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Holland

T he room feels emptier than it should, like a hollowed-out shell of what it was just days ago. Maybe it’s because most of my belongings are already stuffed into the duffel bag on the bed. It’s the same one I dragged here weeks ago when staying with Bridger felt like punishment.

At the time, I’d counted down the days until I could leave. I didn’t want to be anywhere near him.

Now, the thought of walking out that door feels like a kick to the gut.

I smooth out a shirt before folding it neatly and placing it on top of the pile in my bag. My fingers linger on the fabric, and my throat tightens as I stare at the open zipper. Each piece of clothing I add feels like another goodbye I’m not ready for.

I don’t want to go.

Not anymore.

At some point, without realizing it, being here with Bridger started to feel like home. Not the kind I grew up in, but the kind I’d always hoped for. Safe, warm, full of something I can’t quite put into words.

With him.

But safe is a lie, isn’t it?

A fleeting illusion.

Especially when the fragile trust we’ve been building is fractured.

A few days ago, everything felt precariously close to perfect. Now, it feels like I’m standing on shattered glass, every step slicing deeper.

The sharp buzz of my phone on the nightstand cuts through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. I hesitate, my hand hovering in the air, my heart pounding.

I reach for it and swipe at the screen. ColdAsIce17’s name lights it up like a beacon. The familiar sight makes my chest ache. It’s a mix of comfort and something far more complicated.

I tap the message open and hold my breath as his words appear.

ColdAsIce17

You’ve been seeing someone, right?

I frown.

Me

Yes. How did you know?

ColdAsIce17

Not important. Do you care about him?

The message stares back at me, sharp and loaded. I sit down on the edge of the bed, my heart sinking like a stone, as my thoughts churn. Finally, I type out the truth, my chest tightening as I hit send.

Me

I do. But I’m pretty sure it’s over.

The reply comes back immediately.

ColdAsIce17

Is that what you want?

The weight of his question presses down on me, making it harder to breathe. I stare at the screen, my eyes burning with the threat of tears as I wrestle with the answer.

Do I want this to be over?

No. It’s not what I want.

Not at all.

But what does it matter when everything feels broken beyond repair?

My thumbs move before I can stop them.

Me

No.

The silence that follows feels endless, each second stretching painfully thin. I wait, half hoping for another message, half terrified of what it might say. When my phone finally buzzes, the words on the screen make my heart stutter.

ColdAsIce17

Do you think he cares for you?

My throat constricts as I reread the question.

Do I think Bridger cares for me?

After everything that’s happened, I don’t know anymore.

I force myself to type the truth.

Me

I’m not sure.

This time, the pause is longer.

Long enough for doubt to creep in and make me second-guess everything. My gaze drifts to the half-packed duffel bag on the bed. Maybe I should just grab it and go before Bridger returns.

It would be easier that way, wouldn’t it?

Less messy. We can go back to avoiding each other.

That thought has a stab of pain pricking at me.

My phone buzzes, cutting through the storm in my head.

ColdAsIce17

Maybe you should open the door and find out.

My brow furrows, confusion rippling through me. My fingers tremble as I type back.

Me

What?

The response is instant, almost demanding.

ColdAsIce17

Open the door, Holland, and find out.

The air in the room seems to thin as realization slams into me. My pulse hammers in my ears, drowning out everything else as my gaze shoots to Bridger’s bedroom door.

Another buzz.

ColdAsIce17

Well? What are you waiting for?

The moment feels surreal, like it’s happening to someone else as I push to my feet. My mind races with a thousand possibilities, but none of them make the least bit of sense. The knob feels cold under my hand, my palm clammy with sweat as I twist it slowly. Each second has my heart pounding harder.

The door swings open.

And there he is.

Bridger stands in the hallway with his phone in hand. His gray eyes are locked on mine, steady and unwavering, but there’s something different in them. A softness I’ve never seen before.

Vulnerability.

I don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, we’re standing inches apart, unspoken words hanging between us.

“Hi,” he says, his voice quiet.

A sob bursts free from my chest before I can stop it. Without thinking, I throw myself into his arms, my hands clutching at his neck as if he’s a lifeline. He pulls me against him with a fierceness that undoes me.

“I’m sorry,” I choke out against his shoulder, the words tumbling from my lips in a rush. “I should have told you the truth when I found out. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his hands steadying me as his gaze meets mine. His expression is raw, stripped bare in a way that makes my heart ache. “I know,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I talked to Garret. And now that I’ve had time to process it, I understand. I get why you didn’t tell me.”

As his hand holding the phone drops back to his side, my gaze follows. My heart thunders as the realization slams into me.

“It’s you,” I whisper, barely able to form the words. “It’s been you all along.”

His fingers tighten on my waist, his chest rising with a slow inhale. “I should have realized it earlier,” he murmurs, his gaze searching mine. “Every message, every conversation... it was always you.”

Tears blur my vision as a shaky laugh bubbles up from my throat. “Yeah,” I say, voice thick with emotion. “It was me.”

“Just so you know,” he says, his tone dipping, “I care about you, Holland. I’ve always cared about you.”

The air between us shifts, thickening with emotion and the pull that’s been there from the start. A shiver races down my spine as his face moves closer, his eyes searching mine for the slightest hesitation. When he finds none, his lips brush against mine. The kiss is soft at first. Almost as if he’s testing the waters. But then it deepens until it feels very much like coming home.

When we finally pull apart, I rest my forehead against his, our breaths mingling. For the first time in what feels like forever, the chaos quiets, and everything slides into place.

His gaze slices to my packed bag resting on the bed, and for a moment, fear ghosts across his face. He swallows hard before his eyes lock on mine again.

“Stay,” he says in a low rumble that sends a shiver through me. “Don’t leave.”

A smile tugs at my lips, tentative at first but growing as warmth floods my body. “I wasn’t planning on it,” I admit, my voice steady.

A small smile breaks across his face, and just like that, the cracks between us begin to heal.