Page 8 of The One Who Changed Everything

I narrowed my eyes. “Talk about what?”

Evan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned over the engine, inspecting wires and connections as if he had all the time in the world. His T-shirt stretched across his back, highlighting the strength beneath, and for a split second, I hated that I noticed. Hated that even after all these years, my body still reacted to him before my brain could remind me why I shouldn’t.

I checked my watch, tapping my foot against the pavement. “Evan—”

“Relax,” he murmured, tightening something near the battery. “I know you’re in a hurry. Just hear me out.”

I crossed my arms, bracing myself. “Fine. Say whatever it is you think I need to hear.”

He exhaled, like he’d expected me to fight him on this. “Back in Florida—”

My stomach twisted. “Please don’t.”

Evan paused, glancing at me. “Samantha.” His voice softened in a way that made my throat tighten. “That week… it wasn’t nothing to me. I looked for you, you know," Evan said quietly, his gaze not meeting mine. "After that week... after everything went down."

“You looked for me,” I repeated, not comprehending.

“I needed to know you were okay, to apologize for leaving things... unresolved."

"Unresolved," I repeated, tasting the bitterness of the word. The past was a Pandora's box, and he was prying it open with every sincere syllable.

"I know you don’t want to hear this," he continued, finally looking up at me. Those kind eyes searched mine, seeking forgiveness or understanding—I couldn't tell which. "But I needed to say it. To face the fact that I—"

"Left," I interrupted, my voice steadier than I felt. "You left without a word."

A pained expression flitted across his face, acknowledging the accusation. "I did. And I've regretted it every day since."

My heart fought a battle against the walls I'd meticulously constructed. How easy it would be to let him see the waves his reappearance had caused, to let him in on the secret that had shaped my life for fourteen years. Yet I couldn't—wouldn't dismantle the fortress protecting my daughter's world.

"Regret doesn't change the past," I said, my tone clipped, more a defense mechanism than conviction. Each word was a brick laid atop the last, keeping the truth buried deep.

"Doesn't mean we can't learn from it, try to make things right," he countered, his resilience evident even as he reached for another wire, his focus shifting back to the task at hand.

"Sometimes things are better left alone," I whispered, not sure if I meant to convince him or myself. I watched as heworked, his movements deft and purposeful, yet beneath his calm exterior I sensed the same tumult that churned within me.

I gritted my teeth. “It was fourteen years ago.” My heart pounded painfully. I wanted to ask how hard he’d really looked, to tell him he’d obviously given up too fast. “When?”

“What?”

“When did you look for me?”

His jaw clenched as he ducked into the driver’s seat. “A few months later,” he admitted. “But I was–”

“It’s fine,” I dismissed his excuses. A few months before he bothered trying to find me? By then, I was trying to hide my baby bump under hoodies during the summer semester.

The engine sputtered as he turned the key again, then it roared to life.

Evan stepped back out, wiping his hands on his pants. “Loose connection. Should be good for now, but you might want to get it checked out.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Thanks.”

He studied me, his gaze searching. “I’m not going anywhere this time, Samantha.”

My fingers tightened on the door handle. “I don’t need you to stay.”

His jaw flexed, but he just stepped back. “Drive safe.”

I nodded sharply, sliding into the car. I slammed the door shut, sealing myself off from his presence, his help, his past. I didn't dare glance in the rearview mirror as I drove away; the sight of him might unravel the thin threads holding me together.

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