Nate
The crew warnedme we’d get random sunny days in the winter. “Snowbreaks” they call them. It’s deceitful, though, the light looks warm, almost springlike, but the air slices straight through my jacket as I stand on the build site watching the crane swing a bundle of LVLs over my head.
“Watch your footing,” I call out. The ground is hard but not frozen, just dry enough that no one’s skidding around. We’ll get snow again by the end of the week, no doubt, but today, we have to push to meet the deadline.
One of the guys climbs the scaffolding and shoots me a taunting smirk because I’m just the guy with the pencils who isn’t used to walking around the site, so what do I know? He isn’t wrong, but he also doesn’t hear what I do when the planks creak—the math stretching the margin of safety. I know how many pounds that joint is rated for, how much lateral sway the frame can take before the entire load path shifts and collapses. This whole phase of construction is abalance between precision and chaos. Failing to secure the right beam and the whole structure will shift.
Fitting, really. I can keep a building standing, but I didn’t recognize the hairline fractures in my relationship until the entire thing caved under my own weight.
I walk the perimeter and duck into what will be the kitchen. This is why I do what I do: this moment when nothingness becomes something. The outline of a life starts here: breakfasts, birthdays, morning arguments, evening apologies. Families I’ll never see. Futures I’ll never have.
Futures I used to imagine with her.
I try to shake it, but once Robyn’s in my head, she stays. Let’s be real, she’s never really out.
When lunch break hits, I head toward my car, boots grinding over gravel, my shoulders pleasantly sore in a way they never are when I’m just drafting. Climbing into the driver’s seat, I start the engine. My phone connects to Bluetooth, and Julian’s name pops up on the screen.
He answers on the third ring. “What’s up?”
“Is Milo settled?”
A soft affirmative hum, then a door closing behind him.
I let my head fall back against the seat. “I think I fucked up again.”
“New personal best. What happened?”
“I let jealousy get to me. Went a little… caveman, I think.”
“You ‘think’?”
“Fine. Iknow.” I shift into reverse. “You could’ve told me she was seeing someone.”
“I told you I’m not updating you on Robyn. Or updating her on you.” He sighs. “But between you and me? She’s notseeing him. Friends with bad benefits, if you know what I mean.”
My grip tightens on the gearshift. “That’s not like Robyn.”
“No,” he murmurs. “I’m worried about her. And a little pissed. She hasn’t met my two-month-old kid, Nate. And—I can’treachher from here. She got into these headspaces during med school too, lets routine do its thing and kinda shuts down. Talking to her is getting me nowhere. There’s nothing else I can do.”
The road blurs beyond the windshield. Robyn not making time to meet Julian’s son? That’s not her. That’s… that’s the version of her I made, forcing her to spend all her energy into surviving the collapse I caused.
A hollow pang digs under my ribs—the empty hole that’s Robyn’s rightful place in my heart has only gotten bigger in the months we’ve been apart. If Julian can’t reach her, what chance do I have? But the thought of her spiraling and pushing everyone away makes something primal in my chest clench.
The bile gathering in my mouth tastes of guilt and regret. I swallow hard. “This isn’t on you, Julian. It’s on me.”
“True.”
Count on Julian Keller to tell it to you like it is, no softening the blow.
“How’s Milo?”
His voice brightens. “Crushed his two-month checkup. Giant head. Eightieth percentile.”
“And Quinn?”
“Still a pain in my ass.”
“Well, you did get jealous and act like a dick.”
