Page 27 of The Backup

This time, the silence feels final.

“Fine,” he says at last, his voice colder than before. “I hope whoever’s next is worth it.”

I don’t respond. I just hang up.

As the call ends, I stare at the phone in my hand. The quiet of the apartment rushes back in, but relief doesn’t come. Instead, I feel…hollow.

But then, as I glance out the window, something else stirs—a flicker of resolve. I deserve better than this. I deserve better than him.

I just need to remind myself of that. Over and over, if I have to.

Wrapping a blanket around myself, I curl into the corner of the couch. Jacklyn’s on her date, probably laughing at one of Brian’s bad jokes, and here I am—stuck in my own head, replaying the conversation like a bad movie.

My gaze drifts to my phone, lying there silently, taunting me. I chew on my lip, debating.

I told Asher I needed space, and he’s respected that. Maybe too much space, a small voice in the back of my mind whispers.

Before I can stop myself, I reach for the phone and type out a message.

Me: Hey, you busy tonight?

I stare at the words for longer than I’d like to admit, my thumb hovering over the send button. It’s a bad idea. Or maybe it’s not. I hit send before I can overthink it further.

The reply comes faster than I expect.

Asher: I am. I’m sitting by my phone waiting for this girl I’m giving space to text me. What’s up?

I smile despite myself, the tightness in my chest easing slightly.

Me: Just needed a distraction. You free for that?

There’s a pause before another message pops up.

Asher: Distractions are my specialty. Be ready in an hour.

My pulse quickens. I debate responding with something clever, but instead, I just type:

Me: See you then.

I set the phone down and head to my room, heart pounding. Maybe it’s a moment of weakness, but right now, it feels like the kind of weakness I don’t want to fight.

eight

. . .

Asher

I spother the second I turn the corner. She’s standing on the curb, arms wrapped around herself like the night air’s colder than it is. Her hair’s loose, catching the faint glow of the streetlights, and she’s wearing that oversized jacket she likes—a little too big, like she’s hiding in it.

My grip on the steering wheel tightens. I shouldn’t be here. She said she needed space, and I told myself I’d respect that. But the second her text came through, all that resolve flew out the window. Space? Hell, I’ve been giving her space for a week, and it’s been killing me.

I slow the truck as I approach, lowering the window. “You ready?”

She turns toward me, and just like that, I’m done for. That little smile, half shy, half unsure—it’s like she doesn’t realize what it does to me.

“Yeah,” she says, climbing into the passenger seat. The truck dips slightly with her weight, and the scent of her shampoo—something faintly floral—fills the cab.

I wait until she’s buckled before pulling back onto the road. “Where to?” I ask, even though I already know.

---