Page 43 of The Comeback Road (Leaving #2)

Lexie

Hovering.

It felt like everyone was hovering. Gentle but persistent enough that I couldn’t sink back into the numbness I craved.

Magnolia was always there, her concerned glances and endless questions weaving a tapestry of worry around me that had started to feel suffocating.

Sloan was no different, popping in and out with an upbeat energy that grated on my nerves.

But then there was Jace, who lingered in the background like a warm cup of coffee and lazy Sunday mornings—smooth, steady, unyielding. It was a presence I found myself gravitating toward, always there, keeping me tethered to reality just so I could float in and out of his orbit.

He was working on the guest rooms, tearing out the old insulation and replacing it with fresh material. It was a mess, but he worked around the clock, half the time showing up in the morning wearing the same clothes he had left in the night before.

As I lay in bed, I could hear the soft thud of tools against wood, the low hum of his voice when he talked to someone. It wrapped around me, a comforting coaxing, urging me to step out of my thoughts and engage. It felt like chocolate chip pancakes and the perfect amount of maple syrup.

I’d caught glimpses of him through the doorway that last week, his hands moving deftly, focused and determined. It was an image of strength and purpose that made my heart flutter, an unexpected warmth spreading through my chest when I looked at him.

That morning, there was a steaming cup of coffee waiting for me outside my bedroom door when I opened it.

Made up exactly the way I liked it. He’d left breakfast, too—a plate of scrambled eggs and buttery toast that felt almost foreign in my hands as I looked down at it.

I could barely remember the last time I’d eaten a full meal, but I found myself accepting his offerings, even as I felt like a ghost wandering through the halls of my own life.

For a while, even the act of eating, nourishing myself, felt like a small rebellion against the void that threatened to consume me. But I somehow managed to choke down the burnt eggs, the ghost of a smile crossing my lips.

I still kept my distance, though. Jace was different from anyone I’d ever known—well, different for me . He had an uncanny ability to see beyond my surface, an unnatural skill to understand the chaos that swirled beneath my facade.

His presence grounded me, reminding me that life continued. That I didn’t have to be alone in my struggle, even if I wanted to. He left pieces of him around the house, and I basked in them, finding his light to my darkness. It comforted me as much as it terrified me.

Christmas was fast approaching, and cheer was everywhere .

It was jarring. Twinkling lights adorned neighbors’ houses.

The scent of pine wafted through the air, and laughter seemed to spill from the streets.

For me, it continued to be a blur, an echo of joy that felt just out of reach.

As the world outside continued on, I was still stuck, struggling to find my way back.

I wanted to ask if he would be there for Christmas, or if he could be, but that wasn’t my place. I wanted him there more than I wanted to admit. But how could I? How could I risk opening that door after everything?

Jace had a way of making everything feel brighter, of turning my mundane into something magical. I caught myself wondering if he could sense that pull—the longing I had for him to be a part of my life in a way that felt profound.

But how could I? Jace hadn’t picked me. He didn’t want me.

The thought of spending Christmas or any long period of time away from him now that he had become one of those hovering forces made my heart race—and not in a good way.

I found myself spiraling, trapped in a whirlwind of what-ifs . What if he showed up? Or worse, what if he didn’t? What if I wanted to lean into him, let him hold me?

But the fear of crossing that boundary and being second-best for the rest of my life kept me rooted to the spot. I swore I could almost feel his warmth, his laughter mingling with the holiday cheer, and I felt like I could breathe for the first time in weeks.

The thought of him being there sent butterflies swirling in my stomach, and yet, the fear of rejection nagged at me like a persistent itch.

Will he see through the cracks in my facade, and realize I’m not worth the trouble in the moments when I feel vulnerable and raw?

He didn’t want me when I was whole, why would he want me now, when I feel broken?

I tried to keep my focus on the logistics of the day-to-day; wake up, shower— maybe , get dressed, eat, sleep, breathe, survive, repeat.

Breathe, survive, repeat.

Breathe, survive, repeat.