Chapter 34
I’ve been home for hours, curled on the couch under a blanket, the TV murmuring in the background while I let the world keep going without me.
My phone started ringing and pinging the second I walked in, so I put it on silent, left it face down on the kitchen counter, took off last night’s clothes, and slid into the softest pajamas I own.
Since then, I haven’t moved from this spot.
The lock rattles. The front door opens, and two whispering shadows slip in—Anna and Bri. Their voices sound distant in my living room, and something in me feels just as faded.
I shouldn’t be here. I should’ve gone somewhere else, anywhere. But where? This is supposed to be my safe place, and right now, I can’t breathe in it. I don’t want questions. I don’t want to explain how the best night of my life collapsed into a lie.
How long has he known? The question claws at me, relentless.
They cross the room and kneel in front of me. Concern is written on both their faces.
“Are you okay, Lina?” Anna asks first. She presses the back of her hand to my forehead.
I must look like I’m dying, even though I’m not. It just hurts. It feels like the world has been rewired, and I’m the only one with the wrong settings.
“I’m fine,” I say, sitting up and gently moving Anna’s hand away.
Bri folds her arms and tilts her head. “Then explain why there’s a six-foot-four Irish footballer pacing outside our building.”
“He’s outside?” I ask, stunned.
“We ran into him downstairs,” Marianna says. “He’s literally pacing. When he saw us, he came running and asked if we’d seen you. He wanted to know if you were okay.”
Dramatic, I think, rolling my eyes though the smallness in my chest won’t let me laugh.
“What the hell happened?” Bri snaps. “Last I heard, you were beaming, freshly railed, and glowing. So what did he do?”
“Nothing,” I say, too fast.
“Catalina,” Bri says, serious now. “Did that man do something you didn’t want? Tell us. I don’t care how big he is, I’ll chop his balls off.”
“No,” I insist, sitting up straighter. “It’s not like that, I promise.”
Bri huffs, and the bitterness leaves her a little.
Marianna grasps my hand. “Okay,” she says softly. “You don’t have to talk about it. We just want to make sure you’re safe.”
“I am,” I lie, and it tastes bitter. “I’m … hurt. Disappointed. I gave him my heart too fast. That’s on me.”
They exchange a look that says they understand without fully knowing.
“Is it safe to tell him you’re okay, that you’ll reach out when you’re ready?” Marianna asks. “He said he’ll wait outside until he knows you’re fine.”
“Yes, that’s fine,” I whisper. A single tear trails down my cheek. “But I don’t want to talk to him right now.”
“That’s okay,” Marianna says. She stands and strokes my hair, a small, steady gesture. “I’ll run downstairs and tell him you’re safe so he can go home before he attracts attention to himself pacing around our building.”
“Okay,” I manage. Her smile is gentle when she leaves. I hear the front door click shut behind her.
Bri stays, eyes soft now. “Have you eaten?”
I shake my head.
“I’ll make you something. Eat first. Then when you’re ready, we’ll talk. Or we won’t. Whatever you need.”
I nod and curl back into the couch, the TV showing another rerun of Love Island as if the soundtrack of my life could be that simple.
Don’t fall in love, I think. It only ends in hurt.
The couch is warm from my body. My skin smells faintly of last night. Outside, someone paces. Inside, I try to breathe.
We’ve migrated to the kitchen table, wine poured, charcuterie board assembled, crisis-friendship formation fully activated.
The kind of emergency picnic only women in emotional triage can assemble: cheese, salami, crackers, grapes, and the unspoken agreement that no one is judging me for still being in pajamas.
Anna sips her wine, eyes narrowed.
“So … do you think he knew it was you the entire time?”
I pluck a piece of salami, roll it, and pop it in my mouth.
He had to have known. I gave him so many clues. Work trips, late nights, the same travel days, how could he not put it together?
I wave a hand dismissively, still chewing.
“When we went to Houston and I said I’d just been with my parents?
When I said I was running on the beach, and then literally ran into him?
He knows I travel constantly. He knows I work insane hours.
What are the odds he knew we kept ‘coincidentally’ traveling on the exact same days and he didn’t connect the dots? ”
“Okay, that makes sense.” Bri nods. “But … did he ever give you clues? Anything you overlooked?”
I shake my head before she even finishes. I’ve been replaying it all day; the answer is tattooed on my brain.
“No. Nothing. Not even crumbs. He was just … him. Someone who seemed interested in me, for me. Someone I trusted. He’d say he was busy, but that could’ve meant finance or landscaping or running a secret puppy-rescue ring. Busy is busy. He never hinted who he was.”
Anna lifts her hands like she’s diffusing a bomb. “Okay, devil’s advocate … what if he genuinely didn’t know how to bring it up? You both went on Veil for anonymity. Then suddenly you’re vibing on the app and in real life, maybe he panicked.”
I stare at her hard.
“You think he panicked?” My voice cracks. “I trusted him. I opened myself up and he let me … I told him I was falling for someone else, and the whole time Rogue the secret-internet-ghost just … listened. Encouraged me. Told me to follow my heart.”
Bri winces. “So it kind of feels like he emotionally groomed you into liking him.”
“Exactly!” I slam my palm on the table “How do I know any of it was real? What if he just said what he knew would make me fall for him?”
Anna’s face softens, and she gives a tiny shrug.
“Or, don’t stab me, it’s romantic?”
I stare at her like she just confessed to loving pineapple on pizza.
She lifts her palms, surrendering. “I’m just saying, you fell for Rogue the storm-cloud football god, and Rogue the thoughtful, vulnerable, I-write-like-pain-and-starlight Veil guy. Two halves of the same person.”
A tear slips down my cheek, and I swipe it away with my sleeve.
“What are the odds he really meant all of it?” I whisper. “That he didn’t tell me because he wanted me to like him for who he actually is? In a perfect world … it was fate. Kismet. Whatever. We found each other twice.”
I breathe in. Slow. Shaky.
“But this isn’t a perfect world. He didn’t tell me, and I don’t know if I can trust him again.”
“Has he tried contacting you?” Anna asks.
A humorless laugh escapes me. “He tried calling five seconds after I left. He was naked in the kitchen making scrambled eggs when I walked out in his shirt, muttering I didn’t feel well.
Then? Calls. Texts. And of course, my messages on Veil.
He wants to ‘talk.’ To ‘explain.’ To give me his why and his excuses and his whatever the hell. ”
“And you can’t do it right now.” Bri finishes gently.
I shake my head, throat tight. “I can’t. Not yet.”
Bri leans forward, voice soft but firm. “You need space. A breather. But if you care about him, really care, you have to let him explain eventually. Otherwise, you’ll just torture yourself with what-ifs.”
I swallow hard, staring at my glass.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I know.”
My chest aches. My heart feels bruised. But I nod anyway.
“Not today. But … eventually.”
Monday, I call in sick. I can’t see him. I can’t breathe around the idea of seeing him.
My phone has been lighting up since sunrise, calls, texts, each one a spark against a raw nerve.
Rogue:
Kitten, I woke up reaching for you.
Rogue:
I miss you already. Please answer me. Don’t shut me out.
Rogue:
Catalina, you are the most important thing in my life right now. Please don’t give up on us before you let me explain.
Rogue:
You don’t owe me a reply right now, but I need you to know I would never hurt you on purpose. I care about you more than I know how to say.
Rogue:
I never lied about how I feel. Not once.
I flip my phone face down on the kitchen counter and walk away from it.
I clean instead. Closet purge. Donation piles. Old T-shirts I once thought I looked good in. Jeans that hold a memory of a body I used to hate.
Silence makes everything louder, but music is too much, too bright, too chaotic, so I move through the apartment in stillness, folding pieces of old versions of myself, trying to make space for a world that suddenly feels unfamiliar.
Bri is at work. Marianna hovers in the background, orbiting me with quiet loyalty, bringing trash bags, taking full ones away, checking in once an hour without asking questions. Just presence. Just love.
It’s barely noon when she knocks on my door and cracks it open.
“You’ve got company,” she murmurs.
Panic flickers. Rogue? No. She wouldn’t let him in.
Right?
She pushes the door wider, and June steps in holding a takeout bag and her laptop, wearing a small, gentle smile.
“I brought lunch,” she says. “And juice. And … company, if you want it.”
Something inside me breaks again, the kind made of gratitude.
“Hey.” I push off the bed and walk to her. “Sorry if you called, I’m … avoiding my phone.”
“I figured,” she says, voice warm, steady. “Never wanted to intrude. I did text and … you didn’t answer, which felt like you might need someone.”
Before I can respond, Marianna grabs her keys and headphones.
“I’m going for a run.” She kisses my forehead. “I’ll be back in an hour.” She whispers something to June as she passes, then she’s gone.
Babysitting rotation activated. Great.
“My room is a disaster,” I mutter, wiping under my eyes. “Let’s go to the living room.”
June nods. “Perfect. I got those quinoa bowls you like. And beet juice.”
Emotion hits my throat like a punch. When did I get so lucky with people? When did the universe decide to hand me sisters instead of friends?
“Thank you,” I whisper, swallowing tears and leading her to the living room.
She opens containers, lining them neatly on the coffee table like we’re about to have a tiny picnic in the ruins of my emotional life.
“How are you feeling? Emily said you were sick, and I didn’t want to pry, but when I walked into work this morning, there was a very broody Irishman pacing the office. I’ve never seen a man look so panicked.”
More tears. Jesus Christ. Am I ever going to stop crying?
“I’m sorry he cornered you,” I murmur, wiping my cheek. “He shouldn’t be showing up at the office asking about me. Especially where Emily lurks. If she finds out, the world finds out.”
June shifts, eyes serious. “That’s actually … why I’m here.”
The room hums. The refrigerator clicks in the kitchen. Time doesn’t stop, but I do. My heartbeat is too loud in the quiet, like my body already knows something I don’t want to hear.
“What do you mean?” I ask, my heart in my throat.
“I don’t want to overstep,” she says, “but I heard something today that I thought you would want to know.”
“What?”
She exhales slowly. “When I saw him this morning, I didn’t know you weren’t coming in. I told him you were probably running late. Then Emily came in and told me you’d called out sick.”
I nod.
Of course Emily did, so far, the story makes sense.
“While Emily was still there, he came back asking again. Emily told him you weren’t coming in, and he asked if you’d be in tomorrow. She got annoyed and said, and I quote, ‘What does he think? He runs this department now because he gave up part of his salary to fund it?’”
I sit upright. “What?”
“I asked her what she meant,” June says, eyes soft, steady.
“She said that after his welcome ceremony, he asked them to expand the social media department and give you an assistant. They said the team budget had been tapped for years. So he told them to take it out of his salary contract. And they … did. That’s why I was hired. ”
The room tilts.
I grab the edge of the couch.
“So you’re telling me,” I breathe, voice barely there, “Rogue gave up part of his salary … so I could have help?”
“No,” June utters, a tiny smile tugging her lips. “I’m telling you he gave up part of his salary … so you wouldn’t drown alone. So your world got a little lighter. So someone had your back.”
His laugh echoes in my head. His hands on my waist. The way he whispered my name like it was prayer and surrender in one breath. How can something so sacred break this fast?
I sit there, absorbing it, breath caught somewhere between anger and gravity. The floor shifts under me, not enough to steady me, but enough to make me sway.
I press the heel of my hand to my chest like I can hold myself together, but one tear slips anyway, hot and unwanted.
He didn’t just want me.
He tried to take care of me.
And I have no idea what to do with that.