Page 39 of Omega's Fire

I can ‘e-mail match’. I’ve tried that. I don’t know if any of my emails have gone through. Unsurprisingly Leo hasn’t replied.

My cursor hovers over the final button: “Acknowledge Rejection.” One click and the failure of our match is official. I almost click it.Almost. I still want him. Desperately.

But he has spent the last two months telling the world that he doesn’t want me. Of course, he told me that too.

For the first time in my life, I don’t know what to do. My path in life has always been clear: follow the science. Take the logical choice. If I haven’t known what to do, I’ve just sat myself down, worked out the options and came to the logical choice.

The logical choice is Leo, but he doesn’t want me and I can’t think of anything I can do to change that. My mind has spent weeks spinning in endless circles, like I’m a piece of softwarethat has just decided to stop working.

Leo isn’t going to change his mind. My brain knows that. My heart refuses to accept it.

Then I notice the small print at the bottom of the screen: “Unresolved match statuses remain active for 12 months before automatic closure.”

A year. If I don’t acknowledge the rejection, the system will keep our match open for a year in case Leo changes his mind. He won’t.

I close the laptop without clicking anything. I’m not ready to make it official. Not yet.

The living room is dark except for a single lamp. 11:46 PM. I used to never be up this late. I used to have a perfect routine—5:30 AM wake-up, 6:00 AM workout, in the office by 7:30.

My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I glance over at it, just in case Leo has decided to unblock. It is not so I ignore it.

I force myself to sit up, wincing at the stiffness in my back. The apartment is a disaster. There are clothes strewn across the floor, books piled haphazardly on every surface and takeout containers creating a small city on my coffee table.

I shuffle to the bathroom, avoiding the mess. I use the toilet and then avoid my reflection in the mirror in turn. My face is as big a mess as my apartment. I don’t need to look to know that I haven’t shaved in weeks and there are dark hollows under my eyes. It’s a normal reaction to losing a mate. I know that. I’ve written enough papers about it. Knowing it doesn’t make it easier.

I know I should shower. It’s been a couple of days, but it feels like too much of an effort. I’ll do it later.

My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten anything substantial in... I can’t remember. I open the refrigerator. The shelves offer nothing but old takeout containers and a carton of milk that’s definitely past its prime. I close it again and then goback to the living room to check my phone again in case Leo has messaged in the few minutes since I last checked.

The doorbell rings. I freeze, then hope rises and panic sets in. I know it’s not Leo, but if it is, I want to be properly dressed and showered. I want to look good.

Pathetic.

The doorbell rings again, followed by a sharp knock.

“Nash, I know you’re in there,” Halvorsen’s voice carries through the door. “Security says you haven’t left the building in days.”

Shit. I consider my options. The fire escape seems extreme. Maybe I just won’t answer. Then he’ll get security to unlock it as a safety concern. I’ll just have to tell him to go home.

“I’ve got coffee,” he says before I can say anything. “And those ridiculous sourdough sandwiches you like.”

My traitor stomach growls again.

Fine.

I open the door, not bothering to smooth my hair or put on anything over my t-shirt and sweatpants. Halvorsen’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of me, but he recovers quickly.

“You look like hell,” he says, pushing past me into the apartment. He’s carrying a paper bag that smells like heaven and two coffee cups.

“Hello to you too,” I mutter, closing the door behind him.

Halvorsen stops in the middle of my living room, taking in the chaos. “Jesus, Nash.”

“If you came to critique my housekeeping, you can leave the coffee and go.” My voice cracks as I say it. I haven’t spoken to anyone in days.

He sighs and sets the coffee and bag on the only clear spot on my kitchen counter. “I came because I’m concerned. We all are.”

“We?” I raise an eyebrow.

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