Page 92 of Back to You
I looked Sebastian in the eyes and told him I couldn’t love him the way he deserved. That I was too afraid, too damaged, too unwilling to take the risk. I walked away when all he ever did was fight for me. Now, I have to sit with the mess I made, again.
The silence in the apartment is heavy, but Anna doesn’t rush me. She clears the plates from dinner, the sound of ceramic clinking softly against the sink filling the space between us.
She moves quietly, rinsing dishes, wiping down the counter, giving me room to process, to exist, to come apart without an audience. She’s always known when I need space, when I need time to untangle my thoughts before I can even say them out loud.
The pressure in my chest builds and builds until it’s too much, until my lungs feel tight, until my hands are gripping the edges of the table like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Eventually, when my throat burns too much and my chest aches too deeply, I break the silence. “I don’t know what to do.” My voice is hoarse, raw, barely more than a whisper.
Anna doesn’t say anything right away; instead, she walks back to the table, sets down a warm cup of tea in front of me, and then sits across from me, wrapping her hands around her ownmug, waiting, giving me the time and space to speak when I’m ready.
I swallow hard, my fingers curling around the ceramic, seeking warmth, seeking something solid to hold onto. I force myself to meet her gaze. “What if I’ve already lost him?”
She exhales slowly, her expression composed, resolute. “Mari, I love you, but you’re an idiot if you think he doesn’t still love you.”
A sharp breath leaves me, half a laugh, half a sob. “I don’t deserve it.”
Anna tilts her head, considering me. “That’s not the point.” Her voice is even, unwavering. “The point is, he gave you his whole heart. And yeah, you hurt him, but love doesn’t just disappear because of that.”
I shake my head, my chest tightening again. “It should.”
“But it won’t.”
The certainty in her voice almost breaks me. I press my fingers against my temples, squeezing my eyes shut. “I don’t know how to fix this, Anna.”
She’s quiet for a moment…then, softer. “You don’t fix love, Mari. You choose it.”
The words sink in, heavy, unavoidable—I chose fear, I chose safety, and I lost everything because of it. I push back from the table suddenly, standing too fast, my legs unsteady beneath me. “I need air.”
Anna doesn’t stop me, she just nods. “Do you want me to come with you?”
I shake my head. “No. I just… I need to think.”
Anna’s gaze holds steady. “I’m here when you need me. You’re not alone.”
She watches as I grab my coat and step outside into the cool night air, into a town that feels both too familiar and too foreign at the same time.
CHAPTER 43
Mariana
The red glow of the firehouse sign flickers against the pavement as I pull into the lot, my heart slamming against my ribs so hard I have to grip the wheel just to ground myself; I can’t breathe.
My hands tighten around the leather-wrapped steering wheel, the material groaning under the force. What the hell am I even doing here? I don’t have an answer. I just… ended up here.
The car rumbles softly beneath me, engine idling, headlights casting long, narrow shadows across the asphalt. The garage doors are shut, but with my windows down, I can hear the soft hum of voices inside. Someone’s here. A few guys on shift, maybe. Maybe him.
Just the thought sends a bolt of panic straight through me, sharp and unrelenting. I press my forehead against the steering wheel, exhaling shakily, trying to breathe, trying to think, trying to piece together how the hell I got here.
I left Anna’s house, the letter folded in my pocket, my mother’s words still etched into my ribs. Left with too many emotions tearing through me to sit still, to sleep, to exist in silence.
So I walked, I walked through empty streets lined with darkened storefronts, past the diner where Sebastian and I had spent too many late nights, past the old bookstore where we used to leave notes for each other inside random paperbacks.
Through the town I grew up in but never really felt like I belonged in, and somehow, my feet led me here. To him…or maybe just to the place that built him.
The firehouse looms ahead, bigger in the dark, its presence steady, unmoving. The place that shaped him. The place that made him the man I love, the place I should never have left.
I squeeze my eyes shut, fisting my hands in my lap, my mother’s letter still pressed to my chest like a prayer. I can’t keep doing this, I can’t keep hovering on the edges of his life, watching from a distance, too scared to step in, too terrified to fully let go. I need to do something. I need to fix this.
