Page 152 of The Route to You

Memories, bad ones, came flooding in.

“You don’t mean that, Sloan. We love each other. Y-you’re just sad ⁠ —”

“My God, how many times . . . I don’t love you, Kyle. We’re done.”

The worst part was, it had been so out of the blue. He’d known how upset she was, but he’d never expected her to dump him on top of everything she’d been going through. The only clue he’d had that something was wrong was that she’d barely messaged or called him the week before it happened.

Just like now.

He reached for his phone and found her number.

Kyle: Hey . . . how’s it going?

Staring at the phone, he waited for a response.

Nothing came in. For minutes.

He headed for the shower. That would help. He’d wash up, give Sloan a chance to answer. By the time he got out of the shower, she’d have responded. She normally responded—usually soon enough—but she was just busy right now.

But not only did the shower not help, Sloan hadn’t texted him back when he checked it as he was getting dressed in his room.

He dialed her number, his gut churning.

The call went straight to voicemail.

He tried again.

Voicemail.

Breathing out slowly, Kyle sank onto the foot of the bed, staring at the phone in his hand.

He set it down, his heart pounding.

It doesn’t mean anything . . . does it? Or am I being naive?

If he didn’t let it get to him, he’d be fine. He’d just keep on going, keep on taking care of the dogs, and she’d be back here, eventually. Then they could talk and figure everything out.

Unless she didn’t come back.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

This is ridiculous.

But silence was also her go-to. Had it really been that difficult for her to reach out to him after I was arrested in January?

. . . and had she ever intended to reach out?

She said she’d only found him because of Cheyenne and her parents had hired a PI. That she’d bought the house before she knew about his accident. And while Kyle had taken that as a good thing before . . . now it made him doubt.

If she didn’t come here expecting to talk to me, didn’t come here because she knew about me, did she care to find out about me at all?

Didn’t that mean that she’d decided, at some point, that she was all right going on the rest of her life not talking to him about what had happened in January? Not even saying sorry?

The breath he took was shaky as he looked straight up.

Straight at the box where Granny’s urn remained, untouched.

Along with her letter.