Page 26 of Playing with My Heart

Sleep didn’t come easy that night. Each time I closed my eyes, I saw Parker—Parker at work, Parker laughing at some dumb joke I’d made, Parker looking at me with something that I dared hope was more than friendship. Tossing and turning, I wrestled with the sheets and my conscience until the first light of dawn crept in through the blinds.

“Today’s going to be hell,” I muttered to the ceiling. Facing Parker at work without betraying my feelings felt like an impossible task. I couldn’t keep pretending nothing had changed because everything had changed. I cared about him, more than I’d planned, more than I should.

“Maybe I can avoid him,” I thought out loud, knowing full well how ridiculous that sounded. We worked together; avoidance wasn’t exactly an option.

The shower did little to wash away the frustration clinging to my skin. As water cascaded over me, I tried to strategize how I could keep my distance, stay professional, but every scenario ended with me either confessing everything or acting like a complete idiot.

“Great choices, Travis,” I scoffed at my reflection in the foggy mirror. My blue eyes stared back, looking just as lost as I felt. Pulling on my clothes, I braced for the day ahead. There was noeasy solution, no magic fix for the mess I’d gotten myself into. All I knew was I had to protect my heart from the inevitable hurt that loomed on the horizon.

“Let’s do this,” I said, grabbing my keys and heading out the door, the weight of my unspoken words heavy in my chest.

Chapter Ten

PARKER

The cardboard jungle that had taken over the living room had barely been touched, a monument to procrastination and avoidance. I stood in the doorway, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. It was almost as if the boxes were mocking us for our domestic neglect.

“Three months,” I murmured to myself, running a hand through my short, dark hair and letting out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of all our unspoken conversations.

I took a step forward, making light work of navigating the maze of boxes. Each one was labeled haphazardly in David’s neat doctor’s scrawl:Kitchen stuff,Books,Random crap. But they might as well have been taggedIndifferenceorSilencefor all the attention we’d paid them since we left Cincinnati.

My heart raced with the knowledge that something needed to change. I couldn’t keep living with this hollow mimicry of love, where conversation had dwindled to the occasional text about groceries or whose turn it was to pay the electricity bill. We weresupposed to be partners, lovers—but when did we start playing house instead of building a home?

“Fuck,” I whispered, as a wave of realization crashed over me. Other than the night he’d sprung a proposal on me, we didn’t even eat together anymore. Our meals had become solitary rituals, carried out in the silence of our different schedules. And sleep? The bed we once shared was now just a place where I’d sometimes find the residual warmth of his body, nothing more than a physical reminder that we were still technically sharing a space.

Lost in thought, I tripped over a box markedPhotosand caught myself against the couch, my hands sinking into the plush fabric. When did we stop looking at each other like we were the only ones in the room? When did “I love you” become something that was said instead of something that was felt?

“Shit,” I cursed softly, straightening up and glancing at the clock. Any minute now, the front door would open, and in would walk David—the man I’d once dreamed of growing old with. Yet now, I struggled to remember the last time I looked at him and felt that familiar spark, that undeniable pull that had drawn us together in the first place.

“God, what happened to us?” The question was a whisper lost in the expanse of our too-quiet apartment. I watched the dust motes dance in a shaft of light, their gentle movements a stark contrast to the stillness inside me. I knew what needed to be done, could feel the truth of it heavy in my heart, but fear clung to me like a second skin. How do you tell someone you’ve loved for years that your forever is no longer with them?

My fingers absentmindedly dipped into my pocket, tracing the cool band of metal that symbolized a promise for the future. The engagement ring felt heavier now, burdened with silent questions and unspoken truths. I pulled it out and held it between my thumb and forefinger, watching it catch the fadinglight. As I rolled the band over in my hands now, I couldn’t help but wonder if David had noticed its absence from my finger. He hadn’t said anything. Maybe he was too caught up in his own whirlwind at the hospital or maybe—maybe he didn’t really see me at all anymore.

My mind drifted back through years of memories. David and me, the high school sweethearts who had dared to bring our love into the light of a small Ohio town which was stuck in the dark ages. Our first kiss under the bleachers, shy and tentative, yet setting off fireworks in my heart. Homecoming games spent holding hands. Prom night—the night we first made love, when the world outside vanished, and it was just him and me learning the feel of each other’s bodies and discovering even more about our own.

We were young, fearless, and wildly in love. But somewhere along the line, our relationship started to feel more like a comfortable routine than a passionate journey. We became two people moving parallel to each other but never intersecting. The spark that once burned so bright had dimmed to an ember, struggling to stay alight.

I was roused from my reverie by the sound of keys jangling, announcing David’s arrival. I shoved the ring back in my pocket. “Time for honesty, Parker. It’s now or never.”

As the door creaked open and he stepped into our shared space, I knew it was time to unpack more than just these neglected boxes. It was time to unpack our hearts, lay everything bare, no matter how much it might hurt. Because love wasn’t just about holding on; sometimes, it was about letting go.

David shut the door behind him then looked up, finding me sitting on the couch. His shoulders slumped with exhaustion, the lines on his face deeper than I remembered. He managed a weary smile in my direction before discarding his jacket on a nearby chair.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice heavy with fatigue.

“Hey,” I echoed, unable to keep the tremor from my own. “We need to talk.”

“Can it wait? I’m beat. I just want a shower and to hit the sack,” he sighed, already heading toward the bedroom.

“No, David. It can’t.” My voice, firmer now, stopped him in his tracks. He turned to look at me, a question in his eyes. The ring in my pocket suddenly felt scorching hot, a token of a commitment we were failing to uphold.

“Okay,” he relented, the resignation in his tone mirroring the defeat I felt. He joined me on the couch, leaving a careful space between us.

“David, when was the last time we really talked?” I began, my heart hammering against my ribcage. “Not about work or mundane things we need to do around here, but about us?”

He ran a hand through his hair, a familiar gesture when he was stressed. “I don’t know, Parker. It’s been a while.”

“Exactly. And it’s not just talking. I can’t even remember the last time we made love, or showered together, or even made it through an entire movie together. When did we stop making us a priority?” My voice quivered, betraying the hurt that lay beneath my calm exterior.

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