chapter twenty-two
Willa
The airport felt quieter than usual. Not the kind of quiet that soothed—it was the kind that wrapped around you too tightly, pressing down on your lungs until you couldn’t quite catch a full breath.
The kind that made even the hum of conversation, the buzz of rolling suitcases, the scratchy gate announcements, all seem distant.
Willa sat stiffly in a plastic seat by the gate, hunched forward, elbows braced on her knees, her fingers curled in a death grip around her phone. Her boarding pass was crumpled in her other hand, the edges creased and torn from where she’d been mindlessly folding it over and over again.
She couldn’t believe she was here. Couldn’t believe she was leaving like this. The last five weeks felt like a fever dream she’d woken up from too soon. Unexpected. Electric. Real.
More real than anything had been in years.
Frankie hadn’t just been someone she loved—she’d been home. And Willa hadn’t even gotten to tell her.
She was the feeling of a song you had never heard before but somehow already knew every word to. She was laughter across hotel beds. She was coffee shared before soundcheck. She was whispered promises tangled up in bedsheets.
And just yesterday, they’d been wrapped around each other like nothing could touch them—Willa’s head on Frankie’s chest, Frankie’s fingers tracing endless, lazy shapes across her skin. A soft, heavy stillness between them.
But not the bad kind.
Not like now.
Now Willa sat at Gate 32B, blinking too fast, swallowing hard, clutching her phone like it was the only thing tethering her to earth. She opened it again even though she knew—knew—what she would find.
Nothing.
Frankie’s name sat there at the top of her Recents, the little picture she had snapped during a lunch break in Richmond still smiling back at her. Frankie, sunglasses too big for her face, biting into a greasy slice of pizza, laughing at something Willa had said.
The kind of candid photo you only took when you had such big feelings for someone, you wanted to freeze them in time.
Her throat burned. She brushed her thumb gently over Frankie’s face on the screen, like maybe—maybe—if she just wanted it hard enough, her phone would light up.
Maybe Frankie would text.
Maybe she’d call.
Please.
Say anything.
Please.
Say come back.
But her phone stayed stubbornly still. Silent.
She exhaled shakily and looked up at the boarding sign flashing on the monitor. Her flight was already boarding.
It should have been the moment she stood, shouldered her bag, walked down the jet bridge. But all she could do was sit there, the numbness creeping up from her toes to her ribs, locking her in place.
Because no matter how far she flew, part of her was already stranded—stuck somewhere between Nashville and New York.
Between hope and heartbreak.
They called Zone Three for boarding. That was her group.
Still, Willa stayed seated. Gripping her phone. Staring at her screen. Hoping against hope that it wasn’t over. Not yet. Not like this.
Her phone stayed stubbornly dark. No call. No text.
No wait, please.
No come back.
So, Willa did the only thing left she could do.
She pressed call.
It rang once. Her stomach twisted so sharply she thought she might actually be sick.
Twice. Each second stretched impossibly long, straining and snapping something inside her chest.
A third time.
Please, please, please—
Just pick up the phone.
Just say something.
Four rings.
And then—voicemail.
Willa’s breath caught, breaking in the back of her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden sting. She could hear Frankie’s voice, recorded and distant, cheerful in a way that made her ache.
“Hey, it’s Frankie. Leave a message—or don’t. I probably won’t check it anyway.”
The beep sounded like a blade.
For a second—just a second—Willa almost spoke. She almost poured it all out—the apology, the explanation, the I love you that was still burning a hole in her ribs.
But her mouth wouldn’t move.
Her heart was too full.
Too fractured.
Too raw.
She didn’t trust her voice not to crack open. Not to spill everything in a way that couldn’t be put back together again.
So, she just sat there. Phone pressed to her ear long after the line had gone dead.
Frozen.
Aching.
The silence roared in her ears, louder than anything else in the terminal.
“Please don’t let this be how it ends,” she whispered.
The gate agent called final boarding.
And she rose to her feet. Rubbed her eyes. Her legs felt wrong. Too heavy. Too hollow. Like her body didn’t belong to her anymore.
Like she’d left pieces of herself scattered across hotel beds and empty dressing rooms and the soft patch of skin behind Frankie’s ear, where she would press her mouth and breathe her in.
But she moved anyway.
Because she had to.
Because sometimes love wasn’t enough to fix it all.
She slung her bag over her shoulder, walked to the gate with her boarding pass, and boarded the plane.
Not looking back.
Because if she did—
If she looked back even once—
She knew she wouldn’t survive it.
* * *
Lena was waiting by the door when Willa got back to the apartment.
She didn’t say a word—just opened the door wider, arms already outstretched like she’d been standing there forever. Like she knew Willa would need it before she even stepped inside.
Being home should have felt like relief. Like breathing.
It didn’t.
It felt hollow.
Too still. Too quiet. Too Frankie-less.
The familiar smell of the city clung to her coat—exhaust fumes, roasted peanuts from the vendor down the street, the wet concrete scent of melted snow. The buzz of traffic hummed up from three stories below. The heavy thud of their upstairs neighbor’s boots echoed faintly from the ceiling.
All of it should have made her feel normal again. Anchored.
Instead, it made her feel like a stranger in her own life.
Frankie wasn’t there.
Not her laugh. Not her voice. Not the quiet strum of her guitar.
Not her scent—warmth and citrus, cedarwood and lavender—lingering in the air.
Willa let her bag drop to the floor with a soft thud, blinking rapidly against the tears already burning her eyes. She didn’t say a word. Just walked straight into Lena’s arms like her legs might give out if she didn’t.
And Lena caught her without hesitation.
Folded her in.
Wrapped her up.
Pressed a hand against the back of her head and held her like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Willa sagged against her, her whole body trembling—not from grief, not from anger, not even panic anymore. Just exhaustion. A weariness that lived in her bones now.
She had no tears left, not really.
She’d cried them out already—at the hotel, in the back of the Uber with her head pressed to the cold window, in the cramped airplane bathroom, clinging to the tiny sink for balance.
She’d wept until her body ached, her head pounded, and she couldn’t find any more pieces left to fall apart. She’d slept maybe two hours total since Nashville.
Her body was running on adrenaline, caffeine, and the hollow ache of a heart that still didn’t understand how it had broken so fast.
And now here she was.
Back in New York.
Back in her apartment.
The city moved on without her, the whole place echoing around her like a hollow drum.
It was all too much.
Too big. Too small. Too everything.
Willa pressed her face into Lena’s shoulder. Let her whole body shake—once, twice.
And Lena didn’t flinch. Didn’t offer words or band-aids or silver linings. She just said, voice low and steady,
“I’ve got you. Just let it out.”
So, Willa did.
Silent tears spilled over, soaking into Lena’s sweatshirt, her fingers clutching the fabric like she might fall apart if she let go.
They stood there for a long time.
The kind of long that isn’t measured in minutes, only heartbeats.
Eventually, Lena eased her back gently, keeping an arm around her shoulders, and led her to the bedroom.
She didn’t ask if Willa wanted help. She just knew.
Willa moved like she was underwater—slow, heavy, disconnected from her own body.
She kicked off her boots. Shrugged off her coat. Dropped onto the edge of the bed, hands dangling uselessly between her knees.
Lena knelt and unzipped her bag.
Pulled out the rumpled clothes, folded them into the laundry basket without comment. Found Willa’s charger tangled around her battered notebook and plugged it in at the bedside table.
Willa didn’t fight it.
Didn’t speak.
She just let herself be taken care of.
Because she didn’t know how to hold herself up right now. Not yet.
And somehow, that was okay.
Because even in the middle of the wreckage—even in the fray and the ache and the unbearable missing—she knew:
She was home.
Not fixed. Not fine. But safe.
And for now, that was enough.
She showered next.
The water was almost too hot, nearly scalding, but she didn’t turn it down. She let it beat against her back, let the sting work its way deep into her muscles, hoping it would wash something loose.
Her hands shook as she washed her hair, fingers tangling in limp curls that hadn’t survived hotel water pressure, airport air, or three days of sleeplessness and heartbreak.
She scrubbed harder than she needed to.
Rinsed longer than she should have.
And when she was done—when her skin was pink and raw and the mirror was fogged completely over—she just stood there under the spray, face tilted up into the stream, breathing through the knot in her chest like it was a living thing.
Trying not to run from it.
Trying to feel it.
Because she didn’t want to be numb anymore.
Not about this.
Not about her.
When she finally stepped out, the air was sharp against her flushed skin. She wrapped herself tightly in a towel and padded barefoot down the hallway.
The smell of fresh coffee hit her first.
Then the soft, familiar sounds of home—Schitt’s Creek playing low on the TV, Alexis’ voice carrying on some dramatic monologue about love or money or both.
Lena was curled up on the couch, drowning in an oversized hoodie, legs tucked under a worn blanket, one hand nursing a mug of coffee.
Another mug—steaming, waiting—sat on the coffee table, a quiet invitation.
Willa didn’t think.
She didn’t hesitate.
She crossed the room, picked up the mug with a quiet thank you murmured against the rim, and slid down onto the couch beside Lena. Still damp, still wrapped in her towel, still feeling like her heart was more exposed than her skin.
Lena shifted at once, lifting the edge of the blanket to cover them both without a word.
Willa leaned into her side, letting Lena’s warmth seep into her bones, the weight of her a comfort more than anything. She wrapped an arm around Lena’s shoulders, resting her head against hers.
And they sat like that.
No pressure.
No prying.
Just breathing in the same air.
Outside, New York buzzed and howled—horns and sirens and life going on without them.
But in here, time slowed to a crawl.
Maybe even stopped completely.
Eventually, Lena’s voice broke the silence—soft, careful.
“You wanna talk about it?”
Willa stared into her coffee, watching the steam curl upward like ghosts. She tightened her grip on the mug, knuckles whitening for a second.
Then, so quietly she almost wasn’t sure she’d said it aloud:
“I was falling in love with her.”
Lena didn’t flinch.
Didn’t interrupt.
Just pressed her cheek a little closer to Willa’s shoulder.
“I mean—” Willa’s voice cracked, and she had to swallow hard before continuing, “—really in love. The kind you don’t even think exists until it’s happening to you. Like… everything before was just waiting. Like my life made more sense when she was standing in it.”
The words felt too big for her mouth. Too real.
But once they were out, she couldn’t stop them.
“I wasn’t just happy. I was understood. I was known. And I don’t think—” She closed her eyes, feeling the burn creep up behind her ribs. “—I don’t think she believes that. I don’t think she ever will again.”
Lena shifted, just enough to lift her head and look at her. Her eyes were shining too, but steady. Always steady.
She tucked a piece of Willa’s wet hair behind her ear.
And said, simply:
“Then you keep living. And if she’s meant to hear it again—she will.”
Willa bit the inside of her cheek. Blinked fast against the tears threatening again.
“And if she’s not?”
Lena smiled—a soft, sad, knowing kind of smile.
“Then you still loved her the right way.”
That broke something loose.
Not into tears.
Not into collapse.
Just a quiet crack in Willa’s chest.
A small, aching acceptance.
She nodded once, sharp and trembling.
Then pulled Lena tighter against her, pressing her forehead to her best friend’s shoulder, feeling Lena’s arm wrap tighter around her in return.
Outside, the city never stopped moving.
Inside, Willa let herself stay still.
Let herself feel it all.
Because even if it hurt—
Even if it never got fixed—
Even if she never heard Frankie say it back—
She knew one thing, now and forever:
She hadn’t loved her wrong.
Not once.
* * *