46
Trent
It’s been days.
Days of pretending I’m fine.
Days of replaying Aubrey’s voice in my head—shaking, breaking—as she told me she didn’t trust me.
Days of feeling like something inside me snapped clean in half and never quite reset.
“You’re quiet.”
Mom’s voice cuts through the thick fog in my head. I look up to find her leaning against the kitchen island, arms folded, glasses pushed up into her hair. She watches me over the rim of the coffee she’s barely touched.
I clear my throat. “I’m just tired.”
Her brow lifts—slow, skeptical. “You sure that’s all this is?”
“What else would it be, Mom?” I mutter, staring back down at the cup.
“I don’t know,” she says, pushing off the counter and crossing the room toward me. “That’s why I’m asking. Last time you were here, you couldn’t shut up about a girl, and now you’re sitting there looking like someone unplugged your soul.”
“There’s no girl,” I say flatly.
Mom pulls out the chair beside me and drops into it with a little huff, turning her body fully toward mine. “Mhm. And do you want to talk about why there’s no girl?”
“Not particularly.”
“Well,” she says, patting my arm before fixing me with a pointed look, “that’s not going to work for me, honey. You came here. Voluntarily. Which gives me the right to pry. If you wanted to sulk, you should’ve stayed at home.”
I huff out a humorless laugh, scrubbing a hand down my face. “Things ended. There’s not much else to say.”
Mom tilts her head, studying me the way only she can. “And have you talked to Aubrey since?”
“No, we haven’t—” I stop abruptly, frowning. “Wait… what?”
She doesn’t blink. “I said, have you spoken to Aubrey since?”
“What makes you think it’s Aubrey?” I ask too quickly, sitting up straighter in my chair.
Mom snorts—actually snorts—and waves a dismissive hand. “Please, Trent.”
“How long have you known?” I ask, my fingers drumming against the edge of the table.
“I’ve suspected for a while,” Mom says, leaning back in her chair, arms folded loosely. “But when I saw you two making out in the corn maze at the harvest festival…” She chuckles softly, shaking her head. “That kind of solidified it for me. So… what’s happened?”
I look down at my hands, twisting them together, avoiding her gaze. “It… won’t work.”
“Why not?” Her voice is gentle, but there’s an edge—like she can feel the storm inside me.
“Because she doesn’t trust me.” I exhale sharply, eyes flicking up to hers for a brief moment before darting away.
“I broke her heart a few months before my accident. I didn’t understand my own feelings for her, and when I finally did…
I’d already lost her. I’ve spent the last few months trying to get her to give me another chance.
And when she finally said yes, it came with conditions.
She wanted to keep everything quiet. Keep it from Kade.
” My voice tightens. “I went along with it because it was the least I could do… we were in this position because of me. But when we argued the other night, I asked her why she won’t just tell people about us… and she said she didn’t trust me.”
Mom leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, eyes softening. “She’s probably just scared, honey.”
“I get that, Mom, but I can’t keep hiding how I feel. Kade’s my best friend, and I can’t even talk to him about it because… he’s her brother. And there’s nothing more I can do to convince her. Telling her I love her… it changed nothing.”
Mom studies me quietly for a beat before asking softly, “You love her?”
“So in love with her… it’s killing me.”
Her hand reaches across the table, resting over mine. Warm. Steady. Reassuring. “Then don’t give up. Give her time. She’ll find her way back to you.”
I shake my head, a tight, frustrated motion. “And what if she doesn’t?”
Mom tilts her head, eyes soft but unyielding.
“Then you keep believing. You’ve got to have faith, sweetheart.
I think to anyone with eyes it’s clear as day that you and Aubrey are meant to be together.
” She squeezes my hand gently. “Me and Cora have been talking about it for years. It will all work itself out. You just need to give her time.”
I stare down at our hands, her warmth seeping into me, a reminder that not everything is lost. But the ache in my chest, the longing, the fear… it’s still there.
“Time,” I murmur, almost to myself.
Mom nods. “Time. And patience. She’s stubborn… but so are you. You’ll figure it out, together.”
I close my eyes for a moment, trying to soak in the reassurance, even as every nerve in me is screaming that I want her now.
By the time I make it home, I drag myself straight to the kitchen. I pour a stiff whiskey, shoot it back, and refill the glass almost without thinking, the burn barely registering as I swallow.
With my glass in my hand, I wander toward the stairs and make my way up to my bedroom. Feeling hollow, I strip down to my boxers and collapse onto the bed, letting the silence wrap around me like a blanket. My mind is a single, relentless thought: Aubrey.
The sudden vibration of my phone in my hand jerks me back into the present. And I freeze when I see her name.
Aubrey.
My chest tightens and I stare at it for a long moment, bracing myself for the sound of her voice after days of silence.
I exhale slowly, and slide to answer.
“Trent.”
Her voice is fragile, broken in a way that rips at my heart and twists something deep inside me.
“Hey,” I say, my voice low and tight, carrying all the weight of the last few days.
There’s a pause, a shaky inhale, and then she whispers, “I… I wasn’t sure if I should call, I didn’t know if you’d answer but I just really needed to hear your voice.”
I close my eyes, pressing my head back against the headboard as her words settle over me. “Is… everything okay?” I ask carefully, trying to keep my tone gentle.
Her next words come out ragged, almost trembling. “Everything’s a mess. I’m a mess.”
My chest tightens. “Bree…” I start, unsure how to reach her over the phone.
“Kade knows.”
I freeze, my hand tightening around the phone. “What?” I force the words out, every nerve in me on edge.
Her soft sigh carries a weight I can feel even through the line. “He overheard me talking to my mom.”
I swallow hard, my pulse spiking. “Shit.”
There’s a pause—long enough that I hear nothing but her uneven breathing and choked sobs and even though I wasn’t sure it was possible, my heart breaks even more hearing her like this and yet feeling so disconnected from her.
“Bree… breathe,” I murmur, trying to steady her through the line. “It’s going to be okay. He’s just—he needs time.”
“I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive me,” she whispers, and the tremor in her voice guts me. The guilt. The fear. All of it bleeding through every word.
“I’ll talk to him,” I say before I can think twice.
“Trent, he’s really mad.” Her voice pitches higher, panicked. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. He’ll probably hit you.”
“I don’t care.” I drag a hand over my face, exhaling slowly. “It won’t change anything. If he needs to hit me, then so be it.”
Silence stretches between us—heavy, raw, full of things neither of us knows how to say.
“Everything will be okay,” I add softly.
“Will it?”
“I’ll talk to him,” I promise. “I’ll get him to understand.”
“Why would you do that?” she asks, her voice breaking. “I was so horrible the other night and I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Stop, baby,” I murmur, closing my eyes at the ache in her voice. “I think we both just need time to get our heads straight. But I’ll speak to Kade regardless—he deserves that much.”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“No need to thank me.”
“I miss you so much,” she breathes, and the honesty in those five words nearly knocks the air out of me.
My grip on the phone tightens, knuckles whitening. She has no idea what she does to me.
“I miss you too,” I say quietly, choosing the truth even though it guts me. “But maybe this is what we need—some time apart to work out what we both want.”
Her breath catches. “Do you… do you not want me anymore?”
“Jesus, Bree,” I whisper, dragging a hand down my face as I stare at the ceiling. “It would never be that easy to just not want you anymore. But I can’t keep doing this. The back and forth is fucking with my head too much.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice cracking.
“Stop saying sorry.” My voice comes out sharper than I mean, so I soften it. “Just… just do me a favor, okay?”
A small pause. I imagine her nodding. “Yeah?”
“Take this time to work out what you really want. Even if it’s not me.
I just want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.
And I know for a while I was a big reason you weren’t.
” I rub the back of my neck, eyes stinging.
“I’m so fucking sorry for that. But I can’t be half in, half out anymore. Can you do that for me?”
“Trent…”
“Please, baby.” The word slips out before I can stop it. “Do that for me.”
There’s silence on the line—heavy, hurting—before she finally whispers, “Okay.”
My chest caves. It physically caves.
“I love you so fucking much, Aubrey,” I rasp. “I gotta go.”
“Trent—” she tries, but I can’t hear the rest.
I end the call before she can break me all over again, lowering the phone into my lap as my chest tightens painfully, the ache of wanting her—loving her—almost unbearable.