Page 3 of The Hang Up (Lilac Harbor #3)

THREE

Lena

“You have got to be kidding me,” I say, tossing the towel over my shoulder and glaring at the front door of Clay & Cupcakes.

Auden glances up from the espresso machine where she’s wiping down the counter, her brows lifting. “Let me guess…”

“Holden,” I grit out, glaring at him as he heads toward our shop.

Arlowe lets out a low whistle before popping the last of a raspberry tart into her mouth. “Persistent guy, isn’t he?”

“He’s something,” I mutter, locking the door and turning the sign to Closed before he can open it. “That’s the third time this week.”

“He really wants to talk to you,” Auden says, her tone gentle and cautious.

Too cautious. I know that tone—it’s the kind you use before touching something that might bite.

Auden thinks I should give Holden a chance. She’s a romantic at heart, and since she got with her boyfriend, Wade, she’s been all gung-ho to see me head over heels in love. She’s cautious around the subject because she knows what his leaving did to me.

“So what if he does? I’m not interested,” I tell her, my tone brokering no arguments.

“Are you sure about that?” Arlowe arches one perfectly sculpted brow.

Arlowe only knows what I’ve told her since she’s new in town. She’s seen Holden chasing after me, and I know she’s hoping I’ll give him a second chance.

“Yes,” I say firmly.

Auden and Arlowe exchange a look—one that says they don’t believe me and see through the carefully erected wall I’ve built around my heart.

Arlowe shrugs. “You dated him for years. It’s okay to hear him out and see what he has to say. You’re allowed to be curious.”

“I’m not curious,” I say too quickly. “I’m annoyed. I’m exhausted. I’m—” I break off, my throat tightening as I rip off my apron and toss it onto the hook. “He left me.”

“We know,” Auden says gently. “And hearing him out might get him to leave you alone. Why not get it over with?”

“He didn’t just leave,” I go on, needing to vent.

“He walked away from me, from this town, from the life we were supposed to build together. I waited for him to call, to explain, to say something. Nothing. Not a word for four years. And now he thinks he can show up and…what? Pick up where we left off? He thinks I’ve been sitting around, wishing and hoping he’d come back? ”

Auden and Arlowe are quiet for a moment. Only the soft hum of the cooler can be heard as Arlowe brushes crumbs into a dustpan.

“No,” Auden says finally. “But maybe he wants to explain.”

I sink onto the stool behind the counter, rubbing my eyes. “And what if I don’t want to hear it? What if it makes everything worse? What if it makes me remember how much I loved him?”

The words hang in the air, unspoken truths bleeding into the silence, because the truth is, I do remember. I never forgot.

“Maybe you need to hear him out so you can finally let it go,” Arlowe says softly. “Or maybe…you don’t want to.”

“I’m over him,” I lie. “Nothing good could come from opening that door again.”

They don’t press me on it. They just help me finish the closing routine. We stack chairs, mop floors, and lock up the register. It’s muscle memory by now, comforting in its repetition. The three of us move like clockwork, like sisters.

“Want me to walk you out?” Auden asks as I shrug on my coat.

“Nah, I’m good. You two get home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

They hug me, and I head out into the chilly Lilac Harbor night. My car is parked out back, and the cold air helps to clear my head—for a moment. But by the time I reach the apartment I share with my mom, the emotional weight is already settling on my shoulders.

The place is dark except for the faint glow from the TV in her bedroom. I peek in to find her fast asleep, her breathing shallow but steady. She’s curled up under the crocheted blanket I made for her last Christmas.

I tiptoe to the kitchen, pour a glass of water, and quietly pad to my room.

I should go straight to bed. I should try to rest, but instead, I find myself pulling open the bottom drawer of my nightstand to retrieve the worn envelope that lives there.

It’s bent at the corners, the paper soft from years of being handled. My name is scrawled across the front in Holden’s messy, familiar handwriting.

I don’t know why I’ve kept it. Maybe because it was the last real piece of him I had.

I slide the letter out and unfold it slowly. The paper crackles in my hands. I scan the words, even though I know them by heart.

Lena,

I’m not good with words (and I won’t win any handwriting awards), but I needed to tell you this on paper, because sometimes, when I’m around you, I forget how to talk. You smile, and my brain goes all fuzzy.

Being with you feels like breathing for the first time. Like everything that came before was just waiting for this.

For you.

You’re my favorite part of every day. The way you laugh when I do something stupid. The way you smell like sugar and vanilla. The way you always believe in me, even when I don’t.

You make me feel like I’m more than a guy from a small town with a busted truck and big dreams. Like I could do something amazing, be someone worthy, because you’ll be there beside me.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I know this: I want every piece of it with you.

Prom. Graduation. Whatever comes next. I want it all if it means I get to hold your hand through it.

You’re it for me, Lena. You always have been. You always will be.

Yours. Always.

Holden

I blink fast, but it’s no use. The tears come anyway.

“Liar,” I whisper, voice cracking. “I hate you. I hate that you left. I hate that you didn’t fight for me.”

I press the letter to my chest and curl onto my side. A sob slips out, then another. I cry until my eyes sting and my nose is stuffed up. Until the letter is damp in my hand and my heart aches with something dangerously close to longing.

What would’ve happened if he’d stayed?

Would we be married now? Living in a little cottage by the lake? Would we have a dog, a baby on the way? Would I have opened Clay & Cupcakes?

I don’t know, but tonight, I let myself imagine for a moment.

Then I sit up, wipe my eyes, and shove the letter back into its envelope before returning it to the drawer. I push it closed with a satisfying thud, like sealing away my weakness.

He left. He made that choice. I won’t let him back in simply because I’m lonely, tired, and burned out.

I check the clock. It’s almost ten. I’m exhausted, but I need to make sure my mom took her pills tonight.

Creeping into my mom’s room, I crouch by the nightstand and grab her pill organizer, flipping open the PM for today.

Empty.

Thank God. I don’t have to wake her up and listen to her yell at me for getting home so late and disturbing her sleep.

As I turn and head back to my room, a memory grips me. I’m eighteen, standing in this same spot, holding a bottle of pills with shaking hands and a heart full of fear. Mom told me her diagnosis with tears in her eyes, and I held her, promising everything would be okay.

But it wasn’t okay.

Nothing has been okay since.

The weight of that night has never lifted—not during the college years I stumbled through, not in the jobs I took to get by, not even in the quiet comfort of fresh cupcakes in the morning.

It’s always there—the moment I chose to stay. When I stopped living for me and started living for her.

And Holden? He got to go.

I shove the thought away and creep back to my room. Grabbing my robe, I head to the bathroom. I turn on the shower, step under the warm spray, and let it wash away the tears, the anger, and the what-ifs. For a few minutes, I stand there, the water pounding against my back, my thoughts swirling.

Should I hear him out? Would it bring closure? Would it open a wound? Would I forgive him? Would I want to?

I close my eyes.

No.

Because if I let him in, if I even crack the door open, I might not be able to close it again, and I can’t afford to fall apart. Not now. Not when everything depends on me keeping it all together.

My mom.

Clay & Cupcakes.

My sanity.

I dry off, tug on my softest pajamas, and climb into bed. I stare up at the ceiling, the ache in my chest pressing down like a weight I’ve learned to live with.

I take a deep breath and whisper to the dark, “I’m fine without him.”

Even if it’s a lie.