out a long, uneven breath. The ache in her chest didn’t fade, but it stopped feeling like punishment. It felt like proof that she still cared enough to hurt.
For the first time in weeks, she didn’t want to run from it.
She started the car, headlights sweeping over the empty park. As she pulled onto the road, she caught her reflection in the mirror, eyes red, mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile but wasn’t defeat either.
She whispered it again, softer this time, like a secret between them. “She said yet.”
And for the first time since everything fell apart, the word felt like enough to keep going.