Chapter 32
Kevin
I didn’t stay upstairs the next night, or the one after.
Lauren offered. Three times, actually. Once at the kitchen table, once at the basement door, and once when I stood there with my hand on the railing like I’d forgotten what stairs were for.
“You don’t have to stay down here,” she said.
“I know.”
“Kevin.”
“I know,” I said again.
She looked tired. Not sleepy tired. Worn-out tired. Like the last few days had taken too much from her, and now she was trying to hold together whatever was left.
I knew the feeling.
So I stayed.
I didn’t sleep in her bed or touch her. I slept on the small couch in the basement with a throw blanket that barely covered my legs, and I woke up three times because my neck hated me.
But she slept. Every time I opened my eyes, she was still there, curled on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek.
I stayed awake longer than I needed to, listening to the house settle around us.
The next morning, I made coffee. She came upstairs in one of my old shirts and didn’t ask if we were okay.
I was grateful for that.
We weren’t okay.
But she sat at my kitchen table. She added too much sugar to her coffee. She stole half my toast. When I left for the clinic, she kissed my cheek at the door, quick and careful, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to do more.
Maybe she wasn’t. Or maybe I wasn’t ready.
I still stood there for a full minute after she went back inside.
The week went like that. Quiet and careful, one small thing at a time.
She sent me a picture of the laundry room with the caption, Your socks are judging me.
I sent back, They have high standards.
She replied, Clearly. They live in a doctor’s house.
It was the first time she’d made me laugh since Chicago.
Jackson texted on Thursday.
Your spare key is still at the bar.
I stared at the message between patients until the screen went dark.
That key had been behind the register for years. Emergencies. Lockouts. The time my water heater burst and Jackson beat me to my own house with towels and a wrench he didn’t know how to use and wouldn’t admit it.
I typed three different answers before settling on one.
Can you drop it off after closing?
He replied a minute later.
Yeah.
No joke, nickname or extra bullshit. Just yeah.
He came by a little after midnight. Lauren was asleep downstairs. I met him on the porch because I didn’t know what else to do.
Jackson held out the key.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Yep.”
He looked rough. Tired in a way he probably wouldn’t admit. His hair was a mess, his jaw covered in stubble, and after I took the key, he shoved both hands into his jacket pockets.
For a second, he looked past me toward the house.
“She okay?” he asked.
“She’s trying.”
His mouth tightened. “Yeah.”
I waited for him to say something else. To ask if I hated him. To apologize again. To make some stupid joke because that was what he did when things got too honest.
He didn’t.
His eyes came back to mine, and there was guilt, regret, and something else, older than Lauren, older than the last few weeks. Whatever it was had been there before any of this started.
Then he looked away.
“Tell her…” He stopped and shook his head. “Never mind.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” He stepped back. “Night, Kev.”
I watched him walk to his truck.
The key was still warm in my palm.
I didn’t sleep much after that.
Two nights later, Lauren found me on the back porch after dinner. The air had turned cold, and she came out wrapped in the gray blanket from my couch.
“You avoiding me or thinking too hard?” she asked.
“Both.”
She sat beside me. Not touching, but close enough that I could feel her there.
I looked out at the trees behind the house. “I had this whole thing planned.”
“What thing?”
“When I came back from Chicago.” I rubbed a hand over my mouth. “Dinner. Wine. Maybe flowers, even though I know you would’ve made fun of me.”
“I would have,” she said softly.
“I was going to tell you I loved you.”
She went still.
I looked at her then. “I didn’t get to say it. Then everything happened, and I was angry, and hurt, and I didn’t know if saying it after would make me stupid.”
Her eyes filled.
“But it didn’t stop being true,” I said. “That was what I hated most. I kept wanting to be done with both of you but couldn’t.”
“Kevin.”
“I love you,” I said. “I’m still hurt. I still don’t know what this is supposed to look like. But I love you, Lauren.”
She covered her mouth with one hand.
Then she moved.
She climbed into my lap and wrapped both arms around my neck, holding on tight.
“I love you too,” she said against my shoulder. “I should’ve told you before everything got so messed up.”
I closed my eyes and held her.
“It was never going to be easy with us,” I said.
She let out a small, shaky laugh. “Yeah. Fair.”
We stayed there until the cold got under the blanket.
When she finally went downstairs, I stayed on the porch with my phone in my hand.
Jackson’s name on the screen.
I thought about the key. The way he’d looked at the house. The way he’d looked at me.
I typed the message before I could sit there all night talking myself out of it.
Can we talk?
I hit send and stayed there with the phone in my hand, watching the screen.