Page 78 of The Ache That Stayed

I could stand here under the cold spray and think all day. But thinking wouldn’t help. If anything, it was making it worse.

Enough.

I shut the water off abruptly and got dressed quickly. My gaze drifted toward my phone on the nightstand. I hadn’t touched it since last night. Didn’t want to. Because I knew exactly what I’d see. Messages from Marcello. Maybe a missed call.

Normal. Reliable. Predictable. And I didn’t trust myself to respond without my composure cracking open.

I picked it up anyway.

A simple message sat there.

My chest tightened painfully. I stared at it longer than necessary, thumb hovering over the screen.

Call him. Tell him everything. Confess it all.

The thought hit and disappeared just as fast.

I couldn’t. Not yet, not because I didn’t trust him. But because saying it aloud would make it real. And a small part of me feared, what if he walked away again?

And this time didn’t come back at all? That wouldn’t just hurt me; it would break me. And I wasn’t ready for that.

I ran my hands through my hair. Heat prickled under my skin, sweat beading at my temples, the thought alone enough to make my body rebel.

Instead, I dialled another number. Someone I’d been avoiding. And this time, I didn’t hesitate.

CHAPTER 20

Roxanne

The café sat tucked between two narrow streets, the kind of place you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it. Muted noise, ambient light, the smell of coffee strong enough to ground you. Conversations stayed low, unhurried. The air held a faint sweetness beneath the bitterness of roasted beans.

It felt contained. Predictable. That was why I chose it.

I almost turned back twice before walking in. Not because I didn’t want to see him—but because I wasn’t sure I wanted to be seen. There was a difference.

Julian was already there, seated by the window, a cup of tea untouched in front of him. He looked the same as always—composed without trying. Like the world didn’t rush him, and he didn’t rush with it.

His eyes lifted the moment I stepped inside.

And just like that, I knew. He had already noticed.

“You look tired,” he said as I approached. Not critically. Just… accurately.

“I didn’t sleep well,” I replied, sliding into the chair across from him.

Julian Hale looked nothing like the kind of man people trusted with their minds. His gold-brown hair was always just a little too neat, like he didn’t believe in chaos—not externally, at least. Wire-rim glasses softened his face, but not enough to dull the sharpness behind his eyes.

Those eyes were the problem. They didn’t linger where they were supposed to. Not on your face. Not on what you said. They sat somewhere deeper—like he was listening to things you hadn’t decided to admit yet. And people trusted him too easily. Or maybe they didn’t realise when they started telling him the truth.

“You’ve evaded me for months,” he said evenly. “And now you’ve agreed to meet.”

I let out a small breath, lifting my hand in a vague gesture, as if that alone could dismiss the weight of it. “You were the one who said you were in town. That I could reach out.”

The waiter appeared before I could respond, and I ordered the first thing I saw on the menu just to break the moment. Just to give myself a second to think.

Julian didn’t speak again until we were alone.

“So,” he said, leaning back slightly, his attention never leaving me, “to what do I owe this meeting?”