Page 96 of The Snowflake Effect

“No.” I shake my head and grip my leather armrests harder, unsure why my throat feels tight. “You’re both totally off base. Long distance is an issue for me. I’m not getting in deeper just to have things implode. It’s not fair to Jackson. I need to protect Jackson.”

Sawyer heaves out a sigh. “Hate to say it, man, but that’s bullshit. The only person you’re protecting is you.”

I debate tearing out of here and working with earbuds in the future. Drown out these two and their ridiculous theories, but I tug at a loose thread on the armrest, rolling it around, faster and faster. I replay my last weeks with Shay: every time my pulse raced around her, the uncomfortable overheating, the anxiety that rose.

Those moments hit when things felt more real between us, more serious, but that panic was because I worried she’d choose her job over me, right? A rational reaction to the situation. I wasn’t panicking because she’d say yes and move to Vancouver…was I?

I certainly didn’t handle our argument at the grand opening well. When she got so upset she dropped into a crouch, too devastated to stay upright, I froze instead of fighting for us. Fucking froze.

“Look,” Sawyer says, “if you hadn’t spent the last month dragging your ass around like an extra from The Walking Dead, I’d chalk it up to a change of heart—you realizing you didn’t fall for Shay like you thought. But this?” He motions loosely to my face. “I’m tired of looking at your depressed mug. You need to admit you’re scared to get hurt, then you need to fast forward to the part where you realize it’s better to love and to lose than not love a hot chick, or whatever that cheesy saying is, then you need to pull out your Prince Charming moves and get her back.”

Stella holds up her hand like she’s voting. “I concur, sirs.”

I glance at the most recent photo on my desk. Caroline met Jackson and me at the library last week so I could head to karate. I didn’t notice she had a camera. Didn’t know she took our picture. When she texted it to me, I stared at my phone for five minutes.

To anyone else, it’s a sweet shot of me and my son going through his book of words: Jackson hunched over the table, me kissing the side of his head. But I know what page we were on. He had flipped back and landed on glomp: an attack hug made of love.

The entry was written in Shay’s neat writing.

Jackson bit his lip and whispered, “I miss her.”

I kissed his head but couldn’t speak.

I don’t know why I put the picture on my desk, an invisible photo of Shay. She’s absent yet fills the space, the way her presence invades every aspect of my life. And every time I’ve stared at the photo, I’ve thought about Shay’s reproach the night we broke up: You’re scared to love me and lose me like you lost Marina.

Since then, I’ve replayed Marina’s death and the aftermath: the doctor’s sympathetic words, the way my world crumbled, my fury and devastation, and my excruciating love for my son, all rolled up together. How I felt like I was suffocating some days. How hard it was to get out of bed and function. Then my slow acceptance. Always missing Marina in our lives but finding happiness. Building a good life with Jackson. So good I’ve been sure that meant I was healed.

But anytime Stella tried to set me up, I did brush her off. Felt clammy and flushed and made excuses about not having enough time. I didn’t pursue Shay until I believed it would only be for a summer. Didn’t ask her for more until she received her promotion.

Jesus.

Could all these people who really know me be right about why I refused to try long distance? Could I have been so scared that I blinded myself to the truth?

“I think I fucked up,” I mumble and tug at my shirt’s neckline as I look to Stella and Sawyer for answers. “I think you might be right.” Regret courses through me so quickly I feel feverish. “What do I do? How do I undo this much damage? I miss her so fucking much.”

Stella presses her hand over heart and offers me a sad smile. “I knew the wooing man was still in there somewhere.”

“There’s no wooing my way back into Shay’s good graces now,” I say as I swipe sweat developing on my forehead. “Why would she forgive me for treating her so callously?”

Sawyer flicks my arm. “There’s always a way, man.”

Nico pushes through the door then, dark circles under his eyes. The guy probably hasn’t slept in weeks, but I’m sure I look miles worse.

He grunts, we nod, and Stella stands. “I’ll leave you boys to it.” Each click of her heels punctuates the somber mood as she heads to the door.

Nico sits in Stella’s vacant chair, the framework groaning under his weight. He broods silently.

Sawyer plants his hand on Nico’s shoulder. “Looks like you could use a month of sleep. Any news on Josh?”

Nico huffs out a breath. “Nah. I’ve got something in the works. If it doesn’t pan out, he’ll likely get convicted. The little shit won’t last a month in jail.”

“Did he do it?” Sawyer asks, since I’m incapable of doing anything but berating myself for lacking any sort of self-awareness. “Did he jack the car?”

A muscle in Nico’s jaw twitches. “Still trying to figure that out. Not sure if he’s covering for one of his punk friends. Whatever. I don’t want to talk about it. I need a mindless night of shitty beer and pool. Who’s in?”

“Sounds good. Unfortunately”—Sawyer fans a hand toward me—“Debbie Downer here just realized he broke up with Shay because he loves her too much.”

The corner of Nico’s mouth kicks up. “Took you long enough. How do you plan to grovel?”