Page 106 of 1 Last Shot

It isn't until I turn away from Jax and Hailey that it hits me: Oscar was home alone by himself last night.

"No, no, no, no," I breathe, giving up on looking for a taxi this early in the morning and simply starting the sprint home. I fed him and took him out before we went out yesterday, but that was still over fourteen hours ago. And I swore to myself that that dog wouldn't know another day of discomfort or pain in his life.

Please be okay, please be okay, is all I can chant to myself as I run. If he's scared, or if he cries when I see him, IswearI'll—

My phone beeps with a text message, my notifications from yesterday finally coming through now that I've powered my phone on. And even though my heart is slamming against my rib cage with worry, I chance a second to look at my phone.

Landlord: I'm sure she already told you, but I let Isabella into your apartment last night to take care of Oscar for you. Just wanted to get the emergency notice in writing for both of us.

The heaviest breath whooshes from my lungs as I slow to a walk.

She took care of him. He's okay. She took care of him.

And then my chest tightens so hard it feels like I'll never get another breath in again.

She took care of him even though I didn't deserve it. She helped himdespiteme.

I rub at the ache in my chest. The ache that hasn't gone away since my mom showed up yesterday. The ache that only Isabella has ever been able to get rid of.

I don't deserve her.

Iwantto think I deserve her. I believed it when Hailey said it, and I wasn't lying when I told them I wanted to find out if Isabella thinks that, too. Because I really, really, more than anything, want to be deserving of Isabella. And I want to try for the rest of my life to give her everythingelseshe deserves.

But I'm scared. I'm scared of trying, and of failing. I'm scared that if I head down this road, it's going to end in heartbreak. That I won't be enough.

I know we're at an impasse right now. All of the time I've spent with Isabella has been under the assumption that it's going to inevitably end—that I need to take advantage of the time I've been given with her and be grateful for just that. Because after everything that happened last night, this is the end of that path. I can't keep going with the lie that this is a casual fling. I can't sell it, and Isabella doesn't deserve it. She'sneverdeserved it.

But if this is the end of that path… then this is the end. I lose Isabella. I don't get any more mornings with her, or rides on my bike, or walks with Oscar while I hold her hand. I get no more Isabella.

Unless.

Unless I ask for more.

Unless I push past this fear of failure, and of letting down the most important person in my life, and I actually… try. I try to be what Isabella deserves. I try to make her happy and be everything that she deserves in a partner. And I'll either fail for the millionth time in my life, or…

Get everything I've ever wanted.

I have no idea what my decision is, what therightdecision is, when I break into a sprint. But with every step closer to the apartment, I feel a little bit closer to the answer.

My hands are trembling when I finally reach the building and grab for my keys. I know Isabella would have taken good care of Oscar, and that she should be at work right now, but my desperation to get to both of them is making my heart pound out of my chest. I just need to see them, to know they're okay, that I didn't hurt them—

My heart stutters and stops when I open my door and find Isabella and Oscar curled around each other on the couch.

I have to lean against the doorframe when my knees buckle at the sight. When a shaky exhale whooshes from my lungs.

When reliefsuddenly fills my body.

She's here. She stayed.

And it hits me that…of courseI'm going to try. Of course I want more of Isabella. There isn't a version of this reality where Iwouldn't.

I wipe the sweat from my mouth with a trembling hand. Getting to the apartment was what I was focused on, and now that I'm here, I don't know where to go from here. There's so much I have to do, and say, and apologize for, and I don't know—

Oscar raises his head when he notices me. He's curled around Isabella, his head resting above hers, his position both protective and comforting. I have to swallow down the despair that threatens to choke me when I think of Isabella crying herself to sleep with only my selfless dog to lean on.

When I step forward—quietly, so as to not wake Isabella—Oscar’s tail moves in a tiny, happy wag.

"Hey, boss," I murmur as I pet his head. "Thanks for taking care of our girl."

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