Page 46 of How You See Me (You and Me Duology #2)

Hayes

I don’t want to be here. Not in this city. Not in my skin. And certainly not in this casino.

Yet, here I am, sitting at a blackjack table anyway, waiting to play one hand for Ava.

The casino is a sensory hell—a suffocating swirl of cigarette smoke, flashing lights, and the relentless jangle of slot machines spitting out dreams or swallowing them whole. Somewhere nearby, a woman shrieks with joy. Another curses out loud.

I press my fingertips into the worn green felt of the table, breathing through the tightness in my chest as I wait.

Every dollar I had in my wallet now sits in neat stacks of colorful chips.

It’s not much, but enough to make me feel like I’m doing something.

The dealer, a middle-aged guy with a face carved with boredom, shuffles the deck with the efficiency of someone who stopped caring years ago.

The sharp slap of the cards is the only sound cutting through the chaos.

To my left, a man reeks of whiskey and cigars. On my right, the woman in a skin-tight sequined dress hasn’t stopped talking since I sat down. Everything about her is obnoxious—her persistence, her spicy perfume, her dress.

“First time in Vegas?” she asks, soaking me in.

“Yes.”

A man in a dark gray suit claims the last empty seat at our table. She gives him a nod, then goes back to watching me, tracing the rim of her wine glass with a fingertip.

“That’s fun. I wish I could experience it for the first time again. My girlfriends and I have been coming every year for five years now.” She offers her manicured hand, the diamonds draped around her wrists reflecting the overhead light. “I’m Evie.”

Since I’m not a complete asshole, I shake her hand, then go back to staring at the table, hoping that’s the end of it. My leg bounces as the dealer continues to wait. For what, I have no fucking clue.

“And your name?” she asks when I don’t volunteer it.

“Hayes.”

“Nice to meet you, Hayes.” She swirls the mahogany liquid in her glass, never breaking eye contact. “I’d be happy to—”

“Last call,” the dealer announces over the din of voices and clinking glasses.

My mind drifts to Josie, and our trip’s last call .

Walking away from her as she blinks back tears might have been the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I miss her laugh, and the way the musical sound chases away my worries. I miss her wild curls, how they float in the wind and cover my pillow when we sleep.

And I miss the way she loves—not just me, but my family. I can still hear her voice from this morning, shy and hesitant, as she whispered that she loved me, like she wasn’t sure I’d say it back.

I hate that I made her doubt my feelings and us. I’d been so caught up in Raidyn calling and the news about Ava that I just couldn’t let anything else in or out. It all hurt too damn much.

The dealer finally tosses my first card across the table—a five of hearts. Fitting. I almost laugh at the irony, at how stretched, tangled, and bruised my own heart feels.

Another card. Nine of spades. Fourteen total. Not great, not terrible. But I don’t care. My fingers drum on the wooden edge of the table as the dealer reveals his second card—an eight of spades.

Without bothering to calculate the odds, I push my entire stack of chips toward the center. Several people at the table gasp, including Evie. Still couldn’t care less. I’m tired of waiting. Tired of it all.

“I love a man who takes risks,” Evie coos, pushing half her chips forward while keeping her gaze on me.

I don’t even acknowledge her.

The man beside me, now with an unlit cigar dangling from his mouth, mutters a few curse words when he busts. He throws down his cards, jumps up from his stool, and stalks off.

“Big baby,” Evie jokes.

The man in the gray suit plays it safe, holding at seventeen. Coward.

Evie winks over her shoulder and shows me her cards—a jack and a nine.

My turn. I tap the table for another card. A seven.

Twenty-one in total.

Evie and gray-suit guy spin toward the dealer. He flips over his hidden card. Another seven, giving him ten.

I feel no anticipation, no thrill as his last card reveals a king of hearts. Nothing except the gnawing ache of heartbreak and an urgent need to get this over with.

“You won!” Evie squeals, slinking down from her stool. She leans in close, her hand landing on my forearm as if we’re partners in something more than coincidence. “Let’s go celebrate, handsome.”

I gather my winnings silently and straighten to my full height, towering over her by almost a foot. Her hand lingers on my arm, the contact making my skin crawl.

I puff out my “no thanks,” brushing past her and toward the casino cashier.

“Oh, come on. Don’t leave like that!” She chases after me, but I’m already halfway across the casino, moving faster that she can in her skyscraper heels.

At the cashier’s window, I dump my chips on the counter and take a quick photo with my phone.

“Cash out,” I demand .

Moments later, she hands me a receipt and my card. “Seven-fifty. Congratulations.”

“Wow! Seven-hundred and fifty dollars,” Evie swoons, bounding up beside me. “You could have a lot of fun with that kind of cash. Want to go—”

“No,” I cut her off, my tone ice-cold. “I don’t want to spend another second in this godforsaken place—or with you.”

Her jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

But I’m already gone.

I shove through the front doors of the casino, hoping to find a shred of my sanity in the van—and in whatever awaits on the other side of this night.

Inside, it’s dark. The same darkness Josie used to fill with her laughter, her endless chatter, and her light.

I run a hand down my face, then punch the steering wheel.

“Damn it.”

Everything inside me is fraying. Ava’s fighting for her life on the other side of the country. I left behind the one person who helps me push past the ugliness. Worst of all, when Josie told me she loved me, and I couldn’t even say it back.

And why the hell not?

Regretting so many things I can’t fix right now, I start the engine.

Josie deserves more than I can give while my life resembles a mismatched pile of puzzle pieces. I’ll only hold her back until my life makes sense again. Right now, I need to focus on my family. I can figure out the rest after I’m home with Ava.

But there’s no denying that as soon as I’m capable, I’ll claw my way back to Josie and never let go.

◆◆◆

I drive through the night like I’m trying to outrun myself. Maybe if I keep moving, I won’t feel the wreckage of all I left behind.

But it’s still there when I finally pull into a beachside parking lot in Long Beach, California. A calm trickles through the van, but I can’t find the same peace in my thoughts.

Josie’s scent lingers in here—faint traces of strawberry and lavender lotion in the upholstery, on the sheets, in the air. If I were to lie down on the bed, I’d feel the phantom weight of her curled into my side, like she’s still here.

I need that. Exhaustion clings to me like a second skin but there's no time for sleeping. Not when I have somewhere else to be and dwindling time. Not while Josie’s absence hollows me out.

The first light of dawn breaks behind the city skyline, and the Pacific mirrors the cotton candy colors in slow ripples. It’s beautiful and everything Ava would have loved.

I step out into the crisp stillness, my boots crunching over the gravel and sand. At the edge of the lot, I snap a quick photo—for Ava, for Josie. My hands shake enough to make me retake it twice .

I can picture Ava sprinting across the pristine sand, her laughter echoing over the surf. Josie would have sat down with her sketchpad, capturing the moment in bold, sweeping strokes, or maybe taken a hundred pictures to paint later.

And I would have been lost in it with them, running alongside Ava or taking in the peaceful view with Josie. They both have a way of drawing me into their worlds and making everything else disappear.

Back in the van, I grab my duffle bag, unzipping it with the single focus of a man holding it together by sheer will. Then, my salvation comes in the form of a scrap of paper, torn from Josie’s sketchbook, sitting on top of my clothes.

In loopy, cursive letters, she wrote, I miss you already .

Tiny doodles surround the words—fragments of our journey together—and my heart plunges into my stomach. A little van. A desert cactus. A rollercoaster. A dinosaur. A sketch of me wearing the ridiculous cowboy hat, baring all my teeth in a goofy smile.

It’s simple. It’s Josie. And it’s everything I need to hold myself together.

I press my thumb over the ink, tracing her handwriting, before tucking the note in the side pocket to keep it safe. Then, I change into my swim trunks and head toward the shore.

Halfway to the water, I stop.

How do I capture this moment the way Ava wants—alone?

I try balancing my phone against a water bottle, but it keeps tipping over. Frustrated, I drop to my knees, staring at the ocean for the answer. It just continues to roll, relentless and indifferent.

“Need some help?” a voice calls out, startling me.

I squint into the sunlight to find a woman in running shorts and a tank top standing nearby, her hands on her hips as she levels her breathing.

“Yes, I do,” I admit, rising. “Thanks.”

“What are you trying to do?”

“My little sister wants a photo of me diving into the ocean.”

“Sounds easy enough.” She extends her hand, and I place my phone on her palm.

When she’s ready, I take off for the surf and dive in.

For a moment, I let the waves bear the weight of it all—my body, my thoughts, my sadness—until I’m gasping for air.

I swim back to shore and shake the water from my hands and hair.

It’s done.

“Got a bunch,” the woman says and passes me the phone. “Hope she likes them.”

She jogs off, and I stand frozen where I am, staring out over the horizon.

This should feel like closure, an accomplishment, or a milestone. But it’s charged in a different way. More like staring through an open door to unknown territory, knowing I must enter whether I’m ready or not .

Ava is still fighting a battle I can’t win for her. Josie and I are starting a long-distance relationship with too many unanswered questions. I’m standing between the two worlds, trying to remember how to be the man they both need me to be.

Setting the thought aside because I can’t solve that problem either, I search the sand for a rock and seashells to add to Ava’s collection. I’m kicking myself for not grabbing one in Vegas. I left too fast, my brain too frayed to remember.

Maybe Josie can find one.

Pulling out my phone, I type my first message to her.

Me: Thank you for the note. I miss you too.

I go to attach a photo of the beach when another message pops up.

Raidyn: When are you arriving?

Me: Don’t know yet. Heading to the airport soon. Everything okay ?

Raidyn: She’s had a rough night and needs her hero.

My jaw locks. I could do without the cryptic bullshit. Just tell me what the hell is going on.

But I don’t push. Not yet.

On my way back to the van, I type:

Me: I’ll text you my ETA from the airport.

A quick search pulls up a flight from Long Beach to Charlottesville, Virginia. First available ticket. Two and a half hours from now.

One click and it’s mine.

There’s no time to think. No time to second guess.

Just time to go.

◆◆◆

The wait at the airport feels like a slow bleed. Hours dragging by as if the clock is playing a cruel joke on me. But I’m finally on the plane, strapped in, and one step closer to Ava.

As we taxi toward the runway, I remember my unsent message to Josie.

Shit .

Guilt presses at the edge of my exhaustion. I should’ve sent it hours ago. I should’ve told her she mattered, again and again, even from two hundred miles away.

But first—I open a group text with Mom and Raidyn and fire off a quick update:

Me: Flight ETA in Charlottesville = 19:00.

Raidyn: OK. I’ll be there to pick you up.

Me: Not necessary. I can rent a car.

Raidyn: I’m picking you up.

Me: Fine.

Raidyn: Kayla and Victoria should be here by the time you arrive. Family reunion.

Me: What about him?

A long pause.

Mom: Yes, and you will be respectful for Ava.

I exhale hard, a bitter laugh scraping my throat as my fingers curl tighter around the phone.

Me: Damn, Mom. Of course, I will. But no promises when she’s not around.

Mom: We’ll discuss that later.

Me: You okay?

The typing bubbles flicker. Stop. Flicker again. I wait, pulse ticking in my neck.

Mom: No.

Me: Because of him?

Mom: Because I’m scared.

The air thins, vanishing from the pressurized cabin as if the plane has dropped altitude. I reach for the overhead vent and crank it open, sucking in short, rapid breaths.

Mom never says things like that. She holds the line for everyone, keeping her fears hidden behind reassurances and careful smiles—for Ava, for all of us. She’s the reason Ava still laughs. The reason I didn’t completely drown in my anger when Dad left.

For her to admit she’s scared now?

Something’s wrong. Something more than she’s letting on. Something deeper than just the man who shares our blood and none of our souls. What aren’t they telling me?

But I can’t wade through what’s left unsaid from here or fix anything strapped into a seat with two inches of leg room on the other side of the country.

I scroll back to my unsent message to Josie, attach a photo of the beach sunrise—a moment of peace before the nightmare—and hit send.

Closing my eyes, I start my calming exercises but drift off to sleep instead.