VIII

Solené Beckett

I stared at my phone, the message from Summer glowing on the screen:

"Can we talk?"

My stomach twisted in a way that was both familiar and agonizing. For weeks, I'd imagined this moment—her reaching out, opening a door I wasn't sure I deserved to step through. Now that it was here, my fingers hovered over the keyboard, my mind racing.

What could I say?

Of course.

I'm sorry.

I've been waiting for this.

None of it felt right. None of it would undo the damage I'd done.

I typed back the simplest thing I could manage.

"When and where?"

Her response came quickly:

"Tomorrow? 6 PM? Coffee at Bluebird Café?"

The place we always went to. The place that felt like us. It made sense, but it also made it harder.

"Okay. I'll be there."

I hit send and immediately regretted it. Not because I didn't want to go—I did, desperately—but because now it was real. No more hiding, no more excuses. Tomorrow, I'd have to face her.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment that led to this. Leaving her was supposed to be the right choice. I told myself I needed space, time to figure out who I was without her. But the truth was, I was scared. Scared of how much she meant to me, scared of messing things up, scared of everything we could've been.

And leaving didn't make any of it go away. If anything, it made it worse.

I thought about texting her again, something to soften the silence between us. But what could I say that wouldn't feel empty?

The next day felt like a blur. I went through the motions—showering, eating breakfast, pretending to care about the emails piling up in my inbox—but my mind was somewhere else. The clock seemed to tick faster as the afternoon wore on, and by the time 5:30 rolled around, I was staring at my closet, trying to decide what to wear.

I settled on something simple: baggy jeans, a black crop top, and a pair of Golden Goose sneakers.

The drive to Bluebird Café was quiet. Too quiet. My usual playlist couldn't distract me, so I turned the music off and focused on the road, rehearsing what I'd say. But every time I tried to string the words together, they crumbled under the weight of what I'd done.

When I pulled into the parking lot, I spotted her car immediately. My breath hitched. She was already inside, waiting for me.

Walking into the café felt like stepping into a memory. The smell of coffee, the warm lighting, the soft hum of conversation—it was all so familiar, yet it felt like I didn't belong here anymore.

Then I saw her.

Summer was sitting at a corner table, her hands wrapped around a mug. She looked the same but different. Stronger somehow, but guarded. Like she'd built walls I wasn't sure I could climb.

I almost turned around and left. Almost. But then she looked up, her eyes meeting mine, and I knew I couldn't run again.

I walked over, each step heavier than the last, until I was standing across from her.

"Hi, Summer," I said, my voice softer than I intended.

"Hi," she replied, her tone steady but distant.

I sat down, gripping the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping me upright. For a moment, neither of us said anything. The silence felt unbearable, but I didn't know how to break it.

Finally, I forced myself to speak. "I'm sorry," I said, my voice trembling. "I know I owe you an explanation, and I've been rehearsing what to say for days, but now that I'm here..." I looked down, unable to meet her eyes. "I don't know where to start."

"Start with why you left," she said, her voice sharp but not unkind.

I swallowed hard, the weight of her question pressing down on me. "I thought it was what I needed to do. I thought it was the only way to figure things out. But I was wrong. I hurt you, and I hate myself for that."

Her laugh was bitter, cutting through me like a knife. "Did you ever think about me? About what it would do to me?"

I nodded, tears threatening to spill. "Every single day. And it killed me. But I didn't know how to come back, Summer. I didn't know if you'd even want to see me again."

She shook her head, her eyes glistening. "I didn't want to see you. But I couldn't stop wanting to at the same time. Do you have any idea how messed up that is? How much space you've taken up in my head?"

Her words hit me harder than I expected, and I could barely choke out a reply. "I know. And I'm so, so sorry."

The anger in her face softened, just a little, but it didn't disappear. "Why now?" she asked. "Why are you here?"

I took a deep breath, my hands trembling. "Because I realized that running didn't solve anything. It only made everything worse. And because I miss you. I miss us."

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, I thought she might yell or walk away. But then she whispered, "I don't know if I can forgive you. Not yet."

I nodded, a tear slipping down my cheek. "I understand. I just needed you to know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere this time."

She looked at me, her expression unreadable, and for a moment, I thought she might tell me to leave. But then she said the only thing I needed to hear.

"Okay. We'll see."

Summer's words settled into the space between us, fragile but promising. I wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or terrified. "We'll see" wasn't forgiveness, wasn't a fresh start, but it was something—a chance to prove I could stay this time.

The silence stretched, neither of us knowing what to say next. I wanted to fill it, to explain myself more, to tell her every thought that had kept me up at night since I left. But she looked so tired, like she was holding herself together by sheer force of will, and I was afraid to push her further.

So instead, I reached for the menu. "Do you want anything else? A refill or a snack?" I asked softly, trying to ground us in something normal.

She shook her head, her fingers tightening around her mug. "No, I'm good."

I nodded and set the menu back down, clasping my hands in my lap to keep them from fidgeting. The urge to say something, anything, pressed against my chest until I couldn't hold it back.

"I've missed this," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "Just... sitting across from you. Being here."

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw the tiniest flicker of warmth. But it disappeared as quickly as it came. "You left, Soléne," she said, her tone steady but sharp. "You don't get to miss something you chose to walk away from."

I flinched, the truth of her words cutting deep. "I know. I don't deserve this—I don't deserve you even letting me explain. But I'm here because I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try."

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. "You keep saying you needed to figure things out. What does that even mean? What was so confusing that you couldn't tell me? That you couldn't let me help?"

I hesitated, the weight of my answer threatening to crush me. But I owed her the truth, even if it made me look selfish or weak. "I didn't know who I was without you," I said finally. "And that scared me. You were my everything, Summer. But I started to feel like I was losing myself, like I didn't know where you ended and I began. And instead of talking to you about it, I ran. Because I was afraid of what you'd say, of what we might find."

Her expression softened slightly, but there was still a guarded edge to her. "So you left to 'find yourself'? Did it work?"

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "No. It just made me realize how much I need you. How much I don't want to be without you. But I know that's not enough. I know I can't just say that and expect you to forgive me."

Summer's gaze dropped to her hands, and for a moment, I thought I'd lost her. But then she spoke, her voice quiet but firm. "You hurt me, Soléne. You broke something I don't know how to fix. But I'm not ready to close the door on us completely. Not yet."

Her words were like a lifeline, fragile but real. "Thank you," I whispered. "For giving me a chance, even if it's small. I promise I'll do whatever it takes to earn it."

She nodded, but the conversation felt like it had reached its limit. The air between us was heavy with unspoken emotions, and I knew pushing any further would only make things worse.

"Do you want me to walk you to your car?" I asked hesitantly, not wanting to assume but also not ready to say goodbye.

She considered it for a moment before nodding. "Okay."

We stood and made our way to the door, the crisp evening air hitting us as we stepped outside. Her car was parked just a few spaces down from mine, and the walk was short but felt monumental.

When we reached her car, she turned to face me. "Goodnight, Soléne," she said, her tone softer than it had been all night.

"Goodnight, Summer," I replied, my heart aching with the weight of everything left unsaid.

She got into her car, and I stood there for a moment, watching as she drove away. The knot in my chest loosened just a little, but I knew this was only the beginning. If I wanted her back—if I wanted us back—I'd have to prove that I was worth the risk.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I could.