Chapter Seventeen
Charlie and I showed up five minutes earlier than the time we agreed to meet. Of course, we did. I will always show up early for her. Like if I get there first, I can feel in control of what happens next. Like timing ever did a damn thing for us.
I take a seat on the cold metal bench, the kind that digs into the backs of your legs, and have Charlie sit at my feet.
He huffs, gives me a look over his shoulder, as if I’ve personally offended him.
His leash is loose in my hand, but he shifts and whines, nudging my knee with his nose.
He’s not happy about sitting; he wants to start on his walk, nose to the ground, tail up, exploring every crack in the sidewalk and every patch of dying grass in this tiny park.
“Yeah, I know, buddy,” I mutter, scratching between his ears. “Walk later. We’re waiting for Juni.”
Her name tastes like something bittersweet on my tongue.
I shouldn’t be as excited as I am. My heart shouldn’t pick up just because I’m sitting here, in some shitty little park, staring down the path she’s supposed to be walking up.
I shouldn’t be scanning every girl in a hoodie, every flash of brunette hair.
But I am. She is actually the reason I have him.
This dog at my feet—solid, warm, breathing—exists in my life because of a conversation that never got to turn into a promise.
We once talked about adopting a dog together.
One of those late-night, half-delirious talks where you’re both stretched out, scrolling on your phones, sending each other pictures of puppies.
This one looks like trouble. This one looks like you, she’d sent back with a laughing emoji, some mutt with big brown eyes and a curly coat.
We made lists. Names. What kind of dog do we want?
But with the passing of Isaiah…We never got the chance, to no one's fault but my own. Time just moved on. That’s what it does.
It just… doesn’t stop to let you fix anything.
Just keeps dragging you along whether you like it or not.
Charlie sighs and lays his head on my boot.
I check the screen of my phone without even realizing I’ve pulled it out.
The habit is muscle memory by now. If something came up…
she would have reached out… Right? Remembering I’m holding my cell, I check it properly.
My thumb is swiping through the notifications, just spam—nothing from her at all.
Nada. Anxiety starts in my chest, slowly coiling.
She’s late. It’s fine. Not everyone is good with time.
Maybe something came up, perhaps she overslept.
Maybe she simply forgot. But it’s not like her to…
just… vanish. Yes, it’s been six years. But I still know her.
Deciding to text her. As much as the thought hurts, she may have forgotten.
Maybe things have been so bad for her that one quiet walk in the park with a dog and a friend doesn’t rank high in her brain.
I don’t want to be overbearing… I don't want to be that guy, blowing up her phone, pushing too hard.
So I just text one single word. Hey. I stare at it for a second, then hit send before I can overthink it. The message is delivered right away.
Charlie shifts again, grunting—a jogger runs by, shoes slapping the path, music too loud in his earbuds. A kid somewhere on the playground laughs. The wind tugs at the tree leaves, carrying that faint smell of exhaust and damp earth. I watch the screen. Nothing.
Another ten minutes pass. My leg starts to bounce.
I tell myself I’m being dramatic. That if I text again, it’ll be too much.
Maybe Reece is home, and she can’t text me back while he's watching. My jaw tightens at that thought, something hot and ugly curling low in my stomach. Ten minutes turns into fifteen. The sky shifts, clouds dragging across the sun, throwing shade over the bench, over Charlie’s coat. No response.
I lock the screen. Unlock it again. Still nothing.
My thumb hovers, wanting to type more—You okay?
Did something happen? Talk to me, Любовь…
but my thumbs hover before I even get the entire word down.
Even more time passes—another ten… then fifteen.
People get busy. People forget. People decide not to show up.
But I know her. Even if she couldn’t make it, she would send something.
An apology. A stupid meme. Next time. Unless she couldn’t.
A chill scrapes down my spine. Something may be wrong.
I scrub a hand over my face. It’s not really my place.
She has a husband. She has her life. I’m just…
the idiot who walked away from her. The mechanic.
The friend. The guy who fixes things and doesn’t touch what doesn’t belong to him.
But maybe I can drive past her trailer park to see if she’s home.
Just… check. Just enough to shore up this gnawing dread.
“Come on, Charlie.” I stand, tugging his leash lightly.
He resists for a second, then gets up with a low grumble, nails clicking on the pavement as we head back to my truck.
He keeps glancing behind us, like he expects her to appear, calling his name suddenly.
I hate that he does that. I hate that I did this to him, too.
“Yeah, I know. You wanted your walk buddy. Daddy is sorry,” I tell him quietly.
He is not happy as I open the back door and pat the seat. He jumps up but gives me a sad look as he lies down when I shut the door. “I know, buddy,” I mutter, circling to the driver's side.
Climbing into the truck, I sit there with my hands on the wheel for a moment, just breathing.
I feel like a total fucking creeper right now.
She bailed, or she forgot, or she couldn’t get away.
Any of those is a possibility. So she bailed.
Why does it matter? I’m not going to answer that. It matters to me. Too much.
I start the engine. The familiar rumble settles under my hands, under my feet.
CarPlay instantly connects. A song begins to play.
I don’t care enough to change it. I put the truck into drive, pulling out of the lot, the park shrinking in the rearview mirror.
We make our way through town. Before pulling into the trailer park…
against my better judgment, I grab my phone and call her.
The phone rings, and rings. Each one lands like a punch, stomach sinking. By the fourth ring, my stomach feels heavy. The voicemail picks up. Her voice sounds too bright. Too soft. I hang up before the beep even finishes.
The trailer park sign is up ahead, a rusted metal board with peeling white paint and faded letters, tilted slightly to one side like it's tired of hanging there. The wind rattles the loose corner. The gravel at the entrance is all washed out and littered with potholes.
Charlie starts to whine as we approach, ears flicking back, his big body shifting nervously. He can sense my nerves. My grip tightens on the wheel until my knuckles turn white. “It’s okay, buddy,” I murmur to myself.
As I pull in and slowly drive by their trailer, I notice a few things all at once, details hitting me.
Her car hasn’t moved. A thin film of pollen started to cling.
The tires are still the ones I just put on.
The fresh tread marks—no new tracks. And there are burnout marks where I’m assuming Reece parks.
Deep black spirals and stripes torn into the gravel and asphalt, angry scars in the ground. Hmm…That’s… weird.
I pull forward a little, then back up, then pull forward again, giving myself excuses to keep looking.
I don’t want to keep messaging her. I don’t want her to think I’m crossing a line.
As I begin to drive past their trailer, a slight movement in the window catches my attention.
The cheap curtain twitches, the air coming through the shitty, insulated windows, but from something, someone, behind it.
My breath catches. The world seems to narrow to that one small square of glass.
It’s Juni. But she doesn’t look like herself.
She’s backlit by the dim light inside, but I can still make out enough to make my blood run cold.
From what I can tell… her left eye is swollen shut and turning a sick, mottled purple.
The skin around it is so puffed that it strains the lid.
There is discoloration around her neck, blotchy fingerprints of purple and red wrapping like a twisted necklace. Her sweatshirt from yesterday is torn.
Her face is drawn tight. Her mouth is parted just a little.
Her good eye widens when she sees me. I slam on the brakes harder than I intended to, the truck lurching forward and throwing me forward.
Charlie yelps, paws clinging to the backseat.
“Fuck, daddy is sorry, buddy,” I say mindlessly, but my eyes are already on her.
Slamming my truck into reverse, I backed up too fast, gravel popping under the tires, then yanked it into park so hard the gearshift protests. The engine idles loudly.
Without thinking, I’m out of the truck. The door slams shut with urgency. My feet move on their own.
Across the broken concrete, up the warped wooden steps. I’m at her front door before my brain catches up.
I can hear her gasp from inside as I start knocking on her door.
The sound is slight, choked, as if she tried to swallow, and it still slipped out.
I don’t think she’s even tall enough to see through the peephole in the door.
My knocking starts getting a little harder as my panic sinks in.
I’m not just knocking anymore. I’m pounding.
“Juni.” My voice comes out rough, too loud for the cramped row of trailers. “Juni, it’s me. Open up.”