Page 2 of After All This Time

I'm not in love with him or anything. Love isn't the issue here—it doesn't even exist in the same universe. But lust is an entirely different beast altogether, and unfortunately, I'm irresistibly drawn to tall, dark-haired guys covered in tattoos who look like they could completely wreck your life, and you'd thank them for it.

Yeah, that's my kryptonite.

After four years of pirouetting my way through school under my mother's suffocating supervision, I finally claimed something that was entirely mine. Two job offers landed in my lap like golden tickets after our final recital, but my heart was already set on Chicago. However, what I didn't anticipate was how my dream would collide with my mother's relentless need to control every single breath I took.

It wasn't because she genuinely cared about my happiness but because it gave her something to brag about and show off at her country club lunches. To her, my achievements were a reflection of her parenting skills, not the countless hours I'd poured into perfecting every turn, leap, and plié.

Every blistered toe and sleepless night at the barre belonged to me, but in her world, they were hers to flaunt.

It was my mom's idea that Tobias and I move in together. Just another way for her to boast to her rich bitch friends about what a selfless, incredible mother she is—never mind that half their precious kids are probably coked out most weekends, snorting lines off asses their parents are unknowingly funding.

Okay, maybe that's a bit of rich-kid stereotyping, but my best friend Allison has stories that would make your therapist need a therapist.

I was tempted to tell my mom no—to find my own place, if only to reclaim a shred of independence from her constant need to control everything. However, David, Tobias's father, just couldn't resist wading in with his manipulative bullshit.He painted this little picture of how it would make my mom happy, how she just wants to make sure that I have someone looking out for me, and how it's such a small thing to ask of us—soreasonablethat neither of us should even think about complaining.

To the outside world, my family appears to have it all—an overpriced and unnecessarily large house with a pool and a gym, while flashy cars sit unused in the driveway and my mom walks around dripping in designer clothes. However, the reality is that my mom married into money when she married Tobias's dad, and without him, she'd never have the life she does.

The day my mom made my dad pack his bags and leave, he didn't just walk out with his beaten-up suitcase. He took with him every ounce of softness she had left, leaving behind a woman I barely recognized.

I was nine when my parents split—old enough to understand that love doesn't pay the bills but still young enough to hold onto the idea of happy endings.

That fantasy didn’t last long.

Six years later, my dad was gone for good, and by then, my mom had fully transformed herself into Mrs. David Sinclair—a polished trophy wife with a designer wardrobe, a cold smile, and an asshole attitude to match.

And the worst part? She acted like her new life was the ultimate achievement, like everything she had was all I should ever want for myself, but all it did was show me exactly who I never wanted to become.

I saw how it ate at my Dad during those last years. The way his jaw would clench when he picked me up from our new house, while his worn-down Toyota looked like nothing more than a stain on the pristine driveway.

He never said anything—he wasn't that kind of man—but I knew.

As the years go by, my memories of my dad have started to blur together. But the ones that stand out are the ones I hold onto tightly. Like the countless times he drove me to dance class and how he would sit in the front row at every recital, smiling up at me with pride.

I miss him with an ache that never really goes away.But I'm okay.The world keeps turning, and it won't stop while I break down, so I do what he taught me. I get up. I breathe. I fucking live—even when it feels like I'm leaving him behind with every step forward.

He died when I was fifteen in a plane crash—thesafest way to travel, my ass—and it shattered my world, throwing everything off-balance. But as I entered my late teens, I slowly pieced myself back together from the grief. Nobody prepares you for losing a parent, and because I was so young, I knew that I'd have to live my life remembering him for longer than I knew him.

God, he would be so disappointed in me if I ever turned into what my mom has over the years—a money-hungry, people-pleasing puppet caring only about the opinions of her rich dipshit friends, who she always seeks validation from.

This is where Tobias and I are exactly the same; nothing about him screams privileged little rich boy—except maybe his car—but you'd never realize what his upbringing was like just by looking at him.

Before this weekend, I hadn't seen him in a while. We would talk all the time, but it had been about seven months since I last saw him. He came home for Christmas, but like always, it was a quick in-and-out trip. Tobias and his dad's complicated relationship isn't something I fully understand, but I've learned that some wounds cut too deep for even the closest people to reach.

Still, being here now, with him, it feels familiar—it feels like home.

Chapter 2

Tobias

"Fuck me, she's got a lot of shit."

I drop my ass down onto Harry's couch, my body sinking back into the soft leather. My shoulders ache from hauling boxes, and I'm pretty sure I've pulled something that'll hurt like hell tomorrow.

Not that I'll ever tell Amelia that.

"What's the problem? Youlovemoving day," he laughs as he strolls in from the kitchen with two beers in his hand, tossing one my way before taking a seat across from me.

"No, I don't, and everyone knows that, but I'm asked left, right, and fucking center to help with it."

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