Page 58 of To Her

"What?"

"Don't shut him out completely. At least talk to him when he comes down. Hear what he has to say."

The thought made my stomach twist with anxiety, but I nodded. "I'll try."

"That's all I'm asking." James pulled me into a tight hug. "And call me, okay? Not just when you're in crisis. Call me just because."

I hugged him back, blinking away unexpected tears. "I will."

We broke apart, and I climbed into my car before I could change my mind. As I pulled away from the curb, I watched James in my rearview mirror, standing in the rain, getting smaller and smaller until he disappeared around a corner.

The drive to Riverside was quiet, just me and my thoughts and the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers. I tried to focus on practical matters—what groceries I needed to buy, whether I should unpack everything today or spread it out over the weekend, if I should tell my boss about my new commute—but my mind kept circling back to Con.

What would I say to him when he came? What could I say that wouldn't sound like a pathetic excuse for my behaviour? Sorry I freaked out and ran away because I'm terrified of how much I care about you? Sorry I broke three years of sobriety because I'm self-destructive when things get too real? Sorry I'm such a mess that I can't even handle waking up in your arms without having a full-blown panic attack?

None of it sounded good. None of it sounded like enough.

My new housemate, Derek, was out when I arrived, which was a relief. I wasn't in the mood for small talk or the awkward dance of two strangers figuring out how to share a space. He'd left a key under the mat as promised, along with a note welcoming me and explaining a few house rules—nothing unreasonable, just basic courtesy stuff about noise levels and cleaning up after myself.

The room was small but clean, with a double bed, a desk, and a small closet. The window overlooked a quiet street lined with jacaranda trees, their purple blossoms scattered across the sidewalk like confetti. It was... fine. Not homey, not yet, but it would do.

I unpacked methodically, hanging my clothes in the closet, arranging my toiletries in the bathroom, setting up my laptop on the desk. The routine of it was soothing, giving my hands something to do while my mind continued its endless loop of worry and regret.

When everything was put away, I sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly at a loss. The silence of the house pressed in on me, broken only by the occasional car passing outside and the distant sound of a neighbour’s dog barking.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my messages. There were several from James, checking that I'd arrived safely. One from my boss confirming my shift tomorrow. And, of course, a string of unanswered texts from Con.

I opened his thread, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. What could I say? What words could possibly bridge the chasm I'd created between us?

In the end, I settled for simple honesty:

I moved today. New place in Riverside. James says you're coming down next weekend. I'll be working Saturday morning, but I'm free after 2.

I hit send before I could overthink it, then tossed my phone onto the bed as if it had burned me. My heart was racing, palms sweaty. It was ridiculous how much anxiety a simple text could cause.

To my surprise, my phone buzzed almost immediately with a response:

Thank you for letting me know. I'll see you Saturday at 2. Where should I meet you?

His formality stung. Gone was the warmth, the easy banter, the affection that had coloured all our previous communications. I had done that. I had stripped all that away with my cowardice.

I suggested a coffee shop near the restaurant, neutral ground where we could talk without the pressure of privacy. His response was a simple "Sounds good."

And that was it. No declarations of missing me, no questions about why I'd run, no anger or hurt or anything that might give me a clue as to what he was thinking. Just polite, distant agreement.

I flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. What had I expected? That he'd pour his heart out via text after two weeks of me ignoring him? That he'd make it easy for me?

No, I'd forfeited the right to easy when I'd driven away from Alpine Ridge without a backward glance.

My phone buzzed again, and I snatched it up, hoping irrationally that it was Con with more to say. But it was James:

Did you make it? How's the new place?

I sent him a quick update, assuring him I was fine and the room was adequate. Then, almost as an afterthought, I added:

I texted Con. We're meeting Saturday.

His response was immediate:

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