Page 47 of The Embers That Remain

I nodded slowly. “I didn’t expect her to come back to Kennedy,” I admitted.

“You can’t keep trying to avoid each other,” Landry said.

“I know.” This town was too small.

“She’s thinking about talking to you,” Landry admitted.

My head snapped up. “She said that?”

“Not in so many words,” she said. “But she didn’t shut the idea down.”

Something loosened in my chest, suspiciously close to hope, and I didn’t trust it.

“You still care about her,” she said. Not a question. Because that answer had never changed.

“Doesn’t really matter,” I said instead, adjusting my rolled-up shirt sleeve.

“It might to her,” she whispered. Maybe. But I wouldn’t let myself mistake missing her for trusting her again. She was the one who left. She was the one who walked away without ever saying goodbye. Landry lifted the small box and held it in her arms, glancing toward the door again.

“Just don’t hide behind silence this time. You aren’t alone,” she said, concern lacing her voice.

I met her eyes. “I won’t.” I didn’t want her to worry about me.

Not again. Not if I got the chance to do it differently. There were things I wanted to say, and I wasn’t going to leave them unsaid again. She studied me for a second longer, deciding whether to believe me. She gave a small nod and turned toward the door, her mission complete.

“Hey, Landry.”

She paused, glancing back over her shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Her smile was small. Knowing. “Don’t thank me yet.”

The door opened and closed. And just like that, I was alone again. Alone with my thoughts, but they felt heavier than before. I stared at the empty space, Landry’s words still hanging in the air.

She’s thinking about talking to you.

My pulse stumbled. I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through my hair. I hated myself for missing the version of us that had existed before everything broke. I reached for my keys before I could talk myself out of it. My hand fisted around them because every good memory came with another one reminding me she’d walked away.

Fifteen years later, I still didn’t know why.

What I wouldn’t give to go back to a day when we could sit on the pier, talking about futures we were sure we’d share. She’d known me better than anyone. Maybe that was what I yearned for most—not just her, but being known by her. She’d walked away without giving me the chance to fight for us, and somehow I was still standing here wishing for pieces of what we’d lost.

If she wanted to talk . . . so did I. I was ready to hear the truth. Ready to finally ask the questions I’d spent years pretending didn’t matter.

And if hearing the answers hurt . . .

Maybe it was time I stopped running from that, too. I glanced at the clock as I locked the center behind me. She’d be off work soon. It had been long enough. Whatever happened next, fifteen years of silence ended tonight.

Twenty-One

Lane

Hospitals all smelled the same. Sharp and sterile, trying to mask everything underneath but never quite succeeding. Stress, fear, and exhaustion clung to the walls and engulfed me the second the automatic doors slid open. It wasn’t my first time here. I planned on a quick stop before helping Jonah. Instead, I stopped just inside the entrance, debating whether this was the right choice. The storm clouds gathering overhead seemed to mirror the mess in my head. I took a breath and forced myself forward.

Then I saw her.