Chapter 33 Austin
THIRTY-THREE
AUSTIN
The porch light on Selene’s side of the duplex was still on.
It glowed soft and amber against the navy night, casting long shadows across the railing and turning the potted mums by the steps into something almost golden. A fat moth knocked clumsily against the glass bulb, over and over, like it hadn’t figured out it would never get through.
My boots crunched against the gravel path as I crossed the small strip of yard that used to feel invisible—like nothing more than an extension of home.
Tonight, it felt like enemy territory.
I shifted the take-out container in my hand—chicken nuggets and honey mustard from that diner Winnie loved, still warm in the brown paper bag I’d gripped too tight.
My intention was to get myself dinner while giving Selene some space, but I was too nauseated to eat.
The cardboard had softened along the edges where my fingers had sweated through it, and a smear of grease marked the side where my thumb wouldn’t stop pressing.
My palms were damp again. I wiped one against my jeans, but the moisture clung, cold and clammy. My throat was dry. Swallowing felt like dragging glass through cotton.
I hadn’t changed out of my work hoodie. There were still paint flecks along the hem and a dried smear of spackle on my forearm. I looked like someone who didn’t care enough. Like someone who hadn’t planned this right.
Fuck.
I’d barely made it home before dragging myself next door, my thoughts tangled with all the things I should’ve said hours ago but hadn’t. The silence between us had stretched so long it felt alive now—tight and watching, coiled like a wire waiting to snap.
I stopped at the bottom step.
The house was still. A stillness that felt dangerous.
I should’ve told Brody I didn’t have time to stop by.
I should’ve showered and cleaned up for them.
I should’ve been in that gymnasium. Front row.
Clapping loud. Lifting Winnie into a spin like she was made of magic.
I should’ve been steady and present, proudly pressing my hand to the small of Selene’s back when the lights came up.
Instead, I stood in the dark, holding a sagging bag of lukewarm food, and wondering how many times a man could ruin something good before it was gone forever.
I looked up at her door.
My feet wouldn’t move.
For half a second—maybe longer—I thought about turning around. I considered leaving the food on the step like a sad little peace offering and slinking back through my own door without knocking. At least that way I wouldn’t have to watch Selene look at me like she was bracing for disappointment.
The porch bulb flickered once, then held steady.
I climbed the steps slowly, every movement deliberate.
My knees felt stiff, my chest tight enough that I couldn’t take a full breath.
The wood creaked beneath me—familiar in a way that nearly undid me.
I remembered walking up those steps with shopping bags and groceries.
I remembered Selene opening the door barefoot and smiling after she’d just pulled an apple pie from the oven.
I remembered Winnie in her pajamas, holding up a picture she’d drawn of the three of us.
I remembered it all.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that it might already be too late to fix my fuckup.
I raised my hand and knocked—three slow taps that sounded too loud in the quiet night—and waited with my breath caught behind my teeth.
The porch light buzzed above me. The moth bumped again against the glass.
Somewhere down the road, a car passed without slowing. The moment stretched long and taut, my pulse thudding behind my eyes.
The door opened and the world tilted.
Selene stood there in pajama pants and a long-sleeved tee, her bare face lit in amber. No mascara. No gloss. Just clean skin and tired eyes that looked right through me.
Her hair was tied up in one of those loose, half-fallen knots, strands curling around her cheek like they were trying to shield her. From me.
She didn’t say anything.
I tried to smile, but my lips wouldn’t move right. I held out the bag of food like it might fix something, even though I knew it wouldn’t.
“I brought dinner,” I said, voice rough and too small. “For Winnie.”
Selene’s gaze dropped to the bag. “She’s already asleep.”
Her voice was soft. Gentle, even. But there wasn’t a trace of warmth beneath it. Only quiet finality, like a door halfway closed.
I swallowed, the motion sharp in my throat.
“I—I thought I could make it,” I said. “I really did. Brody called and said he needed to show me something last minute. He said it was important, and I didn’t think it’d take as long as it did.
I wasn’t watching the clock. I thought I had time, but it got away from me. ”
She nodded once, barely. Her hand stayed curled around the edge of the door. No invitation to step inside. No sign I was welcome.
“I’m not making excuses,” I added quickly, my words hitching over themselves. “I’m just . . . I messed up. I know that. I should’ve been there.”
A pause stretched between us, thick with everything I wanted to say and everything she didn’t want to hear.
“I was trying to be there for everyone,” I said again, slower now as I tried to catch my breath. “For the guys at work. For Brody. I was trying to be the type of person who could handle it all. But I should’ve been here. With you. With her. Nothing else matters more than that.”
The words came too fast—tumbling out like they’d been waiting all night to escape.
“I thought I could do both. I thought I could make it work. And then when I saw the time—fuck, Selene. I drove straight from the station. I ran. I didn’t even think, just—I had to get here. But I was too late. I know that.”
She exhaled slowly, but nothing eased between us. Her eyes didn’t narrow. They didn’t soften. They just stayed steady on mine. Watching. Measuring.
“I missed it,” I said, barely above a whisper. “I missed her. I missed the opportunity to be there for you.”
A silence fell. One that swallowed every sound of the night.
Selene’s hand finally released the doorframe. She folded her arms gently across her chest, like she was holding herself up from the inside. Her expression didn’t crack, but something in her gaze flickered—like a candle struggling to stay lit.
“Thank you for explaining what happened,” she said at last. “But I think I need a little space, Austin.” Her voice was so even, so heartbreakingly composed, it took me a second to understand the words.
“I’ve done this before—believed someone when they said I could count on them, and I can’t afford to be wrong again. ”
My heart lodged behind my ribs as my panic rose. “Selene . . .”
She shook her head—not in anger, but with quiet certainty. “You were trying. I know that. But I need more than good intentions.”
I took a step forward without thinking. “Let me fix it.”
“You can’t,” she said gently, like it hurt her to say it.
Panic bubbled up inside me. “I fucked up once, Selene. Can’t I—”
“I know, Austin.” Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and it gutted me. “I just . . . I’m not even sure what I’m doing here. All I know is I have a five-year-old little girl who cried herself to sleep and looks to me to understand how I could let that happen.”
The thought of Winnie crying because of me was too much. The porch boards groaned beneath my feet. I clutched the bag of food tighter, as if there was anything left in it worth offering.
“Please,” I begged. “Just . . . let me apologize to Winnie.”
Her mouth parted like she wanted to say no—but then she sighed, glancing toward the hallway behind her.
“She’s asleep,” she said. “You can come by tomorrow.”
I nodded, though everything in me was screaming to stay. To fight. To grab her hand and tell her she was the only thing I was sure about in my whole damn life.
Selene turned to retreat back into her house when I panicked and shouted the first thing that came to mind. “I love you!”
Fuck.
Selene’s mouth dropped open as I stepped forward. “Selene, I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean to just yell it at you like that, I’m . . . shit.”
My eyes bounced between hers as I dragged a hand through my hair. I had shocked her silent with the world’s most unhinged declaration of love, and while I meant it, she deserved more than a hasty I love you on the heels of my fuckup, like those words would fix what I did.
“I can’t do this right now,” she finally whispered. “Good night, Austin.” I stood there as she stepped back inside and closed the door with an almost unbearable softness.
The click of the latch might as well have been the sound of something breaking clean in two.
I stood on the porch until the moth disappeared, until the porch light flickered again and went out, until I couldn’t feel my fingers around the now-cold paper bag.
Just one wall between us, and it might as well have been a canyon.
Inside, I sat on the edge of my bed, hands clenched so tight in my lap they’d gone white at the knuckles.
The room didn’t feel like mine anymore.
Same boots by the door. Same hoodie tossed over the chair. Same dent in the mattress where I always crashed after long days, but something had shifted. Or maybe everything had.
The silence felt wrong. It was loud and cavernous all at once.
I glanced at the wall beside me—the one that separated my room from Selene’s. It used to be nothing more than drywall and studs. Something we laughed about when I had first moved in. How we’d have to keep it down. How thin the walls were. How close we were.
Now it might as well have been a fucking mountain.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and stared at that stretch of painted plaster like it might answer for me. Like maybe, if I looked hard enough, it would give me a way through.
A thump echoed faintly—a drawer closing. Then footsteps, soft but unmistakable. The creak of floorboards under Selene’s feet.
She was still awake.
Still moving. Still holding everything together on the other side, because she always did. Even when she was breaking.
I closed my eyes and tried to picture her tucking Winnie in. Folding her little pajamas, brushing crumbs from the kitchen counter, flipping off the porch light and going to bed alone.
Fuck.
My chest tightened, breath catching hard behind my ribs as I walked toward the wall. I pressed a hand to the surface. Flat palm, fingers splayed like maybe if I held still enough, she’d feel it.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered into the darkness.
I didn’t expect an answer, but I hoped maybe she’d feel something in the way I said it. If she heard, I only hoped she knew I meant it with every part of my soul.
I was sorry for missing the performance. For being too late. For not immediately choosing them over anything else.
Regret pulsed so thick I thought I might drown in it.
I didn’t know how to fix what I’d broken. I only knew that wall had never felt so impossibly solid.
I let my head fall forward, resting my forehead against the cool sheet of plaster, and stayed there in the quiet. Listening for her and reaching out for nothing.
Just one wall away. She was only feet from me and I had never felt farther from home.