Page 54 of Home in Nevada

“Jamie, stop for a second and answer me—are you drunk?”

“No.”

“Because I think you are. You've gotta be.”

“Jeff, seriously, stop it. It's early in the morning, I’m not.”

“I hurt you. You’re not supposed to be talking to me anymore.”

Silence. The kind that stretches, daring me to break it—but I don’t. Instead, I let it hang there, heavy and oppressive, hoping he’ll be the one to fill it. My heart pounds in the void, every second feeling like an eternity.

“Jeff, I’mnotdrunk.” His voice is quieter this time, almost cautious.

“Then do you remember why we weren’t talking?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

The pause on the other end is long—longer than the first.

Jamie was the one who ended things, the one who said he wasn’t getting what he needed from me, the one who felt hurt and disappointed. It crushed me to hear him say that, to know I let him down so badly.

“Jamie, why aren’t we talking?” I press again, my voice firmer this time.

Still nothing.

“Jamie—”

“Jeff, I can’t do it. I can’t just cut you out of my life. I can’t fucking do it.”

The tone of his voice makes my heart stutter, fluttering with a desperate kind of hope. Suddenly, for the first time in months, I feel alive again.

“Jamie, I know you meant what you said that day... You remember?” I ask, my voice softening.

“I remember,” he says, so quietly I almost miss it. “I remember you making that painful drive to pick me up from the airport instead of letting me take the bus. I remember you offering to sleep on the couch so I could have the bed. I remember you taking me to a really nice restaurant—the fanciest date anyone’s ever taken me on. I remember how nervous you were, how excited you were to get back to the apartment, and how adorable it was when you kept dropping your keys trying to get the door open—”

Shit. Now I’m completely flustered, my heart racing like it’s trying to escape my chest.

“I remember when I got mad at you for not caring. I’m sorry, Jeff,” Jamie adds softly.

His apology feels like a dagger to my chest, reopening the wound I’ve been trying to ignore for months. I don’t even know how to respond, but before I can say anything, he continues.

“Jeff, there was a page in your journal,” Jamie says, his voice hesitant now. “The one with the photo of us from that football game. I saw what you wrote under it...”

My breath catches. God, what did I write? I can barely remember, but I know it’s nothing good. Definitely nothing I’d ever want him to see.

“Jamie, I... I haven’t looked at that thing in years.”

“I know,” he says. There’s a pause, and I hear him take a shaky breath. “But I did. And I wish I’d read it back then... Maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe I would’ve understood how much you cared, even if you couldn’t say it out loud.”

My chest tightens. I feel exposed, vulnerable in a way I didn’t think was possible. “Jamie, I didn’t mean for you to—”

“I know you didn’t,” he cuts in gently. “But I’m glad I did. It helped me understand why this has been so hard for you. For both of us.”

I sink back against the headboard, my hand gripping the phone like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality. “Jamie, I—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he says, cutting me off again. His voice is calm, but there’s a rawness beneath it that makes my throat tighten. “Just... come home, Jeff. Start over with me. Please.”

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