Page 178 of Scandalous Contract
I missed him. My body missed him. My soul missed him. I also missed the version of me I’d started to become when I was around him. I’d begun to feel like my old self again. Carefree, stress-free, worry-free. Now, I just felt... depressed.
I stared at the document open on my laptop, blinking at the same damn paragraph for the fifth time. My eyes skimmed the words, but my mind wasn’t really reading. Every word, every kiss, every whispered line of dialogue in the manuscript came with memories of Julian Cattaneo.
The couple I’d written about months ago didn’t feel fictional anymore. They felt like us. Julian and I. The scenes that used to make me blush or smile now felt like a punch to the chest.
Those steamy chapters now made my body ache with the memory of my inspiration for those scenes. I couldn’t stop thinking of his hands on my body. His mouth on my neck. The way he used to say my name like a promise and a warning all at once.
I couldn’t read two lines without being dragged back into those memories. My cursor blinked on the screen, waiting for me to pick up the story. But I couldn’t write. I couldn’t edit, I couldn’t even think straight.
With a sigh, I reached for my phone and opened the voicemail app. There were so many messages from him. It had taken me a long time to work up the nerve to listen to them. Now, I did it a few times a day.
The first few were sweet with Julian just asking if I was okay, if I needed anything, if I’d eaten that day. The newer ones? They were harder to listen to. His voice sounded raw. Tired. On edge.
Sometimes angry. Always sad. I hit play on the latest one, even though I knew it would gut me. It always did.
"Stefanie... come on, baby. Pick up the phone. Answer your door. Let me see you. Say something. Anything. I’m not okay without you. I miss your voice. I miss your laugh. I miss the way you roll your eyes when I say dumb shit just to make you smile. I miss everything about you. Fuck the world, all I need is you. I promise you we can make this work. I swear we can. Just... call me back. Please."
I pressed the phone to my chest, squeezing my eyes shut, but the tears slid free. I deserved this pain. I deserved every ounce of this ache. I’d let him in, then I’d push him away. I was the worst of the worst.
I leaned back on the couch, thumb hovering over the next voicemail. I told myself not to listen. I told myself to stop torturing myself with something I’d never get back. And then I pressed play again because I needed to hear him.
Because hearing his voice made me feel closer to him, even if it also shattered me every time. Because pain was better than feeling nothing. My novel and his voicemails weren’t the only reminders Julian had left behind for me.
My house was one big ass reminder that Julian had been there and that he’d loved me fiercely. I was washing dishes one day when I noticed something... off. It was that damn corner of the kitchen counter that was different.
The one I used to bump my hip or arm on every other day, leaving random bruises I never remembered earning. I moved past it on my way to the sink, expecting the usual jab of pain... but nothing.
I mean, I bumped it, like I always did. But there was no pain. I stopped and turned. The sharp edge was gone. A clear, rubber covering now wrapped the corner, softening the blow I’d gotten so used to.
I blinked, then blinked again. When the hell had that gotten there? And just like that, the ache in my chest swelled to life again.Julian. It had to be him. There was no one else it could be. I didn’t even know he’d noticed.
I never said a word about those bruises. I’d chalked them up to me being clumsy, to the house being old. But he’d seen it. Seen me. Quietly, without asking, he fixed it. He didn’t tell me he’d fixed it.
Didn’t seek a reward. He saw a problem and he took care of it. Not for recognition, but because he loved me. I pressed my palm to the soft edge and whispered, “No wonder I haven’t been bruised in weeks...”
That broke me. I sank to the floor near the counter and bawled my eyes out for thirty minutes. But that was just the first thing around the house that made me think of him and made me cry like a baby.
The second came in the hallway. The coat closet door, which had always creaked when opened, didn’t anymore. I stared at it like it had betrayed me. I opened and closed it three times, slowly, testing it. He hadn’t oiled the hinges.
He’d put on an entirely new door, and I hadn’t even noticed. I sat in the closet and cried for about ten minutes that day. A week later, in the laundry room, the shelf I’d been meaning to secure had been reinforced.
He’d added brackets. Neat, clean, and tight against the wall like a professional had done it. I hadn’t even noticed when. But it was him. And in the bathroom... the drawer that used to jam? No longer jammed.
The way this man took care of me was exactly what I needed. His love language was caring for his partner in every way, and he deserved that back. He deserved the world. He not only showed his love by giving gifts and telling me how he felt, but he also showed it by making things easier on me.
He made me feel safer. He was a bright green flag. And now? He was gone. I stood in the middle of my hallway, surrounded by all these memories, and I just... broke. I slid down the wall, knees to my chest, sobs strangling me.
It wasn’t just the counter or the shelf or the drawer. It was the way he never let me lift a grocery bag heavier than five pounds. The way he learned how I liked my tea and bought that exact brand without asking.
The way he refilled the hand soap when it was low. The way he folded my throw blankets when I wasn’t looking. The way he made sure our slippers were always lined up perfectly for us.
The way he never let the tissue roll get empty. His memory was everywhere in this damn house. He’d left his love everywhere. And I’d let him walk out of this house thinking I didn’t want it, thinking I didn’t appreciate it. Thinking I didn’t want him. That I didn’t appreciatehim.
Every little repair, every quiet act of care, screamed louder than anything he’d ever said. And the worst part? I didn’t even realize how much he’d given me until he wasn’t here anymore. I wiped at my face, but the tears just kept coming.
What had I given him? Nothing. What did he have to show for his time with me? Nothing. I’d done nothing for the man I loved. I hadn’t even told him I loved him. I hadn’t shown him how important he was to me. And that was tragic.
Because he’d never know that he was my first love. Archie didn’t count. My feelings for him hadn’t run this deep. Julian Cattaneo was my first real love. And I’d broken his heart. God, why did you send that man my way? It would’ve been better if he’d never seen me.
