Page 45 of How You See Me (You and Me Duology #2)

Josie

H ayes is quiet on the four-hour drive to Las Vegas, only responding to questions. I can’t tell if he’s upset or simply anxious to get home. Or maybe it’s something else.

I don’t blame him. He’s worried about Ava and missing out on precious time with her. And since Raidyn told him to come, he finally feels wanted. I just wish Ava didn’t have to go through this. That her entire family didn’t have to suffer along with her.

To keep my fears from spiraling over Hayes’ imminent departure and wondering if he’ll feel the same about us when we’re apart—a possibility I can’t and don’t want to consider—I text Grant to let him know I’ll be arriving sooner than planned.

Me: Where are you?

Grant: My amazing, lush hotel room in Vegas. The bed is to die for. Where are you?

Me: On my way. Should be there soon. Can you check if they have a room available?

Grant: What happened?

Me: Circumstances changed.

Grant: Does this have anything to do with your hot chauffer?

Me: He needs to get home. Can you check the room for me?

Grant: I guess. Even though I just got comfy.

Me: Thanks. Make sure you put some clothes on first.

Grant: Party pooper. I practically spent the last week naked. Clothes suck.

Me: Does that mean your elopement and honeymoon was everything you dreamed?

Grant: And more.

Me: Eric there?

Grant: No. He needed to get back to work, but he plans to fly out before the show ends.

Me: OK.

Grant: Are you OK?

Me: No.

Grant: Then, I’ll have a bottle of wine and a facial mask waiting. I’ll pamper you until you feel better.

Me: You’re the best.

Grant: I know. Room #513.

I toss my phone back into my bag and let my vision melt with the smear of headlights and desert shadows speeding past my window. The landscape blurs like my thoughts—like Hayes and me in this moment.

The silence is crushing. My body aches from everything I’m holding inside and trying not to feel. I want to scream, cry, or fill the emptiness with pointless chatter, but I can’t find the energy for any of it .

“Is Grant at the hotel?” he asks, slicing through the stillness.

“Yeah.”

He nods once, satisfied I won’t be alone, and fixes his eyes on the road as the neon glow of Las Vegas creeps over the horizon.

Then, more silence.

We soon park in the roundabout of a towering hotel, all gold glass and glittering light, a sharp contrast to the dark emptiness in the van.

Without a word, Hayes climbs out, rounds the van, and opens my door like he has dozens of times before.

But this time, his movements are too careful, too deliberate, too distant.

He grabs my suitcase and easel from the back with practiced ease despite the new clench of his jaw and gentle hunch of his shoulders.

He’s unraveling and there’s no stopping it.

Not now. Not when we're thousands of miles apart.

We walk through the hotel lobby and ride the elevator, not touching, not speaking. When we stop outside Grant’s room, reality slams into me.

This is it. The end of the road. It feels final in a way I didn’t expect.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit, my voice trembling despite my efforts to be strong. How do you say goodbye to someone who’s become your everything, even if it’s only for a little while?

He reaches out, brushing his hands down my arms as his gaze travels to something beyond me.

It feels like an eternity since he last touched me, the distance we’ve kept too suffocating to do anything about.

Everything about this and why he’s leaving hurts.

His sister shouldn’t have to fight for her life, and while his place is with her, I want to be there for him.

Help him when he struggles to cope and never have to say goodbye.

“Call me when you get there?”

“I will.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out a square white box.

“What’s this?”

“Something to remember our trip.”

I blink back tears. “I love how you call it ours now.”

“It became ours the second I carried you out of that dive bar in Nashville. I knew then I’d never be the same.”

I rise onto my toes and kiss him, aching to savor every second we have left.

“Can I open it?”

“I rather you wait until I’m gone.” His deep voice grows rough when he adds, “This is hard enough.”

“Okay.” I tuck the box into my bag and circle my arms around him, burying my face in his chest where I can pretend pretend he’s not hurting, and this is just another day we’re gifted together. “Thank you. I know I’ll cherish it because it came from you.”

He holds me tighter than he ever has before, lifting me off the floor with his face pressed into my neck. “I’m sorry it has to end this way.”

“It was always going to hurt. No matter how it ended. ”

With a shake of his head, he kisses my cheek then sets me down without warning. “I have to go,” he says, almost choking on the words. He starts backing down the hallway. “I’m sorry.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” My shredded voice gives away the fragile state of my emotions I'm desperately trying to conceal. For him and the guilt I know he's putting on himself. For my own control. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

He continues walking. “I’m still sorry, Josie. I wish I could be here for your show. I wish we had more time. I wish . . . for so much.”

“Your family needs you. It’s okay. I love you.”

Tears pour freely now. Every ounce of strength I need to stop them lies within him, and I can no longer pretend his pain and watching him walk away doesn’t hurt.

As he jogs out of sight, my knees hit the floor, and I shatter.

◆◆◆

“Oh, honey. What’s all this about?” Grant’s soft voice floats around me, but I can’t move. Can’t find him through the river of tears.

As any best friend would, he shoulders the burden, lifts me off the floor, and guides me toward his room where I can piece myself back together in private.

“My heart hurts.” I drag my trembling hands over my face and slump against him on the couch. I know my reaction isn’t rational. Hayes and I aren’t over. His family is his priority and I support him with everything in me. But I still miss him. Still long for his presence.

“Is this about Mr. Lumberjack?”

Through hiccupping sobs, I tell him everything. Every mile, every moment, every way Hayes made me whole again, leaving out Ava’s battle and honoring Hayes’ family’s privacy.

“Wait. You drove?”

“Seriously? That’s what you took from everything I said?” I throw my hands up. “Grant, I fell in love.”

I brace for sarcasm, for his usual dramatic teasing, telling me I’m overreacting. But instead, his arms wrap around me.

“I was kidding, Queen.” He chuckles and rocks me softly. “You know I get it.”

His support crushes what little strength I had left. I collapse into his chest, sobbing, and he holds me through it all.

“Thanks,” I mumble when I’m composed enough to sit up and wipe away the tears. “I thought you were going to tell me to suck it up.”

He puffs out his chest. “And pass up the chance to play the award-winning supportive role in your romantic drama? Girl, please.”

“No lecture about celebrating and having fun ? Not . . . all this.” I wave a hand in front of my wet, splotchy face.

“Oh, there will be plenty of celebrating and lose-the-bra fun when you feel better. ”

“But this isn’t anything like what I had with Ryder. I can’t just put on makeup and order a drink to get over it. Hayes . . . is my Eric.”

He draws in a sharp breath, his palm pressing against his chest. “No.”

I nod, tears brimming again.

“It’s a can’t-live-without-him love? Not just a you’re-hot-and-I’m-hot-so-why-not whirlwind romance? It’s only been a week, Josie.”

“But we’ve lived together 24/7 during that time. That’s more than you and Eric had before you knew.”

His gaze drops to his lap, minus a comeback.

“Exactly. Hayes and I have seen each other at our best and worst. He took care of me. He rescued me and talked me through so many moments when I wanted to quit. His smile is the best thing in the world, and I’ve never felt so treasured.

He didn’t just show up. He stayed. He loves me too, Grant. Just as much.”

He scans me, interpreting my sincerity level, and eventually accepts the truth. “I’m happy for you.”

Before I can dodge him, he lifts me off the couch, spinning around the room until we fall breathlessly onto the bed.

“Okay, Queen.” He lifts an imaginary crown onto my head. “Ready for your pamper session?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

◆◆◆

We spend the next hour exactly as promised—wrapped in robes, with facial masks in place, our wine glasses full, and our favorite country songs humming in the background.

It doesn’t take away the ache, but Grant’s laughter, his stories, his steady presence dulls the sting just enough to let me breathe.

Later, when Grant drifts into the bathroom to finish his skincare routine—muttering something about exfoliating for the gods—I creep out of bed.

The calming scent of lavender fills the dim room, lit only by the distant glow from the city lights beyond the balcony glass, but none of it calms my roaring thoughts.

They’re consumed with Hayes. I wonder if he’s heard more about what happened with Ava. I pray it was only a scare and there are no more complications. She’s already dealing with so much.

I wonder what he’s doing right now and if he’s okay—his heart, his mind, his safety on the road.

That’s when I remember his gift.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, my robe tied loosely around me, I hold it in one hand while I tap my chest with the other.

“Wait until I’m gone.” His voice—hoarse, guarded, pained—grinds through my mind and leaves a mark I’ll feel until I can be with him again.

I trace the edges of the lid and the faint smudges left by his pocket with my thumb. The small box feels impossibly heavy, weighted with meaning .

Whatever’s inside, I know it’s more than a trinket. If it were, he wouldn’t have handed it to me with that breathtaking longing in his eyes—like he was leaving a piece of himself behind.

I hesitate.

Part of me wants to wait until morning. To prolong this one final connection. But the other desperately needs to know. Needs to feel him close, even if only through whatever he saved in this box.

I draw a long, shaky breath and lift the lid.

Inside, nestled in soft ivory felt, is a silver bracelet with charms fanning out and glinting like little secrets. Our secrets. It’s simple and elegant. Beautiful. Lifting it carefully, I spread it out over my palm to examine each little story attached to the chain.

The first charm is a tiny paintbrush, bristles etched with stunning detail.

Next to it, a miniature cowboy hat—worn with little swirling patterns in the rope along the base. Nashville. The dive bar. The night that changed everything.

There’s a van, of course. Our home on wheels. A tiny guitar pick dangles beside it, engraved with the words: Play it again . The concert.

I swallow hard and continue moving down the chain.

An exact replica of the stack of pancakes he often mademe during early mornings on the road. A horse and a hot air balloon. There’s a compass too, pointing west, and a delicate charm shaped like the state of Virginia with a little heart cut out of the center .

I lose it then.

I clutch the bracelet to my chest as the sobs rise—not wild or frantic this time, but full and deep.

The kind that comes when you realize just how completely you’ve been loved.

Not with grand gestures or loud declarations, but in the intentional ways that mean the most. He remembered everything and put it all here.

A journal in silver.

A roadmap of us .

I don’t know how long I sit there, curled around the bracelet like it’s Hayes.

“Oh, sweetie,” Grant says as he steps out of the bathroom.

He crosses the room in two strides and kneels beside me.

I don’t say a word. Just open my hand and show him.

“Oh my,” he breathes and picks through the charms, placing them with the stories I told earlier. “That man is something else.”

I nod, body trembling.

“I don’t think I’ve ever owned anything like this,” I whisper. “Something so thoughtful. Meaningful.”

Grant gently closes my fingers around the bracelet. “Then hold on and don’t let go.”