Page 93 of Mending Hearts
There it is. The thing that’s lived at the edge of my tongue for days now.
He left me.
She doesn’t let me say it.
“But,” she continues firmly, “I also know he didn’t leave because he stopped loving you.”
I swallow hard.
“He thought he was protecting you,” she says softly. “From the League. From our parents. From himself.”
“That doesn’t make it less painful.”
“No,” she agrees. “It doesn’t.”
Phil leans forward slightly. “He was a mess, Rafe. After. And I met him for the first time maybe three months later.”
I look at him sharply.
“He didn’t tell you?” Lindy asks gently.
“Tell me what?”
Her voice lowers. “He stopped sleeping. He’d drive past your old house when he was here in LA. He kept every clipping about the band in a box under his bed. And the photo album on his phone is out of control.”
My breath catches.
“He didn’t date,” Phil adds quietly. “Not really. Not even a couple of awkward attempts. He couldn’t.”
I swallow.
“He carried you like a bruise,” Lindy says. “He just didn’t know how to hold you without breaking everything else.”
Silence settles heavy around the table. The anger I’ve clung to for eight years flickers uncertainly. “He still shouldn’t have walked,” I say finally.
“No,” she agrees again. “He shouldn’t have.”
She meets my eyes. “But he came back.”
That lands differently.
“He’s not that scared kid anymore,” she continues. “And neither are you.”
Phil nods once. “You get to protect yourself. Absolutely. But don’t punish him forever for something he’s clearly been punishing himself for.”
My throat burns. I glance toward the hallway where Ollie disappeared.
He came after me. Flew across the country, held my hand in front of cameras, and suggested facing my parents together. That’s not the same man who left me eight years ago with silence and fear in his eyes.
When Ollie returns, he looks between us warily. “You plotting against me?” he asks lightly.
“Always,” Lindy says, smiling through the last of her tears.
He sits back down beside me. Our shoulders brush. And for the first time since this all reignited, I let myself imagine something dangerous.
Not a sprint. Not Vegas. Not intensity for intensity’s sake.
But a future that isn’t defined by fear.
