Page 35 of Angel
“Where are you goin’?” I ask, standing.
“Out,” she says. Flat. Closed.
“Stevie, please.”
She stops by the door, back to me. Her shoulders rise and fall like it takes effort just to breathe.
“I can’t be here right now,” she says. “Not after that.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“I know,” she says quietly. “But it still hurt.”
That’s the part that wrecks me.Not anger but understanding.
She opens the door. “Let me come with you,” I say. “Let me fix this.”
She shakes her head. “You can’t fix it. You just… have to let it be broken for a minute.”
Then she’s gone. The door shuts behind her and I’m alone again with the echo of words I can’t take back. I sit at the kitchen table long after she leaves.
The house feels hollow. Like it’s holding its breath. I replay the moment over and over, wishing I’d stopped myself. Wishing I’d chosen better. Wishing I’d said I’m scared instead of it’s not everything.
Because that was the truth. Not that it didn’t matter. But that I was terrified of losing her to it.
I grab my phone and type her name.Delete. Type again. Delete again.Finally, I settle on the only thing that feels honest.
I’m sorry. I love you. And I’m here when you’re ready.
I hit send and set the phone face down like it might burn me if I look at it too long. This is the part of love no one talks about.
The part where you don’t get to be right.
Where intention doesn’t erase impact.
Where the only thing left to do is wait and hope the person you hurt believes you when you say you didn’t mean to wound them.
I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling. I don’t know what comes next. But I know if she walks away because of this, it’ll be my fault.And if she comes back?I’m never letting fear speak for me again.
Chapter Thirteen
Stevie
His words follow me like a bruise.They don’t fade when I leave the house. Don’t soften with distance or fresh air or the hum of the car beneath me. They settle into my chest and throb every time I breathe too deeply.
Having kids isn’t everything.
I know what he meant. That’s the worst part. I know he wasn’t trying to hurt me. I know fear was talking, not indifference. I know Angel loves me with every hard, scarred piece of himself.
But knowing doesn’t stop the pain. Knowing doesn’t change the way it landed. The way it sliced clean through a part of me that was already raw. The way it made me feel… stupid. Like I’d been clinging to something childish. Like I’d been too much.Too needy. Too desperate.
And I hate that my brain does that — twists his words into a weapon and then hands it right back to me.
The road to my sister’s feels longer than it is. Streetlights blur past like tired stars. My hands grip the steering wheel so tight my fingers ache. The radio is off.
I can’t handle music.
Can’t handle lyrics about love or loss or babies or hope.
