Chapter 10
Stella
The airplane lands several hours after I left Donovan standing at the curb outside my house. I didn’t look back when I drove away. My heart already felt like it was breaking.
Stupid, right? We made up. Got back together. We had a beautiful and exhausting night together.
So why does it feel like going home to Virginia is just the beginning of the end again?
I power on my phone, shuffling down the narrow aisle. My backpack digs into my shoulders, making it harder to move. By the time I cross into the jet bridge, the screen lights up, buzzing with a series of incoming messages.
Mom: Dad and I will be heading home from Paris tomorrow. So sorry we missed you.
Donovan: You’re flying over Tennessee, and I’m here trying to pretend I don’t miss you like hell already.
Ansel: Hey, my sexy slay muffin. Haven’t heard from you all week. I can't wait until you come home tonight. We are going to have dinner and driiiiiiinks, bitch!!!
I tap out a quick “miss you” to Mom and reply with “can't wait” to Ansel.
But Donovan’s message?
I just stare at it.
Should I really be getting this much of a serotonin boost… from a text that says he misses me? From the man I lost because stubbornness got in the way? From the man, I’m recklessly relearning how to love again. No slow dance, just a full-on plunge?
God, I’m a hot mess. And worse? I don’t think I want to stop being one when it comes to him.
Me: Just landed and missing you something fierce right now.
Me: [Sends picture]
I snap a quick photo outside the airport while I wait for my ride and hit send. Then immediately grimace. I look like shit. I shouldn’t have sent it.
It’s a thirty-minute drive from the airport to my apartment. Sitting in the back of the rideshare, I check my phone for the fiftieth time on the drive home, convinced I missed his reply somehow.
I feel like an idiot. Did I completely misread what this is? Maybe he just wants a hookup every few weeks.
Confusion settles over me like fog. I lean my head against the seat and close my eyes as the city speeds past.
Once I'm home, I kick off my shoes and slide them onto the rack by the door. I hang my keys on the hook and twist the deadbolt on the door. The soft click sounds final somehow.
Grabbing the small stack of mail from the counter, I head toward my bedroom, flipping through it.
Junk. All of it. Two weeks away and nothing but junk mail. The clock reads just shy of 3 p.m. Might as well shower and nap.
One of my favorite things about the apartment Ansel and I share is the split floor plan. There are two bedrooms, one on each side. The living room is the epicenter of our chaos, where our personalities crash, clash, and somehow still fit. But the bedrooms? Completely different worlds.
Ansel’s is sunshine, florals, and glittered chaos.
Mine?
Pastel goth—pinks and purples drape everything, but the centerpiece is skulls, coffins, and curated morbidity.
Very edgy. Very girly. I guess growing up around death does that to you.
I turn on the shower and let the steam rise while I wash my face, slowly slipping into the warmth. Once inside, I lather soap over my skin, rinse off the grime of the day, and work shampoo into my hair, letting the deep conditioner sit while my thoughts drift. Last night replays in flashes.
The way Donovan lifted me onto the car—commanding. His tongue, slow and deliberate.
My breath catches at the memory of his fingers inside me, and my body responds instantly.
My left hand skims over my breasts, teasing my nipples. Heat blooms low in my belly.
I quickly rinse the conditioner from my hair, hastily turn off the shower, and grab my towel, anger flowing through me.
What the hell is wrong with me?
He hasn’t texted since this morning. And I’m in here getting myself off to the memory of him like a fool. I fall back on my bed, throwing my arm over my eyes with a sigh.
Stella, you’re being deranged.
It hasn’t even been that long. He’s not ghosting you.
“Stella, you’re supposed to be dressed and ready to go!” Ansel launches herself onto my bed.
I sit up, glance at the clock. I slept for almost three hours. I stretch my arms overhead, forgetting I’m in just a towel.
“Sorry, Ansel. Apparently, I was more worn out than I thought.” I grab my phone.
No missed calls. No texts.
I feel so stupid.
“Would you totally hate me and end our BFF pact if I said I wanted to stay in, order an ungodly amount of Chinese food, and binge The Bachelor?”
Ansel sits up, instantly serious. “I feel like saying no to Chinese food and The Bachelor is the ultimate betrayal. Get dressed, babe. I’ll order food and grab the margs.”
She leaves without asking a single question.
I throw on my favorite sweatpants and oversized sweatshirt and head into the living room. True to her word, margaritas are on the table alongside two shots of tequila.
We clink glasses, down the shots, and dive into the strawberry margaritas. No words. Just presence. My best friend sees the weight on my shoulders.
Once the food arrives, we spread the boxes out and start eating. A few quiet minutes pass before Ansel sets down her fork.
“Okay, Stell. What’s going on? I thought things were good?”
I twirl my fork through my noodles, trying to find the right words. “I spent an amazing week with Donovan,” I say, dragging out “amazing” in a very suggestive tone.
“I’m not dumb, Stella. Last time we talked, you were practically glowing with sins.” She smirks, chewing.
“Ansel Adamina Lennox, for all that is holy, please let me get this out.” I see her eyes twitch at the mention of her full name. Bingo. Her parents thought they were clever.
“We had romantic dinners, deep conversations. He gave me so many mind-blowing orgasms.”
Ansel pumps her fists like an overexcited frat boy.
“When I left this morning, I thought… We were back together. It felt like a promise. Like the future we always talked about was finally possible.” I take a long drink of my margarita. “But the minute I drove away, I felt this awful dread. Like going home was the beginning of the end.”
She doesn’t say anything right away, just looks at me with that deep, knowing stare.
“Stella, you know how much I believe in the magic of tarot and gut feelings. Intuition shouldn’t be ignored. But I think you’re overwhelmed. You weren’t expecting to see him, and when you did, all those feelings rushed back. It makes sense you dove headfirst.”
She reaches out and pulls me into a hug.
“I feel so stupid right now,” I whisper. “Logically, I know all this, but emotionally? I’m spiraling. What if he doesn’t want a future? What if I’m just a convenient hookup while I’m there?”
Her arms tighten around me. “Stella. You are spectacular. Kind. Hilarious. You have great tits and an even better ass, the music taste of someone who runs on caffeine and chaos, and the best friend a girl could ask for.” She sits back, eyes fierce.
“He’d be an idiot not to want you back. But even if he’s being a dumbass and this is just a hookup, then rock his damn world and walk away with your head held high.
” “Rock his damn world?” I snort, and margarita shoots out of my nose.
Ansel grabs her own margarita, grinning. “Also, maybe he’s just, like... actually busy today?”
I nod, letting her words sink in. But still—
I check my phone one more time just in case.
Nothing.