Chapter 7: Old Ghosts, New Problems.
1138 Words
I don’t know what I expected when Theo showed up unannounced.
Maybe a quick visit, some loud jokes, a brief storm of chaos before he disappeared again, leaving everything just the way it was. Safe. Untouched. Manageable.
But Theo has never done anything quietly.
In less than an hour, he’s taken over the house like it belongs to him. He raided the kitchen, claimed the biggest couch, and—somehow—roped Damien into watching a truly horrific reality show with him.
I lean against the doorway, arms crossed over my chest, watching the two of them like some kind of surreal social experiment.
“You do realize this isn’t a hotel, right?” I say, flatly.
Theo doesn’t even flinch. He grins at me, mouth full of chips. “I don’t know, El. It’s got all the amenities. Free food. Comfy couches. A built-in brooding billionaire—”
“I don’t brood,” Damien says without looking away from the screen.
Theo waves a chip at him. “My bad. Smoldering billionaire.”
Damien smirks but says nothing, crunching loudly on a handful of chips.
I sigh. “I can’t believe this is my life.”
Theo sits up then, and his tone shifts, just a fraction. “You could’ve had a different one.”
His words sound light, but they land with the weight of a memory I’ve worked hard to bury.
My chest tightens. I glance away before Damien can read my face.
“Well,” I say, keeping my voice cool. “I didn’t. So here we are.”
Theo watches me for a beat longer, like he’s deciding whether to keep digging. But then he shrugs and drops it—too easily. “Fine. Be mysterious. But one of these days, we’re talking about it.”
I don’t respond.
Because talking about it means dragging everything out into the open. The pain, the mistakes, the choices I made that I still don’t have words for. I’ve built my life around not talking about it.
And I’m not ready to tear that down.
Not yet.
That night, the house is too quiet.
Which is ironic, considering how loud Theo was all day. But now, in the stillness, my thoughts come rushing in to fill the silence he left behind.
He cracked something open in me. Just by being here. Just by existing in this space I worked so hard to keep separate from everything else.
The past.
The life I left behind.
It’s stupid. I’ve told myself it doesn’t matter anymore. That I built something better—cleaner—out here. Away from all the noise and pressure and people who expected things I couldn’t give.
But now he’s here. And with him, every memory I tried to erase is clawing its way back into the room.
I throw off the covers and tug on a hoodie, slipping quietly out into the garden.
The air is cool, sharp against my skin. The breeze carries the scent of damp earth and blooming lavender. Above me, the stars stretch wide and endless, as if the universe is trying to remind me just how small I really am.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold the quiet.
But I feel him before I hear him.
Damien.
He moves like he’s part of the night—silent, calm, unshakable. He stops beside me, leaning casually on the railing, his gaze distant and unreadable.
“You don’t like talking about your past,” he says.
It’s not a question.
I exhale slowly. “I don’t see the point.”
“Most people’s pasts shape who they are.”
I glance at him. “Exactly.”
His eyes flicker—understanding, maybe. Or recognition.
He shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders without a word.
I stiffen. “I don’t need—”
“It’s cold,” he says. “Take the damn jacket.”
I should argue. It’s what I do best. But the warmth is… nice. And so is the way he’s looking at me—not like I’m fragile or broken, just… like he wants to understand.
We stand in silence for a while.
Then Damien says, “Theo’s known you a long time.”
“Since we were kids,” I murmur.
“What happened?”
I hesitate. The truth sits in my throat like a stone.
But under the stars, wrapped in his jacket, something inside me loosens.
“I left,” I say finally.
Damien doesn’t press. Doesn’t ask why. He just watches me, waiting.
“I don’t intend on going back,” I add, quieter this time. Almost to myself.
He nods. Like that answer is enough.
And somehow, that makes it harder to breathe.
I turn away before he can see too much. “You ask a lot of questions.”
He smirks. “You dodge a lot of them.”
I huff a laugh, shaking my head.
Then, after a beat, he says, “I had a brother once.”
I freeze.
His voice is too even. Like he’s trying too hard to sound casual.
“I was eight when he died,” he continues. “He was older than me. The golden boy. The one who was supposed to inherit everything.”
“What happened?” I ask, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
“He drowned. We were at our family’s summer house. There was this lake—freezing, even in the middle of July. My parents told us to stay away, but… we didn’t listen.”
He pauses. The breeze stirs between us.
“I was too scared to go in,” he says. “But Ethan wasn’t afraid of anything.”
He shakes his head softly, almost smiling. “At least, that’s what I thought.”
His words hang there, suspended between us.
For the first time since I met him, I see the cracks beneath the surface. Not weakness, not even sadness—just… truth. Something real and quiet and worn around the edges.
I don’t know what to say.
So I settle for, “I’m sorry.”
Damien glances at me. “It was a long time ago.”
I pull his jacket tighter around me.
He didn’t have to tell me that. But he did.
And I can’t even offer him the same in return.
He studies me for a second longer, then gives me that half-smile again. “See? Still dodging.”
I exhale. “Yeah. Guess I am.”
But this time, there’s no sharpness in it. Just tired honesty.
He doesn’t press.
He just leans on the railing beside me like he belongs there.
And for some reason, I don’t walk away.
I stay.
And maybe that’s the scariest part of all.
- Writer
