Page 55 of Every Shattered Note
Her gaze cuts to me for a brief second, sharp and searching, but she doesn’t speak.Doesn’t even blink.
“You gave me hope,” I repeat.“You made me feel like I wasn’t some fuck-up coasting on a last name I didn’t ask for.You made me feel real.These past few days—Aly, they were more than I deserved.You gave me space to breathe.You gave me warmth I haven’t known since ...”
I trail off.The words tremble in my throat, refusing to come out all the way.My voice drops to a rasp.
“Not since Mom died.”
That last sentence settles in such a brutal way it releases all the memories from my past.
Alyssa still hasn’t said a word.But her posture shifts, as if she’s carrying more now than she meant to, and it’s my fault.All of it is.
I stare at the seat across from me, at the curve of her knees pulled tight beneath her, her fingers pressing into the armrest like she's holding herself in place.Like if she lets go, she’ll fall through the floor of this jet and into something she can’t crawl out of.
And maybe I would too.
Suddenly, her eyes widen.“Oh my God.I’m so stupid.You told me your parents died, and I kept making jokes about you living in your mom’s basement.”
She drags her hand down her face with a low groan.“I’m such an idiot.I’m sorry.About them.About everything.”
She’s curled slightly in the leather seat across from me, legs tucked up, shoulders tense, like she wants to disappear into the upholstery.I shift in mine and lean forward slightly, not reaching for her, just trying to meet her where she’s coming apart.
“It’s okay,” I say gently.“I didn’t mind you being confused.Honestly ...I never corrected you, because I was afraid you’d see through me.”
She looks over, wary.Her expression caught between guilt and disbelief.
I rest my forearms on my thighs, voice lower now.“The offer to help you find your mom still stands.I have people.They’re discreet.If you want to look for her ...I’ll make it happen.”
Her fingers toy with the seam on the armrest, her mouth pressing into a line.She doesn’t answer.Not yet.But she doesn’t shut me down either.
And right now, in this cabin high above everything else that’s ever gone wrong—that’s something.
Her eyes fall to the floor.She starts chewing on her lower lip, and I have to force myself to look away because there’s still a part of me—stupid and aching—that wants to kiss her.That wants to fix everything with a touch I don’t have permission to give.
“You should’ve told me sooner,” she says, voice barely holding.
“I know.”
“And you shouldn’t have let me believe you were someone else.”
“I know that too.”
“But you did.”
“I did.”I nod, not making excuses, not reaching for a way out.“And I’d be lying if I said I regret it.Because if I’d told you the truth from the start, I never would’ve had the chance to sit across from you like this.To know you the way I do now.”
She doesn’t respond right away.Just presses her hand to her mouth like it’s the only way to hold herself together.Like if she lets one word out, everything else will follow, and she won’t be able to stop it.Her shoulders lift with a shaky breath, then fall like it costs her something.
“You have no idea what you’ve done.”Her voice is fragile.
“I think I do.”
She shifts in her seat, angling her body away from me, her shoulder pressing into the curved wall of the cabin.But her voice slices through the stillness like a match striking in the dark.
“You made me feel safe.”
She doesn’t look at me.Her gaze stays locked on the oval window, but I feel every word like it’s meant to undo me.
“You made me feel like I could believe in something again.”
