Page 103 of Dissonance

“Sure, Doc,” I say, drained, so fucking drained.

“Speak to him. When you’re ready.”

“I will.”

“And Thea,” she adds. “The mother of your child deserves to know who you are. All of you. Not only the parts you can package neatly into competence and care. Everything in your past shapes who you’ve become today. She deserves to know that person.”

We don’t end the call straight away. She reminds me to sleep, reminds me that panic isn’t weakness, that reaching out tonight wasn’t weakness either, that she still expects me at our next appointment.

“And Lockie,” she says before we hang up, “thank you for calling. I’m here whenever you need me.”

When the line goes dead, I sit there a while longer, phone in my hand, her words running on a loop. Eventually, I go to the kitchen, pulling out a notepad and writing names, items, things that need setting up. By the time I walk into my bedroom and switch the light on, I’ve booked a standing order from the café near Thea’s work, texted a guy in Vancouver about supplies for the cabin, and left a voicemail for my dad, asking him to call me when he gets a chance.

It’s after one in the morning when I’ve showered, packed a bag, and booked a seat on the first flight out to Taunton Falls. It’s still dark when I leave my apartment, the building quiet, everyone asleep. I stop outside her door, hands curling into fists, wishing I could knock and let her into my head.

My hand comes up, pressing flat against the wood. I stand there, making her a silent promise I intend to keep. Then I pull out my phone.

Me

I’m going to the cabin. Signal’s bad up there. I just need a few days, but I’m coming back. I’ll explain everything when I see you. I promise.

I read it once and hit send, watching the bubble turn blue. Then I pick up my bag and head for the elevators.

Chapter Forty-One

Thea

“Thank you, sweetie,” I hear Mae say from her desk outside. I don’t have to look up to know what she’s carrying when she walks in. I just hold out my hand without breaking away from the sentence I’m reading, the same way I’ve done every morning this week.

Same order.

Same time.

Same absence of any logo on the bag or the cup or even the paper napkin tucked inside.

He’s arranged it specifically, I know he has, and apparently even from his cabin, he’s not going to give me the satisfaction of knowing where my coffee comes from every day.

He should have knocked. We should have spoken about it, instead of doing…this. Arranging for an order to arrive every morning instead of being here himself. But he didn’t.

Mae watches me take a sip, my shoulder dropping the second the roasted flavor hits my tongue. I still have the grounds he left on my counter, but there’s something different about it being made.

“Don’t,” I say, before she can start.

“Wasn’t going to.” She shrugs, lip jutting outward.

She’s been doing a lot of that, saying nothing with a significant amount of eye contact.

Sitting across from me, she tilts her head, deciding to wait me out. I ignore her, attention turning back to my screen before my stomach growls embarrassingly loud. Sighing, I grab the paper bag and pull out the tub of melon, along with a chocolate croissant that came today. Setting them aside, I reach back in, fingers closing around a small card.

I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Both of you – L

I read it again, ignoring the tug behind my ribs. Not discomfort or pain, just the sharp reminder of what isn’t here. Opening my drawer, I set it on top of the others; three now, all laid flat, all kept. My fingers linger over them a moment longer before I push it closed.

My gaze drifts to where yesterday’s flowers sit in a glass vase, different tones of pink and white vibrant in the morning sun. Mom called right as they were delivered, Dad shortly after, then Ed and Jess. I kept them all short, enough to confirm I was okay, enough that they knew not to push. But Lockie…

“Have you tried reaching him?”

“He doesn’t get a signal at the cabin.”