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My breath stutters, and I whisper, “I-I, I need to figure out a way to tell him, Alex….”
He curses and asks, “Layla?”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Yeah. We can’t move forward until everything is out in the open. I never told him about her, I never allowed him to say goodbye….”
He reminds me, “You thought Prue had a miscarriage.”
I sniffle, wiping away my tears. "It’s no excuse, Alex. I just…. I need to go radio silent with him for a little while, or at least until I return. I need to get my head on straight and figure out how to tell him about Layla…and what I tried to do.”
He sighs. “He’s already struggling with it, Ken.”
“I know,” I reply. “And I know it’s selfish, but a lot has been said lately, a lot of truths being revealed. I just need some time. I love him so much, and my hurt nearly destroyed me, and now I need to overcome the fact that I destroyed him and kept his daughter from him, when he was just trying to protect me. He was my best friend, Alex ,and instead of hearing him out, I ran.”
Alex is silent for a moment, then says, “You didn’t keep her from him, Ken, but I get it. I uh, I may have to tell him who you are to me, though; the fucker looks ready to kill me each time he hears you’ve been in contact with me.”
I snort, knowing he’s not lying, before discussing travel plans. We agreed that he would fly here and help me load up my car, and drive back with me, making it a road trip.
“Okay, I think that’s everything. Have you told Dr. Harlow?” he asks, and I smile.
“I did, and she cried. She was hoping I’d choose to stay in New York, but we both know I can’t. I need to come home,” I replied.
“You're right; you do need to come home,” he answers me back, making me chuckle.
I think it’s time I stop running and start to face my problems head-on.
A few hours later, after speaking with Noah and Quinn, who thankfully is healing after her shooting, I’m spinning my phone in my hand. There’s one person I need to tell I’m leaving.
In a perfect world, I would give him a real chance and leave my past behind me, allowing Lucas to move on, too. But we’re not in an ideal world, and as nice as Austen is, there’s no spark on my end.
He’s not Lucas, and I’ve been in denial, thinking I can move on from him.
Sighing, I pull up Austen’s number and put the phone to my ear. It’s seven in the evening, but hopefully, he isn’t entertaining.
He answers on the fourth ring and says, “Well, it’s about time you called; I was going to send out a search party.”
I wince at his words, and guilt hits me.
“I’m sorry, Austen,” I whisper. He doesn’t deserve this treatment.
He sighs, “Let me guess, you want to break up?”
I furrow my brows and ask, “Is it breaking up when we’re casual?”
He laughs and says, “I guess not, but it still hurts….”
I snort. “So you’re telling me you’re not entertaining right now?”
He laughs again. “Alright, you got me there, but I would have stopped fucking around for you.”
I hum and say, “Of course, you would have; you’re the sweetest guy I know.”
“Just not the one you want, huh?” he replies, and I flinch as he continues, “Let me guess: You’re going back to the guy who hurt you? Were you ever going to give me a chance, Kennedy?”
My eyes fill with unshed tears, and I admit, “It’s hard to give someone a real chance when someone else owns your whole heart. I….” I shake my head. “I thought he didn’t love me. I thought he used me, but I was wrong, Austen. It turns out, my running away without letting him explain, I hurt him—no, I destroyed him to the point he kept wrecking his bike.” I sniffle. “I hurt him so much he became suicidal, and I didn’t even know it.”
“And you're sure this just isn’t all talk, that your family isn’t trying to get you to come home?” Austen inquires.
I huff. “If it is, then the hundreds of letters sitting on my coffee table full of his pain and anger, begging me to come home, sure are convincing.”
