Page 52 of Home in Nevada

God, I want to kiss him. I want to prove how much I care, to show him in every way I know how. But I hold back. I know this isn’t the moment. The crushing realization that I’ll never kiss him again hits me like a freight train, leaving me hollow inside.

“Jeff, I don’t want to let you go,” Jamie says, his voice trembling, his eyes pleading with me.

“I know,” I whisper, my heart shattering as the words leave my mouth. “That’s why I’m going to make that decision for you.”

With a heavy heart, I step back, shoving my hands deep into my pockets to keep from reaching for him again. I need to remember this—how it felt to hold him, to be close to him, to feel the warmth of him one last time.

“Jamie, you’re…” I hesitate, swallowing hard as I search for the right words. My emotions are raw, and Jamie is pulling a level of honesty out of me that feels almost too vulnerable. “You’re something really special, Jamie. I know you probably don’t believe a lot of the shit I tell you, but you’d better believe that.”

The words feel clumsy and inadequate, but they’re all I have. I force myself to turn away and get into my car, closing the door with a finality that makes my chest ache.

Through the window, Jamie’s sad, puppy-dog eyes are fixed on me. It’s almost enough to break me completely.

I glance in the rearview mirror and spot Lucy in her car, hunched over the steering wheel, probably trying to catch a glimpse of what’s happening. She tried to help, and I appreciate that, but…

This is so hard.

I start the car and pull away, forcing myself not to look back. But as I turn the corner onto the main street, I catch one last glimpse of Jamie in the side mirror. He’s still standing there, watching me leave.

I love him with everything I have, which is why I have to let him go. He needs space, and I have to respect that—even though it’s tearing me apart.

I’m going to miss him more than I’ll ever be able to put into words.

Chapter 14

The one where Jeff texts back.

Threemonths.

It’s been three months without Jamie. Three months without hearing him ramble about his photography, joke about his job, or complain about the casino workers who get under his skin. Three months without his laugh—the one that would make me grin no matter how stupid I felt.

I’m still not over it.

I’ve been a complete mess.

Lucy’s been trying her best, showing up almost every day with food I barely touch and pep talks I barely listen to. She swears bringing Jamie over to say goodbye wasn’t her idea, that Jamie wanted to see me. I don’t blame her. She doesn’t get that I’d feel like this no matter what.

I’ve let myself go in every possible way. My weights sit untouched in the corner, collecting dust. My face is unshaven, and the mirror mocks me with hollow cheeks and bloodshot eyes. Even my boss noticed—she pulled me aside last week, stared at me like I’d turned into a ghost, and told me to take two weeks off. “You look like hell,” she said. I thanked her for the compliment and walked out.

It’s day two, and the time off hasn’t helped. If anything, it’s worse. All I’ve done is lie in bed, replaying everything I ever did wrong to Jamie, every mistake, every stupid word or thoughtless argument we've ever had, over and over until it feels like my mind is stuck on an endless, torturous loop.

Saturday morning creeps in like an uninvited guest. The sun barges through my window, its brightness prying my eyes open and shoving me into consciousness. I groan and bury my face under the blanket, but it’s no use. I’m awake.

Then my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I reach for it lazily, half-expecting another game notification or some sort of spam. My thumb swipes across the screen to see an email notification before my brain even registers the name flashing beneath the alert.

Jamie.

My heart stops. My stomach twists.

It’s a text. From Jamie.

Jamie:I miss you.

Those are the same words I ignored before. For years. And that regret—it’s still relentless.

My eyes dart to the time stamp. Jamie sent the message at two in the morning. It’s almost seven now.

I can’t ignore it this time. I can’t.

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