Chapter 18 - Goodbye to Old Ghosts
Matt packed the last of his boxes in silence. The walls of the apartment were already stripped of him, pale rectangles where frames had hung, a dent in the drywall from when he had dropped a suitcase during the move-in. It looked like a place that had been temporarily borrowed, not lived in.
He closed the final box and sat back on his heels. When Holloway called to reinstate the relocation offer, he had not hesitated. There was nothing left to keep him here. Sarah had reissued the divorce papers two weeks ago, the signature lines cleaner this time, her handwriting steadier.
They had agreed on everything. Joint custody. Rotating weekends. Summer vacations split evenly. The kind of civilized plan divorced people bragged about to hide the quiet ache underneath. He would get less time with Tommy and Emily, and that was the part that gutted him.
The rest, Sarah moving on, another man eventually sitting across from her at the dinner table, maybe helping with homework or fixing the faucet, it was inevitable. He had made peace with being replaced. He had to. He had built the conditions for it himself.
He looked around the room one last time. The faint smell of takeout and detergent. A single coffee mug on the counter. No photos. No warmth. Just a man’s empty reset.
Matt grabbed his keys, took one last slow breath, and headed for the door.
The drive to Sarah’s house was short, but his mind stretched the distance.
Every memory seemed to line the road. Emily in her soccer cleats.
Tommy singing off-key in the backseat. Sarah’s hand resting on the console during road trips.
He pulled into the driveway and sat for a moment before killing the engine.
When he stepped inside, it smelled like home again. Pancakes and crayons and something floral that always clung to Sarah’s sweaters.
“Dad!” Tommy’s voice hit first, followed by the rapid patter of feet. He barreled down the hallway, socks sliding on hardwood, grin wide enough to make Matt’s chest ache. Emily was not far behind, pigtails bouncing.
Matt crouched down, catching both of them at once, letting the collision knock him backward onto the floor. “Hey, hey, easy. You’ll break me before I make it out of the state.”
Emily giggled. “You can’t break, Dad. You fix stuff.”
Matt laughed. “Yeah? Then you'd better call Marvel. I need my own movie.”
Tommy grinned and launched into an exaggerated superhero pose, arms flexed. “The Incredible Dad.”
“The mildly organized, occasionally responsible, part-time Incredible Dad,” Matt said, pulling them both into another hug. “God, I’m going to miss you guys.”
“Are you really leaving?” Emily asked quietly.
He brushed a stray hair from her face. “Just for a while, bug. I’ll fly back for every game, every recital, every chance I can get. And you’ll come visit me, remember? We’ll go to the beach, eat way too much ice cream, and pretend bedtime isn’t real.”
Tommy nodded seriously, like it was a pact. “Mom said you got a big job there.”
“She’s right,” Matt said. “A big job, big house, and big responsibilities.”
The kids clung to him until their arms ached. Sarah did not say a word, did not hurry them. She just sat at the kitchen island, quiet and watchful, letting them have every second.
When Tommy finally pulled back, he wiped his nose on his sleeve and mumbled, “You better call us every day.”
“I will,” Matt promised.
Emily pressed her face into his neck one last time before Sarah finally spoke. “Okay, you two. Let Dad finish packing the car.”
They nodded, shuffling toward the hallway, both turning back for one more wave before they disappeared upstairs.
When the laughter faded, the house slipped into that loaded quiet, the one that used to mean unspoken things and now just meant distance.
Sarah did not move closer, and neither did he. She looked tired but not unkind. “They’re handling this better than I expected.”
He nodded. “Kids are resilient. I’m the one falling apart.”
She gave a small smile. “You’ll be fine. Charleston will be good for you. You need a new start.”
He studied her, every detail. The way her hair framed her face, the curve of her mouth, the steadiness in her eyes that used to center him.
“I keep thinking about the first time we walked into this house,” he said.
“You made me take my shoes off because you didn’t want to scuff the floor.
I thought it was ridiculous. Now I’d give anything to argue with you about it again. ”
Sarah’s expression softened. “Matt.”
He shook his head lightly. “You don’t have to say anything. I just...” He looked down, voice low. “I can’t believe I fucked this up.”
Her silence said enough.
After a long moment, she stepped forward and hugged him. It was not a rekindling, just a quiet mercy. He held on for both hope and closure.
When she pulled away, she looked him in the eye. “Go build something good, Matt. Don’t waste the chance.”
He nodded once, unable to trust his voice.
Matt walked out to his car and loaded a few boxes into the trunk, the sound of the kids laughing faintly coming from behind the door.
He sat behind the wheel and stared at the house until his vision blurred.
Then he started the engine and drove toward Charleston, leaving behind the only version of home he helped build and then broke.
He made it to the end of the block before he had to pull over. The weight hit all at once. His eyes closed, his body jerking as if grief itself was taking bites out of him. He slammed both hands against the steering wheel, once, twice, the sound cracking through the car like thunder.
“Goddammit,” he rasped.
For a second, he tried to swallow it down. Tried to breathe like he was still the man who fixed things. But it was useless. The tears came fast, hard, uninvited. The mistakes, apologies, and almost-redemption blurred together until he could barely see the windshield.
He pressed his forehead to the steering wheel and stayed there.
The hum of the engine was the only thing that didn’t feel hollow.
Every good memory of Sarah flickered through his mind like a reel of things he’d never get back.
The sound of her laugh. The smell of her hair.
The quiet way she used to trace circles on his wrist when she thought he was asleep.
He had ruined all of it.
The world outside moved on, cars passing, neighbors walking their dogs, the normal rhythm of life that didn’t care one bit about his unraveling.
When the shaking finally slowed, he sat back and wiped his face with the heel of his hand. The tears left salt lines on his skin. He let out a slow, ragged breath and reached for his phone on the passenger seat.
He didn’t even have to think about the number. Tyler picked up on the second ring.
“Matt?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough. “I’m on the road.”
A pause, then Tyler’s tone softened. “Got it. You just now leaving?”
“Yeah.”
“How are you holding up?”
Matt gave a small, humorless laugh. “Holding might be generous.”
“I figured.” Tyler’s voice was low and steady, the kind of calm that didn’t ask for details. “I’ll be there tomorrow night. I already talked to the office, cleared my schedule for a couple of days.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, I do. You shouldn’t start this alone. We’ll grab dinner, set up your place, hit the beach. You can even cry if you need to, I won’t judge.”
Matt managed a quiet laugh through the exhaustion. “You always know when to say the right stupid thing.”
“That’s my gift,” Tyler said. “Text me when you stop for gas so I know you’re not driving off a bridge.”
“Deal.”
“Hey, Matt?”
“Yeah?”
“Charleston is going to be great. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”
Matt didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
When he finally hung up, the car was quiet again.
He sat there another minute, watching the house in the rearview mirror until it disappeared behind the curve of the street.
He brought up his road trip playlist and pressed play on No Rest for the Wicked by Cage the Elephant.
Then he shifted into drive, rolled down the window, and let the cold air rush in.
It didn’t fix anything, but it felt like breath.
By the time he hit the highway, his playlist rolled into Do I Wanna Know by the Arctic Monkeys. He tightened his grip on the wheel and whispered under his breath, half to himself, half to the ghost of what he’d left behind.
"Don’t screw this up, Taylor."
And then he drove.