Page 48 of Home in Nevada

The apartment door swings open, and Lucy bursts out, wearing pajama pants and a fuzzy robe, her bleach-blonde hair piled into a lopsided bun. Concern is etched across her face the moment she spots me.

“Dude, what’s going on?!” she asks, her eyes widening at my tear-streaked face.

Before I can respond, she wraps me in the warmest, tightest hug I’ve ever had. I rest my head on hers, clinging to her like a lifeline. I don’t have the words yet; I just need this. I need to be held.

“I’m guessing Jamie’s stay didn’t go as expected...” she says gently, her voice a soothing balm against my frayed nerves.

“No,” I mutter into her hair, my voice barely audible.

“Where is he?”

“He’s staying at my place until he leaves Sunday night.”

“Jeffrey... What the hell happened?!” she asks, pulling back and looking at me intently, her concern etched into every word.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I follow her up to her apartment, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Once we’re inside, I finally break. The dam bursts, and I tell her everything—the fights, the accusations, Jamie’s tears, the way he looked at me like I was nothing but a disappointment. I don’t hold back, the painful details spilling out as Lucy listens, her presence grounding me when I feel like I might unravel completely.

I spend two days on Lucy's couch, barely moving. New Year's Eve comes and goes in a blur. Jamie and I were supposed to celebrate together before he left for home, but instead, I spend the night alone, sprawled out on the couch. My mind is consumed with thoughts of him.

I wonder what Jamie did that night. I hope he went out, found something to take his mind off everything—something that made him feel better, something that helped him forget what a jerk I’ve been. I hope, somehow, he’s still managing to enjoy his trip to LA.

Lucy tries to drag me to a party, but I refuse to budge. All I want is to stay here, alone, drowning in my own misery. I don’t have the energy to talk to anyone, much less pretend like I’m fine. Lucy keeps trying to boost my confidence, to snap me out of this funk, but I can’t find it. I feel hollow, like a shadow of who I’m supposed to be.

I still feel like an asshole—a confused, selfish asshole who dragged the person I cared about most into something he didn’t deserve. He made it sound like he never believed I could be serious about him, like he regretted coming out here in the first place. Maybe that’s why he made that stupid hundred-dollar bet with me. The thought breaks my heart, and it’s all I can focus on—how badly I’ve treated everyone I’ve ever been in a relationship with.

Maybe I’m not relationship material. Maybe I don’t even know how to have a serious relationship.

By the time I glance at the clock, it’s nearly noon. Lucy must have stayed at her friend’s place last night. I sit up on the couch, my head pounding, and run my fingers through my hair. Stumbling into the kitchen, I decide it’s time to eat something. I make a sloppy peanut butter sandwich and force it down, even though I’m not hungry.

I still can’t believe I’ve lost Jamie. I’ve finally pushed him away, and now it’s over.

Despite my self-loathing and the constant replay of every stupid thing I’ve done to him, all I want is for Jamie to be happy. He deserves happiness. He deserves someone who knows what they’re doing, someone who isn’t a nervous wreck, someone who makes him feel secure instead of worried all the time.

I can’t shake the image of Jamie’s upset face that night, after Tiffany unloaded all that crap on him. He didn’t deserve any of it. He didn’t deserve what I put him through. I know now that the best thing I can do for Jamie is to stay away. It’s the only way he’ll ever be truly happy.

I’ve come to accept that I’m not the one who can give Jamie what he needs. That realization hits me hard, like a ton of bricks. Every time Lucy suggests I go back and talk to him, I dismiss the idea. Jamie made it clear he doesn’t want anything I have to offer. What’s the point? I don’t want to make things harder for him. He doesn’t deserve that.

I think back to picking Jamie up from the airport, to the way we talked in my apartment. I swore to him I hadn’t done anything with anyone else. I’d do anything for him, and right now, that means leaving him alone. For once, I’m not going to be selfish. This isn’t about what I want.

I feel so stupid about what happened in my bedroom.

It was all about me. Like a true idiot, I didn’t make a single move to focus on him. I barely even touched him before Tiffany banged on the door. Jamie was right—what was I even going to do? Honestly, I don’t know. It was all an act, me hoping I was doing the right thing.

Jamie deserves better than that. Jamie deserves better than me.

He’s told me so many times that he wants more than what I’ve been giving, but I didn’t listen. I didn’t even stop to think that my confusion-fueled decisions were messing with his head—because I’m an asshole. A selfish asshole.

Why didn’t I give his words more thought? Why did I let my dick do all the thinking? I wasn’t using my head at all. Jamie was so right about me. He does know me better than anyone else, after all.

He’s right...

I shake myself out of my spiraling thoughts and walk over to the sink to grab a glass of water. That’s when I hear my phone vibrate on the counter.

Lucy: I told James you've been crying on my couch for the past two days.

…What?! I start to type a reply, but before I can, another text from Lucy pops up.

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