Page 59

Chapter thirty-nine

You’re just someone worth aching for

Zoe

T he lock clicks, and the door creaks open, but I don’t step in right away.

I just stand there, staring into the place that’s supposed to feel like home.

Technically, it’s only been a handful of hours, so it’s still all the same.

The couch where I’ve spent days buried under blankets watching Chase slowly unravel on national television.

The thrifted console table by the wall. That hideous framed print I keep saying I’ll replace but secretly love.

Same space, same light, but it somehow doesn’t feel like me .

I cross the threshold slowly, keys slipping from my fingers into the dish with a dull clink that sounds too loud in the quiet. Behind me, Chase follows, silent and careful, like he’s afraid to breathe too hard.

I don’t look at him yet because I’m already looking at the table with the vases of flowers.

All the bouquets of carnations he’s sent me this week, neatly lined up like a goddamn graveyard of the version of us that existed before everything cracked. Orange. Pink. Peach. Some are starting to wilt, some are still fresh.

Either way, my chest caves at the sight.

He sent them when I walked away from him, when I didn’t answer his calls, or reply to his texts. And now they’re all here, still blooming and waiting.

Just like him.

I walk toward them slowly, dragging my fingers along the edge of the vase closest to me, pink carnations perched inside with curled edges. They look tired, kinda like me.

Behind me, Chase clears his throat, awkward and gentle.

“Do you want me to get rid of the older ones?”

I shake my head.

“No.”

My voice sounds hoarse. Small, and not mine.

“I ordered some food for you guys, just some basics I know you like. Some stuff for Charlie too, in case… you know. You get tired.”

I nod again, still not turning around.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he says quietly.

The silence stretches, but it’s not the comfortable kind. It’s the kind that makes you want to scream just to hear something human.

“I think they’re almost here,” he adds after a beat. “Charlie and Theo. Jake’s dropping them off.”

I hum a response that sounds noncommittal, and then the knock comes before either of us can say another word.

Chase crosses the room and heads down the hallway to open it. Charlie’s there, auburn hair twisted up in a knot, eyes already scanning me like she’s checking for wounds, her face fracturing when she sees them.

She’s holding Theo in his carrier, and Jake’s standing behind her, jaw set and eyes like steel.

I haven’t cried since the alley.

Not when I was pulled off the ground, or when the medics swarmed around me. Not even when they asked if I remembered every second or if there were any gaps—any moments where things could’ve been worse.

But when my best friend steps inside, when she looks at me and doesn’t say I’m sorry , or Are you okay? and instead says, “Brought your favorite snacks.”

Something cracks.

My lip trembles, but I focus on Theo and manage a smile with glassy eyes. “You brought the boss man, too.”

Jake grunts, but his eyes are carefully scanning me. “He runs our house now. We’re all just living in it.”

He sets the bag down, then kisses Charlie’s temple. He looks at me again, and whatever joke he might’ve made dies in his throat.

“You okay?” he asks, quieter.

No, but I nod anyway, and he doesn’t push, just shifts his attention to Chase.

“Come grab the carrier base. Still in the trunk.”

Chase frowns. “Didn’t you bring that up already?”

Jake shrugs. “Must’ve been the diaper bag.”

It wasn’t, but I appreciate him doing something to stop Chase from spiraling. He follows Jake out without another word, and the door clicks shut behind them.

Charlie steps closer, setting Theo’s carrier gently on the couch.

“He’s out cold, and your apartment is warm. Perfect combo.”

I sit down on the couch next to it and glance at the tiny bundle inside with his wrinkled forehead, pursed lips, and a fist tucked near his cheek like he’s plotting something even in sleep.

She lifts him, cradles him for a second, then sets him in my arms like she knows I need something to hold onto that isn’t grief or guilt or whatever hollow thing is eating me from the inside out.

I look down, and Theo sighs in his sleep. Something inside me eases a little along with it.

“Look at you,” I whisper. “Dreaming about milk and world domination.”

Charlie sinks onto the couch beside me but doesn’t speak, and I keep going, voice low and nurturing.

“You gonna grow up and break hearts, huh? Just like your uncle. Except maybe with less property damage.”

A soft sound escapes Charlie, almost a laugh. It takes me a second to realize I’m smiling. But it’s not for her and not for me. It’s for Theo.

I grin down at him, fingers brushing over his impossibly tiny fist. “Menace in a blanket,” I murmur. “Probably gonna turn into one of those tall hockey boys who never learns how to fold a towel but loves their person with their whole chest.”

In front of me, a floorboard creaks, and I look up. Chase is standing there. Jake, too, hovering just inside the doorway. My mouth opens to say something—deflect, retreat, laugh it off—but Chase’s expression stops me.

He’s not smiling, just staring at me like I said something significant. I don’t know what he heard in my words, but something about the way he’s looking at me is enough to make my throat close.

His eyes flick to Theo, then to me again, and something in them softens, so painfully tender it makes my throat ache. But he doesn’t say a word and doesn’t move, just stands there, letting the moment hold him hostage.

I feel exposed and look away first, not knowing what to say, but Charlie does. She clears her throat, casual but not really. “Theo’s got you wrapped around his tiny finger, huh?”

I nod mutely, keeping my eyes on the baby.

Jake’s the first to step forward, resting the carrier base on the ground with a soft thud. But instead of turning straight back to Chase, he steps over to Charlie and leans in. Touches her cheek, his thumb brushing beneath her eye like he’s checking for any signs of stress she won’t admit to.

“You sure you’re okay?” he murmurs, low enough I almost don’t hear it.

Charlie nods and gives him that soft smile that only belongs to him.

“We’ll be fine,” she says, tilting her head toward me.

Jake exhales through his nose, not quite satisfied, but trusting her. Then he leans down and kisses her, slow and reverent and maybe a little longer than necessary.

His hand lingers on the side of her face, memorizing the feel of it, then finally, he reluctantly pulls back.

“You call if anything feels off, okay? I’ll come right back.”

Charlie nods again, resting her hand on his chest for just a second, then Jake turns to me. His eyes soften as they land on my cheek, clocking the bruise up close.

“You look after my menace in a blanket, okay?” He leans in and gently presses a kiss to my forehead and tenderly strokes his son’s cheek.

All I can do is swallow and nod. Then Jake turns to Chase and doesn’t say anything at first, just assesses him for a beat.

“Take a second. Say what you need to.” He claps a hand on Chase’s shoulder—firm, grounding—and leaves to wait in the hallway.

Chase hesitates, halfway between the hallway and the living room, and then he steps forward.

I don’t look up right away, not until his shoes stop near the couch, and I feel him hovering. I finally glance up, and his eyes find mine, searching. His voice barely makes it out.

“I’m gonna head out. Give you time with Charlie.”

I nod, he doesn’t. His hand twitches at his side like he wants to reach for me, and I think he might do it. And then he does, just barely.

Fingertips brush the ends of my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear.

A breath of a touch along my jaw, and I lean into it before I can stop myself.

His eyes close for half a second, like even that tiny contact physically hurts.

Then he leans down, and I think he’s going to say something, but instead, he presses a kiss to my temple.

It feels warm and lingering and devastating.

When he pulls back, our eyes meet again, and there’s something in his, something fraying at the edges. He doesn’t speak, just straightens and gives Charlie the softest nod. Then he turns and walks out, the front door clicking shut behind him.

This time, the quiet hurts .

It's a silence I created, one I can’t fix with a joke or a clever line. I don’t even know how to reach for him right now, not when I feel like all the best parts of me have gone missing.

“I hate that I did that to him,” I whisper, voice breaking.

Charlie doesn’t say anything, but I can feel it in the way her hand finds mine, her fingers settling lightly over my knuckles and threading gently through them.

“I told my dad,” I say quietly, still staring at Theo.

She hums, waiting for me to continue.

“I texted him from the hospital. Told him I was okay, told him not to come.” I swallow hard. “He said okay, but he signed it off with a thumbs-up emoji, and I feel like I could hear his heartbreak. Like it got trapped between the pixels.”

My throat tightens.

“I didn’t want him to relive it, Char. The hospital and the dread. Didn’t wanna put another ache in his chest.”

Charlie squeezes my hand, warm and sure.

“You didn’t put that ache in his chest,” she murmurs. “You’re just someone worth aching for.”

That cracks something open in me, and I don’t even try to hold it together anymore.

Charlie moves slowly, gently prying Theo from my arms with the kind of practiced calm that only a mom who’s learned to operate in emotional warzones can pull off. She settles him back into his carrier, tucking the blanket around him, and then she comes back.

She wraps her arms around me, and I cling to her like I’m drowning. I cry so hard I can’t breathe, can’t speak, can’t even think beyond the ache tearing through my chest, trying to make room for all the things I haven’t said.

My best friend doesn’t flinch, doesn’t rush. She just holds me, her hand steady between my shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of my head like I’m something fragile and sacred.

“I’m sorry,” I choke out between sobs. “I’m sorry I’m not okay, I’m sorry I keep pulling away, I’m sorry I let this happen—”

“Zoe,” she cuts in gently but firmly, pulling back just enough to look at me. Her eyes are glassy, too. “No. Don’t you dare carry this.”

My lips tremble as I wipe at my cheeks. “Everything feels different. Something’s cracked, and now I’m just... leaking. I don’t feel like me.”

I left her in the alley. The girl who made people laugh, who knew how to own a room, who had a spin for everything—she got stuck there, and I’m what’s left.

Someone who doesn’t know how to laugh in the face of pain.

Who can’t crack a joke or wave it off with a clever quip.

I feel weirdly see-through, like all the scaffolding fell down and no one warned me.

“You’re still you,” she whispers. “You’re just hurting and processing. But you’re still the bravest, brightest person I know.”

“I don’t feel brave.”

She smiles through her tears. “You don’t have to feel it for it to be true.”

I shake my head. “I keep thinking, what if this is it now? What if this hollow, scared, angry version of me is all that’s left?”

Charlie swallows, her thumb brushing a tear from my cheek.

“Zoe. You stood up for me when I couldn’t stand up for myself.

You got in Alex’s face, and you nearly broke his nose that night in my dining room.

You sat on the bathroom floor with me while I sobbed into a pregnancy test. You held my hand and looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘We don’t run, we rebuild. ’”

My breathe shudders, but I keep my watery eyes locked on hers.

“And now?” Her voice cracks. “I get to say that back to you. Let me be that for you.”

The sob that breaks from my chest is louder this time, uglier.

“I don’t know how to be loved right now,” I whisper.

Charlie’s arms tighten around me. “Then let us love you anyway, Zo. Not just when it’s easy or when you’re shining. Even when you don’t know how to take it. Especially then.”

I pull back, just barely, my voice shaking. “I love him.”

Charlie doesn’t ask who. She already knows.

“I love Chase,” I say again, thinking that repeating it will make it easier to say.

“And that hurts more than anything because he’s seen all of it.

All the versions of me. And I keep thinking, what if I never get those versions back?

What if he looks at me and doesn’t see me anymore?

What if I pushed him so far away, he doesn’t come back? ”

Charlie’s expression twists as if she’s about to cry all over again. “He adores you.”

I swallow thickly, tears sliding down again. “I said horrible things to him, Char. I made him feel like none of it mattered. Like he didn’t matter. Because I was scared and I thought if I could just control the narrative, spin it fast enough, I wouldn’t have to feel what I was actually feeling.”

I pause, voice breaking. “But I do. I feel everything , and it’s so much it scares the hell out of me, because it’s not all sparkles and sass.

It’s raw and quiet and cracked in places I don’t know how to fix.

This version of me?” My voice drops to a whisper.

“This bruised and broken thing who can’t even hold a conversation without unraveling?

Who the hell would wanna hold onto that ? ”

“I would,” she says, without missing a beat. “Jake would. Tamara and Eli and Lulu. Pookie and Reid, Noah and Meadow—” Her voice catches as she says their names. “Every single person who loves you still loves you. You are not less, Zoe. You’re not broken. You are hurting, and that’s allowed.”

I stare at her, silent tears still rolling down my cheeks. “I’m so tired.”

“I know, baby.”

“I don’t know how to hold it all.”

Charlie cups my face, her voice shaking. “Then we’ll hold it with you. Piece by piece.”

The tears don’t stop, but for the first time tonight, they feel like release instead of ruin.