Replaceable: Too Late

Chapter 1: A New Beginning

We were on a road trip.


She said she needed to get out of the city for the weekend, and I didn’t ask questions. I never really do when it comes to her. After training that Saturday noon, I drove straight to Manor Suites to pick her up.


And there she was.


Standing by the entrance like she had nowhere else to be.


Tailored shorts. A cropped tank. Sandals. Oversized shades and a hat that somehow made her look effortless and put-together at the same time. A big tote bag hung off her shoulder, probably filled with things she wouldn’t even use.


I leaned out the window, grinning.


“Hey there, homie!” I called out. “Did you bring snacks?”


She broke into a run—well, her version of a run—digging into her bag mid-step before pulling out a pack of chips.


“You have my favorite!” I said, already reaching for it.


She beamed, handing it over. “For you, love!”
I huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking my head as I took the bag.


Love.


That was new.


Ever since we decided to be “just friends,” she’d started calling me that—the same way she called Ash, Kate, and Nancy. My loves.


I guess I really did get friend-zoned.


The thought should’ve bothered me more than it did.


But it didn’t.


Because I was the one who said I’d wait.


Two months ago. Awards night. That dance floor.


I still remember it too clearly.


She had frozen right in the middle of everything—music, lights, people—and suddenly none of it mattered. Her breathing had gone shallow, uneven, like her body didn’t know how to keep up with her thoughts.


“I’m not ready for this, Hunter…” she’d said, her voice small, almost lost in the noise. “I can’t… not yet. I don’t want to lose what we have. This is… this is good. This is fun.”


She looked terrified.
Not of me.
Of us.


And I remember just… softening.
“Hey,” I told her, keeping my voice low, steady. “Relax. I’m not going anywhere.”


Her eyes had searched mine like she needed to believe it.
“I’ll wait,” I said. “Until you’re ready.”


It took her a few minutes to breathe again, to come back to herself. When she finally stepped forward, we didn’t dance. We just sat down, side by side, like that moment hadn’t just shifted something between us.


I shook my head now, a small smile pulling at my lips at the memory.
Hilarious.
And nerve-wracking as hell.


The passenger door opened, snapping me back.
She slid into the seat, already buzzing with energy. “Let’s go! Road trip!” she cheered, throwing both arms up like we were about to take off.


I laughed, starting the engine.
This version of her—
This is the one I love.
No pressure. No walls. No overthinking.
Just… her.
Easy. Happy. Free.
And somehow—
even if it means being just her friend—
I’d take this over losing her any day.


“What’s up?” I asked, glancing at her—careful not to let the look linger too long.


God, she's so pretty.
And hot.
That's a problem.


She slid her sunglasses up onto her head, pushing a few loose strands of hair back as she exhaled. “Work is crazy,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I just need a change of environment. To gain perspective.”


A beat. Then, just like that—lighter, brighter—“Do you want me to open the chips now?”
The switch was instant. Effortless.


“Sure.” I stretched one arm across the steering wheel while my other hand rested loosely on the stick shift. A tired grin pulled at my mouth as I glanced at Bea for half a second before looking back at the road.


“I’m starving.” I drummed my fingers against the wheel, then opened my mouth expectantly when I saw her reaching for the chips.


She tore the bag open and, without even thinking about it, held one up to my mouth. I leaned in slightly, letting her feed me.


“Mmmmmm…” I exaggerated, closing my eyes for a second. “That one never disappoints.”


I opened my mouth again, wordlessly.


She snorted but obliged, dropping a couple more in. One. Two. Three.


She kept talking in between—jumping from one story to another, random comments, little complaints about work, something funny Nancy said, something dramatic Ash did. She was… chatty.


I don’t remember her being like this when we were together.
Was she always that guarded back then?
Or…
Are we just more comfortable now?


No label. No expectations. No pressure sitting between us like a third passenger.


Maybe that’s it.
Maybe this version of us is easier.


She caught me staring.
Of course she did.


“What now???” she shot, narrowing her eyes.

“You’re doing that weird stare again. What are you thinking, Mr. Cross, huh?” She swatted my leg.


I laughed, shaking my head. “Nothing. Just give me more chips. You talk a lot—you’re not doing your job to feed me.”


“Hey!” she gasped, already laughing. “I’m not your nanny!”


Then she shoved a massive piece into my mouth—way too big.


“Hey—th’st too b—” Completely unintelligible.
She lost it. Full-on laughter, head thrown back, shoulders shaking.


I chewed, glaring at her, then leaned closer—closer than necessary—til we were inches apart.
“Bite it,” I muttered.


She laughed harder, shaking her head. “I will not.”


Instead, she used her fingers to snap off a piece from what was still in my mouth—completely ridiculous—and popped it into hers like it was the most normal thing in the world.


I just stared at her.
Again.
I need help.


“I need a drink,” I said, leaning back.
She was already digging into her tote. “I got you.” She pulled out a soda water, cracked it open, and handed it over like she’d done it a hundred times before.
Like we hadn’t stopped.


The drive was two hours.
It felt like thirty minutes.


We talked. Laughed. Fell into this easy rhythm that didn’t ask for explanations.


And me?
I did what I do best.
I teased her.
Relentlessly.


Poked at every little thing—her stories, her expressions, the way she overreacted, the way she tried to defend herself and failed half the time. I pushed and pushed until she was on the edge of tears from laughing too hard, smacking my arm, telling me to shut up while smiling like she didn’t mean it.


That’s my favorite version of her.
Right there.


And when she finally got too worked up, when her laughter softened into breathless little gasps, I reached over and pulled her in.


A hug.
Just a friendly one.


The kind where I hold her a little tighter than I should.
Where my hand lingers at her back.
Where I let myself breathe her in—her hair, her skin, something soft and familiar that settles somewhere deep in my chest.
Where I feel her warmth.


And for a second… just a second… everything feels the way it used to.


I let go first.
Of course I do.
Just a friendly hug.


At least…
that’s what I tell myself.