Page 54 of It's Only Ever Been You

Maybe she won’t reply. Maybe this is her way of telling me she’s done.

My phone buzzes, and I whip around so fast I almost trip over my own feet.

Emma: Okay.

It’s just one word, but it’s enough to steady the storm inside me.

I set the phone down carefully, myheart still racing.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I’ll figure out how to say everything I should’ve said years ago. I’ll try to make her see that letting her go was the biggest mistake of my life.

And tomorrow, I’ll pray it’s not too late.

I sit back down on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone like it holds all the answers. One word. That’s all she gave me. But it’s enough to set my mind racing, flipping through every possible scenario for tomorrow.

What if she just wants closure? What if she’s already moved on and this is her way of making peace with the past?

Or worse—what if she tells me there’s nothing left for us?

My chest tightens at the thought, and I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, willing the anxiety to calm down. I’ve faced crowds of thousands, cameras shoved in my face after a bad game, reporters twisting my words into headlines. None of that comes close to this.

Because this isn’t just about my pride or my career. This is Emma.

And if I lose her again, I don’t think I’ll recover.

The bed creaks as I lean back, letting my head hit the wall with a dull thud. The weight of everythingunsaid between us feels suffocating. I should’ve said something tonight, anything to show her I still care. But the words felt stuck in my throat, buried under years of regret and fear.

My fingers itch to pick up the phone again, to text her something—an apology, a promise, anything to bridge the gap. But I know better. This isn’t the kind of thing you fix over text.

I glance at the clock. It’s late, but sleep feels impossible. My body is buzzing with restless energy, my mind replaying every moment of the past few hours. The way she looked at me, the way her voice softened when she said my name—it’s all burned into my memory, and it’s driving me insane.

I get up again, pacing the length of the room. My reflection in the window looks as wrecked as I feel—disheveled hair, tense shoulders, dark circles under my eyes.

Tomorrow.

The word echoes in my head, a fragile promise I’m clinging to with everything I’ve got. Tomorrow, I’ll make her see. I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way to show her that I’m not the same guy who walked away.

I stop in front of the window, staring out at the city lights. For the first time in years, I feel something that scares me even more than regret.

Hope.

It’s a dangerous thing, fragile and fleeting, but it’s there, flickering in the corner of my mind like a candle in the dark.

Tomorrow.

For now, it’s enough.

Chapter Eighteen

The Crossroads

Emma

The morning sun filters through the thin curtains of my hotel room, painting streaks of gold across the beige walls. I sit cross-legged on the bed, my laptop perched precariously on a pillow as I attempt to finalize some notes for work. It’s a futile effort. The words blur together on the screen, and my thoughts keep circling back to last night.

Ethan.

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