Page 39 of Jordan’s Breakthrough (Unexpected Love #3)

JORDAN

I nk smears across the paper as my fingers trail the page of the notebook, the last line of a new poem spilling out.

It’s the fourth one this week. Maybe fifth.

I’ve lost count. Each of them are different, no pattern or rhythm.

No style to bind them together. But I don’t care.

At least I’m writing again. I can’t explain how good that feels.

It strikes a nerve somewhere deep, in the best way.

A boom of thunder rattles the windows and rain batters against the roof, steady and strong. It’s one of my favorite things about the motorhome, that steady percussion is loud and soft all at once. I wish Miles was here to enjoy it with me.

I smooth out some wrinkles on my bed, inhaling the fresh scent of the detergent. He’s the reason I had to wash them again, even if he doesn’t know it. I’ve jacked off so many times this week thinking about him.

My phone buzzes with a message from him.

Miles: Emotional status report?

I chuckle. These soft check-ins have been literally everything to me. Not only from Miles, but Declan, Seth, and Piper too. They’re reminding me to check in with myself. To notice the changes. I’m not sure I would have seen it as drastically if they hadn’t helped me.

Me: Better than I’ve been in a long time, if I’m being honest. Still weighed down, but better. How are you?

Miles doesn’t reply. Which isn’t like him. It hurts. Is he closing me off? Or does he think I’m pulling away?

I get an idea.

Unlocking my phone, I tap the camera before propping the phone against a pillow. I angle it to capture my face and bare upper torso as I lie on my stomach. Then I smile into the camera and hit record.

“Hey, bab—“ Thunder crashes overhead, interrupting me, so I point to the ceiling with brows raised. “You hear that? It’s thundering, and it’s fucking incredible.” I give a happy squirm.

“I love storms in this thing. I wish you were with me. The rain is just… it’s beautiful, Miles.

Anyway, I wrote something for you. Do you wanna hear it?

” I laugh. “Of course you do. You’re my biggest fan.

Okay, here goes. And sorry if my performance is crap. I’m out of practice.”

I haven’t performed since before Graham died, but I forge ahead, clearing my throat. “Love on the Hard Days, by Jordan Sanchez. Oh wait, that’s me!”

I wink into the camera and start again.

“Love On the Hard Days.

“ It’s in the way you

ask how I am

without really asking.

How you listen

when I don’t really speak.

“ The way you fill the silence

without noise

just your presence,

steady, and calm.

Unafraid.

“ Sometimes, I hear you talking to Lily

and I swear, my heart makes more room

just to hold that sound.

I didn’t know it could hold that much,

or that it could hold anything

at all.

“ Being loved by you is like

finally being let in

after standing at the door for years

with no key,

no answer.

“ I don’t have to perform here.

I don’t have to explain.

Because you see me

even when I’m quiet.

Especially then.

“ I used to brace for the crash.

For the weight

to take away my air.

But you give me oxygen.

You help me breathe.

“That’s how I know it’s real.

Because you love me on the hard days.

Even when I cannot love myself.

And if our hard days can be this good,

Then our good days

are going to be epic.”

I smile into the camera. “It is, huh? Epic, I mean. This thing with us. I think so anyway. Okay. I better cut this off so it’s not too long. Love you, Miles. Bye!”

I wave and stop recording.

After watching it once to be sure my voice is clear, I send it to Miles, realizing just how late it is. Miles should’ve gotten home a couple of hours ago, so why didn’t he call me?

I watch the screen, the tiny bubble with his profile picture floating down to show he’s opened the message. My stomach tightens with unexpected nerves. He’s listening. Right now, my boyfriend is listening to my poem!

Maybe I should’ve done this live, but this is better, isn’t it? A recording? Miles seems like he’d prefer that, to be able to listen to it over and over again. He’s kind of sentimental that way.

Miles is usually pretty animated and expressive in his commentary, so I get anxious for a reply. But after five minutes, nothing comes.

I message him.

Me: You there?

The message never changes to read.

After ten minutes, the little light by his name goes gray, saying he’s no longer active.

I frown. What was that about?

I message him again.

Me: Miles?

No answer.

I call him.

It rings… and rings, and my stomach sinks like he’s not going to answer. But then he does, and my heart cracks wide open. I gasp at the sight of him, hair a mess and tears rolling down his face. His glasses aren’t anywhere to be seen.

“Miles? Baby, what’s wrong?”

I know without asking the tears are not because of my poem. This is deeper. Guttural.

Did something happen with a patient? He hasn’t told me about anyone recently, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t get attached. Miles always cares about his patients.

“Sorry. I’m just… Fuck. Sorry.”

Something twists in me, making me sit up. Is it me? Is Miles breaking up with me? Because I’ve been distant? Oh, God no. I can’t… I should’ve tried harder. Made myself talk!

“Miles,” I say. “Please talk to me. You’re scaring me.”

“I—I don’t know if I can do this.” It comes out in a rush, like he’d forced himself to say it.

I can’t breathe. “What do you mean? You can’t do what?”

Please don’t say us. Please don’t say we’re over!

“I’m not—I’m not strong enough. I’m trying. I am. You know I am. I know you need me to be, but… it’s… Fuck, sorry. I’m not making sense.”

Darkness swirls in my vision. “Miles,” I choke.

“I miss you!” he blurts, then wipes his eyes. “I can’t do long distance. I know it’s unfair but, God. Things are… not good, and soon, they’ll—they’ll be even worse. I don’t know if I’m…” He gasps sharply and cuts off, dropping his phone. Darkness fills the screen.

Worse? What does he mean?

I wait for him to explain, but he doesn’t. “Miles!”

The darkness creeps in further.

“Are you breaking up with me?” I ask, my voice unrecognizable. I know why they call it a breakup now. My heart feels like it’s shattering.

He finally lifts the phone, face red and blotchy. “What?”

Either he hadn’t heard me, or he’s buying himself time.

“I said, are you breaking up with me?” It would be a shitty thing to do, considering I’m trying to make myself better for him. Well, no. Not for him , I’m doing it for me. But Miles is a big part of it. He’s what gave me the push.

Miles looks gutted. “You think… Oh, no.” He shakes his head fervently. “No. Shit, Jord, no. I’m sorry! I’m fucking this up. It’s not us. I’d never…” He wipes his face. “I’m not breaking up with you.”

I finally suck in air, and my voice comes out firm. “Then what is it? You’re clearly a mess, and it’s terrifying me. What happened?”

“I’ve just needed to tell you something, and your video… it made it seem like you’re okay.”

That makes no sense. Has he been keeping something from me? Is that why he’s been distant?

“Tell me.”

Miles sucks in a breath and pulls a pillow into his lap. “My shift is changing,” he says simply. “Starting at the end of this contract. So two weeks from now.”

I let out a breath. A shift change? That’s what he’s freaking out about? “Because of the 90-day extension you requested?”

“They’re moving me to a different department, and it’s 6-6.”

“Okay?” I’m still confused. Why is that a big deal? “Wait. Do you mean 6 a.m. to 6 p.m.?”

He nods. “And Monday-Thursday.”

My heart plummets. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.” He wipes his nose with a tissue. “Sorry. I’ve been waiting until you could handle it, but then I heard your poem and it just… I lost it.” His face crumples. “I’ve needed you, Jordan.”

“You didn’t think I could handle it?” My mind is reeling.

Miles looks away, adjusting his glasses.

“We should’ve come up with ground rules before I dove into this shit. I never would’ve expected you to keep that from me. It’s obviously bad news.” Really bad. That shift couldn’t be any worse. “How long have you known?”

“A week.”

I curl inward. He’s kept this from me for a week? Why? So he could figure out a plan all on his own? Or so we both didn’t spiral? A lot of good that did, when he’s coming undone over it anyway.

But three months of opposite schedules? How is that even going to work? I’ve known a whole two minutes and it’s making me sick. Miles has known for a week.

“Hon, even in my darkest moments, I need you to tell me these things, okay? I need you to be honest with me. I love that you want to protect me, but we’re a team. If you would’ve told me this—”

“What, Jordan? If I would’ve told you this, what? You would’ve felt then what you’re feeling right now. When you were barely hanging on!”

“I needed to know.”

“No. You didn’t. You needed to focus on getting better.”

“I’m doing okay. I’ve told you that.”

“No, you haven’t! You’ve barely been responding to me. I thought… Fuck, I didn’t know what to think.”

“I wasn’t myself.”

“I know! That’s my point! I wasn’t going to make it worse by telling you this. It’s unfair.”

“It’s unfair that it’s happening. Not that you—”

“I was afraid, okay? I was afraid it would make you…” He trails off, cursing under his breath as he looks off the screen.

It finally makes sense.

“You were afraid I’d try to kill myself.”

He flinches, avoiding looking at me. One hand rubs at his chest, fresh tears streaming down his face.

Shit. This is the first time I’ve really looked at Miles these last few weeks. The first time I’ve seen how much he’s carried my burden. His fear. Anguish.

I scoot back against the wall. A part of me knows he’s right. I would have obsessed over this, probably sunk even deeper into depression. But I wish he didn’t have to carry it alone.

The thousand miles between us have never felt more grand.

“Miles, look at me.”

He slowly lifts his face.