09 | A Little Too Late
1101 Words
Nick
I stood there like a f*****g i***t, frozen in place, staring at the door she had just disappeared through.
She hates me.
She actually said it this time. Out loud. No guessing. No games. She gave me the truth, gift wrapped and brutal.
And yet… here I am. Still wanting her anyway.
I rake a hand through my hair, breathing hard through my nose as the door swings closed behind her. I should let her go. I should stay here, let her cool off, let her forget I even exist. But the second she is gone, I feel like I am back in that college hallway all over again, watching her slip through my fingers without ever knowing why.
I am not letting that happen again.
I move toward the door, but someone steps in front of me. Lisa. That blonde I barely remember flirting with. She blocks my path like she has every right to stop me.
"Leaving already?" she purrs, pressing her hand to my chest like she owns me.
I step back so fast her hand falls to her side.
"Not interested," I mutter, brushing past her.
"Figures," she snaps, her voice turning sharp. "She has you wrapped around her finger, huh?"
I stop in my tracks and turn back to her, my jaw tightening. "You don't know anything about it."
Lisa laughs bitterly. "Oh, trust me, I know exactly what this looks like."
I grit my teeth so hard I might c***k one. Without another word, I shove through the crowd, pushing past anyone dumb enough to get in my way.
By the time I reach the bar, Stella is gone. I scan the room twice, three times, but she is nowhere in sight.
"s**t," I mutter under my breath.
I lean over the bar, catching the bartender’s eye. "Did you see where she went?"
He just shrugs. "Upstairs, I think. Looked like she needed a breather."
Of course she did.
Because that is what I do to her. I ruin every damn thing until all she has left is the need to get away from me.
I shove away from the bar, taking the stairs two at a time. The second I hit the top, I spot her. Curled up in a booth in the far corner, staring at nothing.
She looks small up here. Small and tired and done.
I did that.
I take a step toward her, but something makes me stop. Maybe it is the way she wraps her arms around herself like she needs to hold herself together. Maybe it is the way she looks like she might shatter if I get too close.
Maybe it is the fact that for once… I do not want to be the reason she breaks.
I watch from a distance as a server slides into the booth beside her. Blonde hair. Big smile. She offers Stella a glass of water, and for once, Stella doesn't push her away. They talk quietly, too far for me to hear, and for the first time in hours, I see Stella’s shoulders drop just a little.
I should feel jealous. I should want to interrupt. But all I feel is this weird ache I can't shake.
Because she looks safer with that stranger than she ever does with me.
I press my back to the wall, sinking into the shadows. I don’t move. I don’t breathe too loud. I just… watch. Like some coward who is too late for his own story.
I thought I would come up here, grab her hand, tell her she was wrong when she said she hated me. Tell her I never stopped wanting her.
But what good would that do?
I already lost her a long time ago.
And no matter how much I want to change that, some things might be too broken to fix.
***
The sound of my phone buzzing is what wakes me. Not the headache. Not the guilt.
Though both are already waiting for me.
I peel one eye open and blink at the sunlight slicing through the hotel blinds. I’m still in last night’s clothes. My shirt half buttoned, one shoe missing, my thoughts a wreck.
The phone buzzes again. Grace.
I ignore it.
Because I already know what she’s calling about. And I already know what I’m going to say.
Nothing.
I sit up slowly, my body protesting every movement like I deserve it. And maybe I do.
My head pounds. My mouth tastes like whiskey and regret. But all I can think about is her face. The way her voice cracked. The way she said it like it cost her something.
I hate you.
I’ve had worse things said to me.
But never from her.
And never with that look in her eyes, like I just tore open something she spent years trying to bury.
The truth? I saw it the second she said it. She didn’t mean it. And somehow, that makes it worse.
I drag myself into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, but it does nothing. I look like hell and I feel worse.
I lean against the counter, gripping the edge so hard my knuckles turn white.
When did I screw this up so badly? Was it that night in college when I stood outside her dorm, too scared to kiss her? Too scared to ruin the friendship we had?
Was it when she overheard me in bed with that girl she hated, who meant so little to me I can't even remember her name.
Or was it when I never asked why she walked away?
I scroll through my phone, landing on the photo I took the night of the rehearsal dinner. Stella, laughing with Grace. Head thrown back, hand over her mouth, eyes scrunched shut like the world disappeared for just one second.
God, I miss that laugh.
I miss her.
My phone buzzes again.
Sarah: Brunch in an hour. Don’t flake, Cross.
I almost text back saying I can't go, but I think better of it.
Because if Stella’s going to be there, I can’t let her be the only one pretending nothing happened. And if she’s not… maybe that’s worse.
Maybe that means she’s done letting me take up space in her life.
Maybe I finally said nothing one too many times.
I shove my phone in my pocket, run a hand through my hair, and grab a clean shirt.
Whatever this morning brings, I’ll face it.
Because I’m done letting silence speak for me.
Even if she’s already decided she’s done listening.
- Writer
