Page 106 of For the Plot
The ache in my chest is still there, but it’s not dragging me under anymore. It’s fueling me.
And then I smile because I’m not just somebody’s ex. Not just a mistake someone regrets. I’m Skye Rhodes, and I’m finally building something of my own.
Chapter 24
Reece
Ialmost turn around twice on the walk up.
The bouquet feels too big in my hand. A mess of dark-pink peonies and soft-cream roses wrapped in brown paper and tied with a piece of twine. It’s not the kind of thing I’d usually pick. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if this is too much or not nearly enough.
But I know I have to try.
Her building is quiet when I step inside, the air thick with the scent of someone’s burnt toast and fabric softener. The stairwell creaks beneath my feet, every step a reminder that I am far from the man who once told himself he could walk away from her clean.
I reach the third floor. I knock. Three taps. Then I wait. There’s a shuffle inside, a pause, then the door cracks open. But it’s not Skye looking back at me, it’s Maya.
She opens it wider, one brow arched, her eyes scanning me like I’m a roach that learned how to wear slacks.
“I’m not here to make things worse,” I say calmly.
She folds her arms. “You sure about that?”
“I just want to talk to her.”
Maya doesn’t move. “She’s not home.”
I know she’s lying. I can hear faint movement inside. A mug being set down. The quiet click of a lamp.
“Maya,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Please.”
Her jaw tightens. “You told her to leave, Reece. You didn’t chase after her. You didn’t explain. You let her walk out of your life like she was an inconvenience. So forgive me if I don’t throw you a welcome parade.”
“I’m not here to be forgiven,” I say. “I’m here to apologize.”
Her eyes flick to the flowers in my hand.
“She’s not ready.”
I nod. “Can you give these to her?”
Maya hesitates. Then she opens the door a few more inches and takes the bouquet.
I almost beg. Almost ask her to just tell Skye I’m here. That I came. But I don’t ask. Because if Skye wanted to see me, she would. Maya looks at me one more time, less anger now, more pity, and closes the door. Soft. Final.
I stand there for another second, listening to nothing. Then I turn and walk back down the stairs. Not defeated. Not yet.
The city feels louder than usual when I get back to the penthouse. Everything hums. Streetlights flicker. Car horns echo across steel and glass. Life moves forward while I sit on the edge of my bed, holding my phone like it might detonate.
I’ve written six drafts of this. Deleted every single one. Too careful. Too composed. Too fucking corporate. None of them sound like the man who stood in her doorway today with shaking hands and a heart cracking at the seams.
So I start over. Again. And this time, I let it bleed.
Skye,
I don’t expect you to read this. And I won’t ask you to answer. But I need to say it anyway. You made me feel again. Not just lust. Not just obsession. Everything. Hope. Fear. Desire. Longing. Shame. Awe.
You walked into my life with your smart mouth and your messy buns and your ridiculous, oversized tote bag and somehow, in the middle of all that chaos, you cracked me open.
