He snorted.“That’s a lie. I had to pick you up most days because she scheduled late meetings.”
Something inside me tightened.“Youleft.”
“In Rebecca’s eyes, I couldn’t get one thing right. Even though she was the one who was consumed by work, she abandoned me, staying up writing reports or whatever the fuck every night past two in the morning,” he corrected, as if that was the part I kept forgetting.“She said I didn’t bring anything to the table, and that’s the glue, son. You give ’em something they can’t get anywhere else, you’ll be the first thing in their mind. That’s what makes relationships solid.”
I cringed.Solid. “Youchosenot to bring anything meaningful. Chose to give it to other people.”
He leaned forward, pride glowing in his eyes, the chestnut in them going warmer, in contrast with his tone of voice.“Is that what happened with that girl—Tessa? When I visit your grams… People in that town can’t shut the fuck up. Something about a girlfriend who doesn’t come around town anymore.”He smirked.“You’re no better than me.”
Heat climbed up my neck, anger at first, then something colder, sharper.“So that’s your fatherly advice even twenty years later? Find someone who needs you more than they love you?”
“It works,” he said, shrugging.“My woman now can’t do shit without my credit card. And let me tell you, she won’t leave me.”
The realization came with a sick drop in my stomach: he hadn’t changed. And even worse, I’d been running his playbook. Playing savior to avoid being left then making reckless choices out of stupid fear.
“You’re disgusting.”I set my cup down.I’m disgusting.“You know the difference between us?”
Martin raised an eyebrow, amused.“Enlighten me.”
“I had a partner. Not a project. Not someone I could keep small so I’d feel big.”My voice didn’t shake, it cut.“You weren’t overlooked. You overlookedusthe moment someone stopped worshipping you.”
His smile faltered—just slightly, but enough. Until it came back up.“Is that why you gave up yourpartnerfor that Tessa girl?”His lips tugged at the corner, all smugness.“Seems to me, you’re preaching to the choir, son.”
I stood.“And I’m nothing like you. Because I’m going to become a better man, a better partner.”
And to that, he didn’t have a comeback. Which was fine because the memory stops still and dissolves the second Robyn pulls her blinds up and stands in her apartment across the courtyard from me, holding a book. My heartbeat thumps, knowing which book it is.
She pulls the closest armchair to the window and sinks into it, opening the book. I mirror her, and for the next thirty minutes, we read. Well… maybeshereads. The letters dance across my page; her company, even from a different building, distracting enough. When I focus, I’m captivated by this organ Robyn’s studied so deeply, and I want her to know I’m paying attention. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, heart thumping.
Robyn:Summarize what you just read for me. No ChatGPT.
I glance in her direction, catching the tilt of her head at the window. The light grazes her cheek, and for a second, our eyes meet. My fingers drum lightly on the page before I type.
Me:Quirks and “wrong” connections our brains make. I really liked the bit about synesthesia and delusions. How empathy, art, and self-awareness are misfires but also what make us human.
The three dots appear. Then stop. I glance up toward herbuilding, and it’s impossible, but I swear the gold ring around her pupils catches the light, shining the way it does when she’s deep in thought. She dips her chin, pulls down the blinds, and says nothing.
It isn’t until an hour later when I’m tossing and turning in bed that another text arrives.
Robyn:Let’s do that again next Wednesday.
Stupid hope blooms inside me. And I know now—thread by thread, realization by realization—I can be a better partner. If I’m patient, persistent… maybe she’ll see it one day.
CHAPTER 27
The Threshold
Robyn
The bellover the door at Loam & Latte jingles as I shoulder my way outside. My coffee is hot through the cardboard sleeve—hazelnut with oat milk, exactly right—and the lid clicks faintly when I adjust my grip.
Late spring in Bend feels like a collective hold of breath, everyone waiting for it to stick. The sun is bright enough to make the storefront windows on Main Street shimmer, and even downtown carries the scent of pine and damp earth left behind by soft rain.
“Robyn?”
I stop in my tracks, knowing I’ll find Zac to my side when I turn. He stands a few feet away, hands in the pockets of a light-denim jacket, dark blond waves unruly. He looks… less tense than I’ve ever seen him.
“Hey. I thought you came to Loam so much to stalk me.”
