Chapter 25 #2
Not rock climbing. Laser tag. A last-minute, mid-week game because Alessia had said we needed to “shoot some stress.” I’d gone, but my mind had been a million miles away.
Running numbers. Rehearsing a pitch. Worrying about a contract clause.
My body was in the arena, but I was in a boardroom.
We’d been disqualified early because I’d kept standing still, a perfect target, lost in thought.
On the drive home, she’d been quiet, then pointed to a billboard for a rock-climbing gym. “That could be fun for next month.”
“Yeah,” I’d replied, my eyes on the road, my mind already back in the office. “Sure. Let’s do that.”
And then, on the day, I’d cancelled. An “urgent meeting.” The month after that, it was a “client dinner.” Then a “board report.” The monthly slot on the calendar, once sacred, became just another casualty.
The breakfasts together stopped because I left before she woke.
The texts dwindled to logistical queries. “Running late.” “Don’t wait up.”
The balcony sat empty.
I had cancelled our future without even realizing it.
While I buried myself in work, the present kept moving without me.
I poured every ounce of myself into creating a life I believed would keep us safe, convinced that sacrifice now would give us everything later.
I kept securing a future she was supposed to share with me, never stopping to see that I was leaving her alone in the present.
The vibrant, colorful memory of our life together faded, overlaid by the grim, grey reality of my own choices: a series of cancellations, a growing silence, an empty side of the bed.
I missed everything.
Alessia cleared her throat, pulling me from the spiral. “So, you two used to have fun planning them together?”
My eyes found hers, my mind still reeling through the dread. “No,” I said, the word coming out raw. I cleared my throat. “We didn’t plan together. You… you used to come up with the idea. You’d research it, find the place, and then you’d share it with me.”
Her head tilted. “You never planned a single date? Never had a place you wanted to try?”
I shook my head. “Not really. The where never mattered to me. Only the who. The painting wasn’t important; it was that we were standing in front of it together.
And you… you lit up when you planned. Your whole face would change.
You’d get this little crease between your brows, thinking it through, and then your eyes would shine when you told me.
You’d get this little proud smile. I didn’t want to take that from you. I loved watching you in that mode.”
Her gaze held mine, unwavering. “So I did it alone. I never asked for your input? Never suggested we brainstorm together?”
I frowned, mentally scrolling. “No, you did. You always asked. Every time. ‘Any ideas?’ ‘Want to brainstorm?’ ‘We can plan it together.’”
“And?”
“And I told you no. That anything you wanted was fine by me.” I let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “God, if I ever planned anything, it would have been… staying in. Or that Italian place down the street. It wouldn’t have been fun. It wouldn’t have made your eyes shine like that.”
She kept studying me, her expression unreadable. Then she asked, quietly, “Did you ever tell her any of that?”
I froze. The air left my lungs. “What?”
“Did you tell her any of that?” she repeated, each word measured. “Did you tell her that all you wanted was to be with her? That you loved watching her light up? That she was the one who made it fun?”
My mind replayed the moments leading up to each date, searching through what had happened before them.
She was curled up on the couch with her laptop, glancing over her shoulder at me. “Any thoughts? I was looking at this sip-and-paint thing, or there’s a new immersive theatre show?”
She reached for her phone and held up a picture of a kayaking tour. “Too cheesy? We could do a food tour instead?”
And my response. Every single time.
“You’re better at this than me.”
“Whatever you want is fine.”
“I trust your judgment.”
“Fine.”
Fine.
The word echoed, pathetic and thin.
Fine?
That’s what I gave her? That was my contribution to the joy she was meticulously building for us?
And not the truth? Not that the location was irrelevant because her presence was the only destination I cared about?
Not that her pride in a plan well-made was more beautiful to me than any sunset?
Not that the activities themselves were just noise, but her laughter during them was the only music I wanted to hear?
Not that she was the one who transformed the mundane into magic, and I was just grateful to be her audience?
Instead of any of that… I’d given her “fine.”
A cold, sickening clarity washed over me. Why had I saved all those words? Locked them away like precious artifacts, thinking my silent appreciation was enough? What had I been protecting them for? A more dramatic moment? A grander gesture?
What had I gained by withholding the very admiration that filled my chest every time she looked at me with those planning-bright eyes?
Nothing. I had gained nothing. And I had lost everything.
Alessia noticed my expression—the frozen horror, the dawning catastrophe—and, with a kindness I did not deserve, she changed the subject. Even now, she was throwing me a line.
“So how’s your work going?” she asked.
I looked down at my hands, gripping the edge of the counter. “It’s f—great,” I corrected, forcing calm into my voice. “Everything’s… stable. The restaurant project is on track. We’ve even secured a few new investors. Things are finally solid.”
She nodded thoughtfully, taking another spoonful of soup. “New investors. Well, at least the party wasn’t a complete waste then. You got some help with your work.”
I frowned, my brain sluggishly processing the connection. “What do you mean?”
She glanced at me. “The birthday party I held for you. It was part birthday, part networking. A lot of potential investors were there. People who wouldn’t normally take a meeting.
I thought it hadn’t worked. But I’m glad it did something.
I lost Mrs. Garcia over it, so it’s good to know it wasn’t a total loss. ”
She kept talking about something else, but her words had turned into a deafening roar in my ears.
The party was held to help me with my work.
Alessia had seen me drowning. She’d seen the strain I refused to name, the late nights, the silent panic. And instead of demanding I talk, she had built a lifeboat. She’d used her own professional capital, her own reputation, to construct a room full of lifelines for me.
She had done that. For me.
And she had paid for it. With Mrs. Garcia. With her favorite client, her mentor. A loss she’d carried alone.
And what was my part in her grand, silent gesture of love?
I was late.
I was absent.
I had dismissed her.
I was celebrating with my team while she played hostess to my potential saviors.
The floor shifted beneath my feet. Each breath came thin and sharp, barely reaching my lungs. A sickening understanding hit me, leaving a hollow ache beneath my ribs.
I’d forgotten the party entirely. I’d taken the one thing she’d built to save me, and I’d crushed it under my heel without even looking down.
I ruined everything.
One moment I was standing across from her, and the next, I was moving. I rounded the counter and dropped to my knees in front of her stool, my head falling heavily into her lap. The world narrowed to the soft fabric of her clothes and the scent of her soap.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Her body went rigid, her hands coming up as if to push me away. She tried to shift back, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I was shattering, and the only solid thing in the universe was her.
For a few seconds, she stayed frozen above me. I could feel the tension running through her, the uncertainty in the way her hands hovered without knowing where to go. She could have pushed me away. She had every reason to. Instead, her fingers slowly lowered.
A hesitant touch brushed through my hair.
I went still.
Her hand lingered for a moment before her fingers slipped gently into my hair, resting against the back of my head with a tenderness I hadn’t expected. It was cautious, almost unsure, but she didn’t pull away.
And that tiny gesture nearly broke what was left of me.
“Cassian?” Her voice was softer now, unsure, laced with a concern that shattered me further.
I clasped that hand, pulling it from my hair, and pressed her palm to my wet cheek. I leaned into the touch as if it were the only solid thing in a dissolving world. I squeezed my eyes shut.
When I forced them open, the world was a watery blur. I blinked, hard, and her face swam into focus above me. She was looking down, her brow furrowed not in anger, but in genuine, bewildered worry. As if I were the one who was sick. As if I’d lost my mind.
But that was wrong. I’d been lost before—lost in spreadsheets, in silence, in my own arrogant solitude. In this crumpled heap on her kitchen floor, I had finally, agonizingly, found it.
“I ruined everything, Alessia.” The whisper scraped out of me, raw and broken. My vision swam again. “I ruined everything.”
A tear broke free, tracing a path to where her hand met my skin. I looked down, unable to bear the confusion in her eyes.
“I had one job,” I breathed, the words trembling.
“Just one. To make you happy. That’s… that’s all I ever wanted.
From the moment I met you. That was the whole point.
” A sob hitched in my chest, but I forced the words out.
“But then I stopped. Instead of talking to you… instead of sharing the burden with you… instead of spending my time with you… instead of choosing you… I chose work. I chose the ghost of a company over the living, breathing heart of my life.”