Just for you

Chapter nine

Favour’s pov

I sat on the edge of the bed, the cold glass screen of my phone resting in my hand as I stared blankly at the wall ahead.

My mind was spinning, completely pulled back to the conversation I had just had with Joanna. The sound of her voice on the line was still echoing in my ears, sharp and clear, pulling up a tidal wave of memories I had spent months trying to bury.

What the hell am I doing?

I stared down at her contact on my screen, my thumbs trembling slightly. I had called her. I was the one who reached out, the one who demanded we meet up to finally address the lingering storm between us. But the second she asked me where I was, panic had seized my chest so violently that I couldn't even force another word past my throat. I had just hung up on her, leaving the line dead.

Why did I do that? Why call her with so much urgency only to cut the line the moment she answered? Was it fear? Was it the sudden, overwhelming guilt that choked me every time I thought about Lagos? I asked myself if reaching out to her was even the right thing to do, or if I was just dragging us both deeper into a fire that would destroy everything.

I was so consumed by the frantic noise in my head that I didn't hear the soft rustle of the carpet.

I didn't notice Maya standing right beside me.

"Who was that?"

Maya's voice cut through the silence like a blade, making my heart jump straight into my throat. I snapped my head up, my thumb instinctively clicking the side button of my phone to lock the screen, but the sudden, guilty movement only made her eyes narrow.

She stood over me, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, her gaze sharp, watchful, and heavy with a cold, growing suspicion.

"Why do you look so jumpy, Favour?" she asked, her voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet register. "And why did you just hang up on whoever you were talking to?"

I swallowed hard, forcing my face into a calm mask even as my chest heaved. "It's... it's a work issue," I blurted out, trying to make my voice sound steady, authoritative. "An emergency came up with one of the site managers across town. A major pipe leak in one of the properties. I have to go handle it right now before it ruins the flooring."

Instead of stepping back or accepting the answer, Maya took a slow step forward. She didn't say a word as she shifted her weight and eased shelf down onto my lap, wrapping one arm loosely around my shoulders.

The warmth of her weight against my thighs felt heavy, almost suffocating. My breath hitched in my throat as my mind traitorously leaped back eight months ago to Lagos—to that humid night in Victoria Island when Joanna had been on top of me in that hotel room, her soft weight, her breath hot against my collarbone, consuming every inch of my senses.

And then my memory dragged me back even further, years ago to when we were in high school back in the UK, when Joanna would climb into my lap in hidden corners of the building, laughing softly as I held her against me. Joanna had always moved with a fiery, electric passion that completely overwhelmed me, while Maya sat on my lap with a deliberate, possessive quietness—a reminder of the life I had chosen, the ring on my finger, and the sanctuary I was currently putting at risk.

"A pipe leak?" Maya murmured, her eyes searching mine, her face just inches from mine. "At this hour, Favour?"

"Yes, right now," I squeezed out, forcing myself not to pull away from her, though my hands were trembling under the weight of my own lies. "If I don't go right now, we're looking at thousands in damage. I'll be back as soon as I sort it out."

Maya's eyes searched mine for a long, agonizing beat before she let out a soft sigh. She leaned in, pressing a brief, lingering kiss against my cheek before sliding off my lap.

"Don't stay out too late," she murmured softly.

"I won't," I lied, pushing myself off the bed, grabbing my sweater and keys, and practically bolting down the stairs into the cold night air.

The moment I slammed the driver's side door shut, my hands flew across my phone, typing out a short text to Joanna: Can't talk right now. Sending you the address for where we're meeting. I pulled up my map app and sent the coordinates to the old, abandoned playground downtown before I could lose my nerve.

Joanna ‘s pov

I sat at my reading table, my elbows resting on the polished wood and my head buried in my hands. The notebook in front of me was open, but the pages were completely blank.

My mind was still trapped in the quiet shock of that phone call.

Where are you? I had asked him.

And then... silence. Just the sharp, hollow click of the line going dead.

I leaned back against my chair, staring at the muted glow of my phone screen. Why had he reached out with so much urgency only to cut the line the second I answered? Had he lost his courage? Was he sitting somewhere in London right now, second-guessing everything? Or had his wife walked into the room?

Eight months ago in Lagos, Favour hadn't hesitated. He had held me like he never wanted to let go. But now, back in his reality, he was faltering.

"Not this time, Favour," I muttered to the quiet room.

I reached across the table, picked up my phone, and opened his contact. My thumb hovered over the call button. I wasn't going to let him retreat into the shadows again. I pressed dial, lifting the receiver to my ear as it began to ring.

It rang out, sliding straight to voicemail. But before I could even drop the phone back onto the desk, the screen lit up with an incoming text message.

Can't talk right now. Sending you the address for where we're meeting.

A second later, a second notification flashed across the top of the screen—a map link.

My heart did a sudden, violent flip against my ribs as I tapped the location. It wasn't a corporate office or a busy city cafe. It was the old, abandoned playground downtown—our spot from our high school days in the UK. The place where we used to sneak off to years ago when the world was too loud, where we felt completely untouchable.

A breathy, disbelieving laugh escaped my lips. He had remembered.

I rushed over to my closet, my fingers scrambling through the hangers as my chest rose and fell with a strange, dizzying mixture of excitement and disbelief.

I needed to move fast, but I couldn't look like I was dressing up for a secret rendezvous. I pulled out a comfortable, dark oversized hoodie, a pair of fitted black leggings, and stepped into my favorite slip-on sneakers. Simple, warm, and completely unassuming—nothing that would trigger any suspicion with anyone downstairs.

Tossing my hair up into a loose clip, I took a deep breath to smooth out the nervous energy in my face, threw my small shoulder bag over my arm, and hurried down the stairs.

When I reached the living room, Nathan and his wife were sitting together on the couch, the low, steady chatter of the television filling the room. I kept my posture light, glided toward the hallway, and put my hand on the front door handle.

"Hey, I'm just running out to the supermarket down the road to grab a few things," I announced casually, forcing my tone to sound bored. "I'll be back quick."

Nathan immediately snapped his head toward me, his brow furrowing as he glanced at the wall clock. "At this hour?" he warned, stepping straight into that overprotective big-brother role. "It’s getting late, Joanna. Don't go wandering around. Make sure you're back here in thirty minutes, sharp."

"Yeah, yeah, thirty minutes. I hear you," I tossed back over my shoulder with a dismissive wave, slipping out the door before he or his wife could ask another question.

The cold night air hit my face the moment the door clicked shut. I pulled my hoodie over my head, chuckled quietly at the thirty-minute limit, and immediately walked down to the curb to hail a cab. The abandoned playground downtown was miles away—and I wasn't going to let anything stop me from getting there.

The cab pulled up to the edge of the abandoned playground, its headlights briefly illuminating the rusting swing sets before cutting out. I paid the driver, stepped into the crisp air, and spotted him.

Favour was sitting on the cold concrete pavement near the swings, huddled in a dark sweater and joggers.

The sight of him standing out against the night air sent a sudden surge of heat straight through my chest. My immediate impulse was to run over, wrap my arms around his shoulders, and pull him against me. But as I closed the distance, my feet dragged to a complete halt.

The dull orange light of the single streetlamp caught his profile, and my heart dropped into my stomach.

His face felt entirely cold. His jaw was locked tight, his brow heavily furrowed, his eyes staring blankly at the damp gravel beneath his feet. There was no warmth there, no softness, no nervous excitement.

This isn't the face of someone longing for me, I told myself, a sickening knot forming in my throat. This is the face of a man trapped in a place he doesn't want to be.

"Favour?" I called out, my voice cutting through the stillness of the park.

He snapped his head up, noticing me for the first time. He pushed himself off the pavement, dusting off the back of his joggers as he took a few heavy steps toward me. But he wouldn't meet my gaze. He kept his eyes glued firmly to the damp gravel near my sneakers, his posture rigid and distant.

"Joanna, I’m sorry," he blurted out, his voice tight, hurried, and defensive. "I know it’s late, but I had to get this done tonight. I needed us to meet so we could end this once and for all."

I stood frozen as a cold wave swept over me. "What?"

"That night in Victoria Island... all of it was a mistake, Joanna," he said, forcing the harsh words out while still refusing to look me in the eye. "The phone call, the hotel room—it was just a drunken mistake that should have never happened. We were out of line. I love my wife, and I’m not going to let my marriage collapse because of you."

"A mistake?!"

The word tore from my throat as a shattered scream, the tears finally bursting free and scalding my icy cheeks. Every drop of composure I had maintained vanished in an instant, replaced by a raw, suffocating rage.

"Don't you dare stand there and lie to my face, Favour!" I cried out, my voice cracking under the weight of utter betrayal. "I wasn't the one who called you! I wasn't the one who reached out eight months ago in Lagos and begged to meet up! You were the one who pleaded with me! You were the one who couldn't leave me alone!"

Favour flinched as if my words were physical blows, but his eyes remained stubbornly glued to the gravel, his hands balled into tight fists inside his sweater pockets.

"And why will your marriage collapse because of me?" I demanded, taking a furious step closer, my entire body shaking with sobs. "How is this my fault? You came into my life again, you dragged me right back into your chaos, and now you want to stand here under this lamp and act like I forced your hand? You cowardly bastard! You were the one who chose to betray your wife, not me!"

Favour took a slow, heavy step forward, closing the painful distance between us. Before I could pull back, his arms wrapped around me, pulling me tight against his chest in a suffocating embrace.

For a brief, agonizing second, the scent of him, the familiar heat of his body, made my breath hitch—a cruel reminder of everything we used to be.

"I'm sorry, Joanna," he whispered into my hair, his voice choked with a quiet, agonizing weight. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to stir up all of this again... I really didn't. But I've decided to let you go. I have to let you go."

His arms slowly unclasped, slipping away from my shoulders and stepping back, leaving me exposed to the freezing night air.

At that point, I felt entirely crushed. A dark, hollow void opened up inside my chest, so heavy and painful that I couldn't even draw a full breath. Standing under that flickering orange light, looking at the man who held my entire heart throwing me away, I wished right then and there that I could just disappear—that I would just want to die rather than face the brutal reality of living without him.

Favour turned, stepped away into the darkness, and left me standing completely alone under the flickering streetlamp.

I burst into fresh, agonizing tears, my hands flying up to cover my face as my shoulders shook violently. The wind bit through my dark hoodie, but the cold outside was nothing compared to the freezing void tearing through my chest.

I stumbled back to the main road like a ghost, hailing a cab through a thick, blurred veil of tears. The drive back was a nameless, silent shadow of neon lights. I crept into the house, slipping past the living room and into my bedroom, locking the door softly behind me before collapsing facedown onto my bed.

I buried my face deep into my pillow to stifle the violent sobs tearing out of my chest.

Why? i asked myself , clutching the bedsheets tightly in my fists. I wasn’t even the one who loved more...so why am i the one suffering like this..

Back in high school, Favour was always the one who loved me more. He was the one who chased, the one who pleaded, the one who couldn't stand the thought of losing me. So why isn't he suffering? Why is he walking away unscathed while I'm here dying inside?

The question burned unanswered in the dark room as I wept until my eyes ached, crying myself into an exhausting, hollow sleep.