Page 32 of Home in Nevada

I shake my head, but the protest dies before it reaches my lips.

“Stop… You do,” she insists, leaning forward and gripping my hand tighter. “You’ve been through enough, dude. It’s time to stop running.”

Her words hit me harder than I want to admit. I glance away, blinking against the sting in my eyes, and take a shaky breath. “I’m probably just going to end up hurting him,” I mutter, the fear clawing its way to the surface.

“Jeff,” she says softly, her voice pulling me back. “That’s not who you are. You’ve been scared, sure. Confused, definitely. But you care about Jamie. You have heart, Jeff, that's what matters. And if you’re willing to put in the effort, you’re not going to hurt him. You’re going to be good for him.”

I swallow hard, her words wrapping around me like a lifeline, holding me steady when everything else feels like it’s slipping out of my control.

“You ghosted him for four fucking years... and he took you back like nothing happened, Jeff. What does that tell you? You seriously don’t get how he probably feels about you? I mean... I don’t have to spell it out, do I?”

Her words hit their mark, carving through the guilt and fear I’ve been clinging to for too long. My jaw tightens, the protest sitting heavy on my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to say it. I don’t want to forgive myself—not yet, maybe not ever—but...

“You like Jamie,” she says again, her voice softer now, almost reverent, like she’s unveiling the truth I’ve been too scared to face. “You like him more than a friend.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, the word barely audible, but it carries the weight of everything I’ve been holding back. Saying it out loud feels monumental, like I’ve crossed a line I can’t go back from. But for once, it doesn’t feel terrifying. It feels... right.

Lucy beams, her eyes sparkling with something close to pride. “Good. Now, go talk to him. Like actually talk to him. Communication is important.” She gives me a pointed look, like she knows exactly how bad I am at that. “And Jeff?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve got this.”

The annoying thing about Lucy is that she’s always fucking right for some reason. It drives me up the wall—really grinds my gears. But for the first time, I’m actually hoping she’s right.

My phone rings just as I’m pulling the pizza rolls out of the toaster oven, the plate in one hand, the oven mitt still on the other. Tiffany’s name flashes on the screen.

It’s nothing new. She’s been texting me non-stop since 3 a.m., and I had left my phone on Do Not Disturb for most of the day.

I stare at the screen, debating whether to answer. Letting it go to voicemail is tempting, but I already know she’ll just keep calling. And honestly, I’m too tired to deal with whatever passive-aggressive bullshit she’s got lined up in her texts.

With a sigh, I swipe to answer and press the phone to my ear.

“What?” I say, sharper than I meant to.

There’s a beat of silence, then her voice cuts through, syrupy sweet and fake as hell. “Jeff…Finally. Can we just talk for a second? Please?”

I set the plate of pizza rolls on the counter, leaning against the edge, careful not to burn myself. I usually lounge around in nothing but sweatpants after work, which makes my favorite dinner a little precarious sometimes. You only accidentally lean on a hot pan with your bare side once. Trust me—once is enough.

“What do you want, Tiffany?”

She sighs, and I can practically hear her gearing up for some dramatic monologue. “I just… I’ve been thinking about everything. About us. And I really think we should talk things through. Don’t you think we owe it to each other to at least try?”

I laugh, short and humorless. “Try? To fix what? You had a guy in your bed, Tiff. Naked. What’s left to fix?”

Her tone sharpens instantly, all fake sweetness gone. “Oh, give me a break, Jeff. Don’t act like you’re some kind of saint. I know about Jamie. ”

Her words hit like a punch, but I hold steady. “Yeah? And what exactly do you think you know?”

“I know you cheated too,” she spits, her voice dripping with venom. “I know you keep an old picture of him in your car’s glove compartment. In the back. Don’t even pretend like you don't."

She doesn’t wait for me to respond.

“And I know when we first started dating, you wouldn’t shut up about him. I thought it was kinda weird, sure, but I didn’t think much of it because you swore to me you two didn’t talk anymore... until I saw what he wrote on your Instagram post about Nevada being really ‘hot’ while you were there. I can put two and two together, Jeffrey. He's kissing some guy in his profile picture, and it’s not you. You cheated, didn’t you? With a fucking guy?! Did you kiss him? What else did you do—no! Stop. I don’t think I can even hear you say it.”

Oh... Well, shit.

I don’t even hesitate. “Yeah, I kissed Jamie. That’s all I did, Tiffany, but I wanted Jamie. Hell, I still do. So congratulations—you figured it out. I’m an asshole.”

---