Page 9

What none of them knew, what no one knew, was that I had twelve years’ worth of hindsight now. And all that bravado, all that momentum… it was about to shatter.

A virus, microscopic and merciless, was already carving its path through the world.

In weeks, borders would close. In months, economies would grind to dust. People would die, suffocate on their own breath while others hoarded toilet paper and hand sanitizer like it was gold.

Society was about to crack and I was staring down the barrel of it, pretending I didn’t already know the trigger had been pulled.

Fuck me, things are about to go bad.

I sank into my sleek, leather chair, its refined surface cold beneath me, and stared at the desk in front of me. Paperwork. Receipts. Financials scattered and there, underneath a pile of estimates and bills, I saw a photo of Sloane and the kids in a half-buried frame.

I pulled it free and wiped off the dust with my sleeve. Set it upright. Stared at it like I was praying to an alter, recognition hitting me as I recalled that trip to the Smokies. Violet’s front teeth missing, Liam pretending he didn’t want to smile. Sloane, flushed from the sun, eyes bright.

This company gave me money, prestige… hell, it gave me the illusion of power but it never gave me home .

I already had that. Yet, somehow, I had buried it under ambition, late nights, and the lies I told myself about success.

The next steps of redemption weren’t about making more money or climbing higher.

No, they meant getting things financially stable and securing the future so I could be home more.

But even now, I wondered if I was too far gone to fix what I’d broken.

Can I rebuild the home I've demolished?

I threw myself into work: all of the shit that went into cancelling the Key West project, plotting the best investments to take advantage of the impending shutdowns, planning how to take care of my guys once the virus hit stateside and the housing market evaporated overnight.

The truth was, I had more reasons to cancel Key West than the impending pandemic.

Yes, in my previous life that entire project had been stalled and then fucked sideways by the shutdowns and quarantines; it had proved to be one of the first major nails in the coffin of Master Builders Inc.

But saving my company in this new life was not the only reason I was eager to cancel the trip to southern Florida.

The thought of going down to that accursed place full of haunting memories was too much to bear…

all because of who the Old Me had taken with him.

Angie.

It was our first trip together, her accompanying me to the Key West project in the midst of my divorce to Sloane. We had planned to treat it like a vacation while I was not on the job site, and the Old Me was stupid enough to believe it was a romantic lover's getaway.

Then the virus tore through the country, as it had throughout the rest of the world, and upended society as we knew it.

It was as if the fucking thing was in a competition with itself to see which it could fill faster: graveyards or hospitals.

Businesses weren't allowed to open, curfews enforced, travel restricted, and just… so, so many dead.

Angie and I were shut-in our hotel for months while my company, my life, and the rest of the world fell apart. Our relationship was new and I was a fucking idiot, so being quarantined together had seemed like a twisted blessing to the Old Me.

After that, Key West held a special place for us. It was where we later went to celebrate our one-year anniversary, where we went for her birthday, and ultimately it was the cause of our break-up as well.

I have to get to work. I am not wasting another second thinking about Angie.

I hammered through the next ten hours, the relentless grind of labor a welcome distraction from the mess I’d made of my life.

The sun had started to bleed into the horizon by the time I walked through the parking lot toward my truck.

I sat in it for a while, engine off, staring at the empty lot as exhaustion pressed on my shoulders.

My fingers twitched over the screen of my phone, hovering just above Sloane's name as if it might burn me.

I was impatient to move back in but I knew she would still be wound tight.

Despite that, I needed to call her to see how broken we truly were.

I doubted she would be open to the idea and it was definitely a gamble, but I needed to try.

The longer I stared at her name, the more certain I became that she wouldn’t answer… but I called anyway. One ring. Two. Three. Then her voice, clipped and wary.

“Levi?” Her tone was ice. Despite that, the sound of her voice sparked a warmth that spread from my chest down to my core; a burning reminder of how much she affected me.

“Hey,” I said. My voice sounded small. “I didn’t want to text this.”

A pause then a quiet, “Okay.”

I could hear the faint sound of the kids in the background: Violet laughing, Liam saying something sarcastic. My throat closed for a moment. I missed that noise. I missed them. I missed her .

“Thank you for the money. It seems excessive.” Her voice was hesitant, as if she knew I was scheming something. I suppose, in a way, I was.

“Of course. Y'all should also check out that one deluxe hotel with the water park in it. I remember we had a great time at its neighbor.”

Sloane's soft laugh filtered through and I couldn't help but close my eyes as my cock swelled, her voice a drug I could never quit. It was hard not to touch myself in the truck with her voice and laugh filling me.

“Levi, that was years ago.” Her flat tone broke through the animalistic hunger I was holding back.

I took a deep breath as I adjusted myself. My voice came out hoarse when I said, “I’ve been thinking… I know I screwed everything up. I know I don’t have the right to ask for anything. But I need to know… do you want me to look for a rental? Or…”

“Or what ?”

Yep, definitely still mad. Rightfully so.

“… Or should I come home?”

The silence on the line stretched so long I thought the call dropped. I checked the screen. Still active.

Then, Sloane exhaled, and her breath shook. “You think this is something you get to just walk back into?”

“No,” I said quickly. “No, Sloane. I don’t think that. I’m not asking to pick up where we left off. I’m asking if you even want me in the same house. Not as your husband, fuck, I know I forfeited that… but as the kids’ father. As someone who wants to earn a place again.”

She was quiet. I imagined her pacing the kitchen, arms wrapped around herself, her eyes blurry and red-rimmed.

“I could be home when you are working. Someone to stay with the kids. I know Liam is old enough but … ”

I trailed off, not knowing what to say. I knew that Sloane had survived on her own in my previous life; what right did I have to impose upon her now? Would she find it presumptuous of me that she even needed my help?

“Thank you, Levi. But …” She paused for an agonizingly long time before she said, “Honestly? I don’t trust you.”

My chest caved in, my breathing ceased, and I grasped the steering wheel so hard my fingers screamed. Every muscle in my body seized.

Of course she didn't trust me. She shouldn't trust me after what I'd done. It wasn't shock or anger that triggered such a violent reaction in me, but an earthquake of conflicting emotions: revulsion with myself, reverence for her, shame of who I had been, and finally pride at who she was.

How I managed not to cry in that moment, I couldn't say. I choked out the words, “I know. And I understand.”

“You hurt me, Levi. You humiliated me. And not just with her... you were gone before she ever touched you. You checked out. Every time I asked for help, you gave me either silence or resentment.”

“I know… I was a selfish bastard and I didn’t even see it until you were already standing in the wreckage I'd created.”

Another pause. “Since when have you been so poetic?”

The truth was that I had twelve years of hindsight and regrets tempering my words. I had twelve years worth of wondering how many different ways I could forge an apology that could encapsulate my regret, my sorrow, my shame.

I couldn't tell her that, though. So instead I said, “Ever since I realized how desperately I need to earn your trust back.”

I could hear her scoff through the phone. I could almost see her pull back to stare at the screen from the audacity of my words. I knew it was bold, but it was honest. I needed her to know how much I meant what I'd said.

“I am not saying yes.” Her voice was low, as if she didn’t want the kids to hear. “But I’m not saying no, either. The kids… they need you. They miss you. I might be willing to let you stay the nights I'm working. Might .” Her voice sounded stern.

I closed my eyes and held back the swell of emotion rising in my chest. “Then I’ll wait,” I whispered. “I’ll do whatever you need me to. If it’s a rental, fine. If it’s the guest room, fine. I’ll sleep in the garage if that’s what it takes.”

“You don’t get to charm your way back in,” she warned. In her stern tone she used with the kids she said, “If you come back, which is still a very big if … it will be under my rules. One wrong move, and you’re gone. For good.”

“Understood,” I said. “I’ll be good.” I had to stop myself from saying ' a good boy .'

I started to wonder if the New Me had come back as a masochist. Good God, I fucking loved listening to her reprimand me and I was grateful in this moment that she had stood up for herself. She had answered the phone and that alone felt like a crack of light through the darkness of my soul.

She said, “I’ll talk to the kids. And I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you, Sloane.”

She didn’t say a word of thanks. No goodbye. The line went dead, leaving only silence behind.

I sat there, my chest tight with each painful breath, as I replayed our conversation over and over and over. I would celebrate every victory, no matter how small, as I battled my way back. And this?

This was my first win.