Chapter 13 Landon #2
“That by now, we’d be living together.” I didn’t look at her right away, but I felt the shift in her.
The way her posture straightened just a bit.
“In a one-bedroom apartment downtown. You, a famous artist. Me, the lucky guy who brings you tea when you’re working late and hangs your prints on every wall. ”
There was silence.
I glanced at her in time to see her carefully set her food down, then shift to fully face me. Her gaze was calm but cautious.
“Landon…”
“I know,” I said quickly, holding my palms up like I could ward off the tension. “I’m not trying to back you into anything. I simply wanted to be honest. I don’t have expectations. I just…sometimes I think about what could’ve been.”
Kira bit down on her bottom lip, her eyes flickering between mine. “Your honesty is appreciated. It always has been.”
She paused like she was deciding whether or not to jump into deep water.
“And you’re not pressuring me,” she added. “If anything, I’ve been thinking we were overdue for a real conversation.”
My chest tightened. Overdue for a real conversation. That sounded less like hope and more like a prelude to heartbreak.
She’s pulling away again. You said too much.
She’s scared.
My brain spiraled through every possibility, every past moment she’d turned distant, every time I’d watched something good crumble before I could hold onto it.
“Whenever you’re ready,” I said, trying to sound patient. Calm. Like my heart wasn’t suddenly racing.
Kira leaned back slightly, eyes lifting to the sky above. She shut them, breathing in like she needed to ground herself in something bigger than us. The wind nudged a strand of hair across her cheek.
Then she unzipped her jacket slowly, folding it into her lap. “Is it hot up here, or is it just me?”
I blinked, surprised. “It’s not just you.”
I took her lead, tugging off my hoodie. The air hit my skin, and I pulled at the neckline of my T-shirt, briefly stuck in the fabric as I peeled it off over my head. When I looked up, Kira was staring.
“Landon Cole.” She grinned. “Do you have a tattoo?”
It took me a second to realize what she meant. And then—oh. Right. That.
I tugged the collar of my shirt down a few inches, revealing the small infinity symbol inked just above my heart, barely larger than a quarter. Simple. Clean. Always hidden. Except tonight, apparently.
Her eyes widened. “When did you get that?”
I nodded, the weight of the memory settling in behind my ribs.
“A few days after I left. I didn’t know what I was doing, really.
I was angry and lost. But the idea of infinity—of us, maybe—stuck with me.
I needed something to remind me that even if I screwed everything up, that wasn’t the end. That there’d be more chances.”
Her eyes didn’t move from the tattoo, her chest heaving up and down.
“I thought about you every day,” I admitted, voice low and tight. “I didn’t know how to fix what I broke. I’m still not sure I do. But I’ve always hoped there would be more chances for those destined to be together.”
Kira inhaled slowly, the sound delicate, like it cost her something. “You believe in destiny?”
“No. I believe in you and me. I believe that together we have the power to overturn any obstacle in our way, but we both have to want it. To want each other.”
Her hand dropped from her knee, resting against the blanket by her side. She looked down at her fingers as if surprised they’d moved at all.
“I never struggled with wanting you, Landon,” she murmured, rough at the edges. “That’s part of the problem.”
That hit me in the chest.
Instinctively, I inched closer, needing to close the space between us. “It’s always been you for me, sweetheart. You have to know that.”
Something in her shuttered—not visibly at first, but I could feel it. The quiet click of defenses rising behind her eyes. The way her body pulled back a fraction, her shoulders lifting, bracing.
“No, I don’t know that,” she said, her voice shaking now. “How can I possibly know that when you wrote me two words, then disappeared and never talked to me again?”
My heart stopped. “Wait…” I frowned, the world narrowing to the sound of my pulse in my ears. “Two words?”
Her eyes flashed. Hurt. Anger. Disbelief. “You broke up with me and left a piece of paper on my bed with only the words I’m sorry written. Like everything we had meant nothing to you.”
She sat up straighter now as if the weight of it all had finally come unchained, and the momentum wouldn’t let her sit still. “How do I know you won’t do that again? How do I know you won’t run the second things get hard?”
I sat back on my heels, gut twisted in a knot, the blanket beneath us suddenly itchy and suffocating. I raked a hand through my hair, breath catching in my throat.
God, no. No. That’s not what happened. That’s not what I left her with.
“I didn’t just leave that,” I said, panic rising.
“You blocked my number the night we broke up, remember? I tried to call. I was desperate. So I wrote you a whole letter. I poured everything into it. I told you what happened with my dad, how lost I felt, how scared I was that I’d ruined the one good thing in my life.
I begged you to meet me at the kickball field that night.
I said if you were willing to talk, to try, I’d wait there.
And if you didn’t come, I’d understand that we couldn’t go back. ”
Her entire body went still as if the air had been knocked out of her.
“What?” she whispered.
I leaned forward, hands clenched together between my knees. “I sat there for hours, Kira. I waited with this stupid glimmer of hope that maybe you’d show up. And when you didn’t…” I exhaled hard, voice cracking. “I thought that was your answer. That you didn’t want me anymore.”
“I never got that letter.” Her voice trembled. “I-I thought that was your answer. The note. The silence. I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”
I stared at her, every muscle in my body wound so tight I thought I might snap. “Where the hell did it go then? I put it on your desk. Right next to your sketchbook, under that dumb ceramic giraffe you used as a paperweight.”
She blinked rapidly, her face pale in the moonlight. Then slowly, her mouth opened like she might speak but nothing came.
I sat still, a chill passing over me. And then, the thought hit.
“You were out of the house when I snuck in through your window and dropped the note off. Was your mom home that day?”
Her head snapped toward me. “What?”
“Your mom.” My voice was low but urgent now. “She never liked me. She always said I’d hold you back. That I wasn’t serious enough about my future. You don’t think she saw the letter and—”
“Landon, no.” Kira’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that. Don’t drag my mom into this.”
“I’m not dragging anyone,” I said carefully, watching her expression tighten. “I’m just saying it makes sense. The letter didn’t vanish into thin air. Someone had to move it.”
She stood up suddenly, brushing invisible dust from her jeans. “She wouldn’t do that.”
“She could have,” I countered, rising to my feet too. “Maybe she thought she was protecting you. Maybe she thought she was saving you from me.”
“No,” she snapped. “My mom’s not perfect, but she wouldn’t manipulate something like that. You’re just looking for someone to blame.”
I stepped back, the distance between us growing again. “I’m not trying to blame anyone. I’m trying to understand what happened. Don’t you want to know why we fell apart?”
“You are the reason we fell apart, Landon,” she said, voice brittle.
She turned toward the edge of the rooftop, wrapping her arms around herself. The wind picked up, rustling the takeout containers we’d forgotten beside the blanket.
“Coming here was a bad idea,” she whispered.
Panic laced my chest. “What?”
Kira pressed her fingers to her temples. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I could never be just friends with you, and this was the reminder I needed of why we can’t be anything more either.”
“Don’t say that.” I reached for her, but she pulled away. Something in me cracked. “Stay. We can talk—”
“No.” Kira turned to go, and all I could do was watch. “Just give me some space, okay?”
We’ve already had seven years of space, was what I wanted to say. Instead, I watched her descend the steps, leaving me alone once again.