Page 213 of At First Catch

HADLEY

The breakup starts quietly. No screaming. No betrayal. No dramatic explosion where love suddenly dies out.

It starts with silence. With exhaustion. With the terrible realization that you can love someone completely and still feel them slipping further away every day.

Standing barefoot in my kitchen on Thursday night, I felt a heavy awareness as I waited for Nolan.

Rain taps against the windows again. Another storm front moving over Back Bay. The entire town has been feeling tense lately because of it.

So does Nolan.

My ribs ache with a deep realization as I glance at the clock for the third time in ten minutes. 7:30.

He’s late. Again.

My stomach twists afterward because the thought itself feels unfair now.

Nolan isn’t forgetting me. He’s drowning.

A tear, hot and heavy, traces a path down my cheek, blurring the edges of everything I saw.

I move toward the stove, stirring soup absently. Usually this cottage feels comforting. Tonight it feels suspended. Like something fragile sits in the air between Nolan and me even when he isn’t physically here yet.

Headlights finally sweep across the front windows. The relief flows through me without any effort. A moment later, Nolan steps inside carrying exhaustion like it physically weighs something.

My chest tightens painfully.

He looks wrecked.

Rainwater darkens his marina jacket while tension shadows every line of his face hard enough to ache.

“You okay?” I ask before he even fully closes the door.

I’m met with the look I’m becoming far too familiar with. The one that says he’s deciding how much truth to give me.

“I’m fine.”

I can tell it’s a lie before he even finishes.

All at once, a powerful wave of exhaustion washes over me, feeling almost tangible.

Because we keep doing this. Over and over. Tiny fractures. Temporary repair. Then fear pulls us back into the same patterns again.

Nolan’s brow furrows, his gaze searching my face as a wave of understanding seemed to wash over him.

“Hads.”

The gentle murmur of his words makes my knees weak and sends a shiver down my spine.

God.

I hate that I still melt every time he says my name like that.

“You don’t have to do this every night,” I whisper.

His brows pull together.

“Do what?”