Never Supposed to Want You

Two Weeks Later

The two weeks after Violet’s birthday passed in a blur of almost nothing.

Hunter was always around, technically—but never really there. Boxes appeared in the garage. His truck was packed and unpacked and packed again. He was always on the phone, stepping outside to take calls, moving through the house like a guest who didn’t want to leave fingerprints.

They barely spoke.

Not because there was nothing to say—but because there was too much.

Violet tried to convince herself it didn’t matter. That this was just how things went sometimes. People left. Life moved on.

Still, when his truck pulled into the driveway the afternoon before his flight, her chest tightened like she’d been waiting for it without realizing.

He came inside like he always had—easy, familiar, careful.

Gabe was the first to speak.

“So,” he said, leaning against the counter. “California. What’s the job, exactly?”

Hunter rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Security. Private contract. Some rich family with more money than sense and a mansion big enough to get lost in.”

Jacob let out a low whistle. “That sounds… lucrative.”

Hunter nodded once. “Three hundred a year. Starting.”

Gabe’s eyebrows shot up. “Damn.”

Violet forced a smile, even as the number echoed hollowly in her head.

“That’s amazing,” she said. “Congratulations.”

Hunter met her eyes—just briefly. “Thanks.”

Gabe clapped him on the shoulder, then pulled him into a hug without hesitation. “I’ll miss you, man,” he said. “Come home when you can, yeah?”

Hunter nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “Yeah. I will.”

Gabe stepped back, gave Violet a look she couldn’t quite read, then left, leaving the two of them alone in the quiet space he’d created.

The air shifted immediately.

Violet folded her arms, biting down on the inside of her cheek. She refused to cry. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t.

Hunter hesitated—then took a step closer.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She looked up at him, eyes glassy despite her best efforts.

“I’m proud of you,” she said. “Really.”

“I know,” he replied. Then, after a beat, “I wish it were different.”

Her breath caught.

Before she could overthink it, he pulled her into a hug—careful, brief, but real. His mouth brushed near her ear as he whispered, “I wish it were different.”

She nodded against his chest, the words lodging somewhere deep and aching.

When he pulled away, he didn’t linger.

Didn’t give either of them time to change their minds.

Hunter walked to his truck, climbed in, and shut the door.

Violet stood in the driveway as he drove away, the sound of the engine fading into something quieter.

Maybe he’d come home.

Maybe everything would be okay again.

But as she turned back toward the house, one thing settled heavy and undeniable in her chest—

Some goodbyes weren’t endings.

They were delays.