Page 123 of The Assist
He hesitates. “Mia, if you want to come back after that, really come back, we’ll do everything we can to make it work.”
I don’t go back down to see Dylan.
It’s not because I don’t want to. God,I want to. But if I do, I’ll cave. I’ll fall into that familiar warmth and let him convince me that everything will be okay just because we love each other. But love, for all its fire, doesn’t fix everything. And right now, I need space to think.
I walk to my car, heart hammering, and text him just before I pull out of the lot.
MIA:I’m going home for a bit. Just need time to think. I’m okay. I promise.
I drive with tears blurring the road signs, my fingers gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing anchoring me to this world. My parents’ house is three hours away. I don’t call ahead. I just show up.
My mum opens the door in her slippers, eyes widening. “Mia?” And I crumble. Her arms are around me before I can speak, before I can pretend I’m fine, and I cry like I haven’t cried in years. She doesn’t ask what happened. She just holds me and says, “Whatever it is, love, we’ll sort it.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
DYLAN
She’s gone.
I read the message three times, like the words might rearrange themselves into something softer. Something temporary. Something less like a gut punch.
I’m going home for a bit. I’m okay. I promise.
I don’t remember walking out of the locker room. Don’t remember saying goodbye to anyone or even registering the heavy silence in the corridors. Just the slam of the exit door behind me and the way the cold hits harder than usual.
Her car’s not in the lot. She didn’t wait for me.
I sit in mine for a full ten minutes, her message still glowing on the screen like a wound I can’t stop poking. Every part of me itches to ignore what she said, track her down, beg her not to do this.
But I know Mia. If she says she needs space, she means it. She doesn’t bluff. Doesn’t play games. She’s the realest person I know. And now she’s gone quiet.
I don’t start the engine. Don’t go anywhere. I just sit there, head against the steering wheel, eyes burning, feeling like everything’s unravelling one thread at a time.
She was right here. Last night she curled into me like she belonged there.
And now it’s just me and the sound of my own goddamn breath shaking.
I end up at home eventually, but I don’t remember the drive.
I don’t do anything for hours except pace the floor and check my phone like some desperate addict waiting for a hit. I leave my bag by the door. The lights stay off.
Every time I glance at the couch, I see her sitting there in my hoodie, legs tucked beneath her. I swear I can still smell her perfume in the cushions. Still hear the way she laughed when I accidentally dropped a whole slice of toast face-down on her sock this morning.
I replay that scene like it means something. Like I can rewind us to when things were simple, before the noise swallowed everything. I know why she left. I know this circus is killing her. It’s killing me too.
It’slate afternoon by the time I finally pick up the phone.
There’s only one person I can call when I feel like this, when I’m cracked open and hollow and a breath away from completely falling apart.
Mum answers on the third ring. “Dyl?” Her voice is soft, warm, and everything I didn’t know I needed. I don’t say anything at first. Just breathe.
“Love?” she asks, gentler now. “What’s happened?”
My throat tightens. “I think I’ve messed everything up.”
There’s a pause. I can hear the faint clatter of a mug being set down. “Talk to me.”
“It’s Mia,” I say, dragging a hand through my hair as I sink onto the edge of the bed. “She’s gone. She left this morning after we went to the rink. Said she needed space.”
