I throw myself headfirst into the shop. Into the remnants of this damn garden project. Into every possible task to keep my hands moving and my mind distracted, because I don’t have the luxury of falling apart right now.
Because it wasn’t just a breakup. It was a breakup with a man who used to be a god, whose brothers casually commanded the sea and sky, whose life is tangled in the literal threads of fate. There is no guidebook for this. NoHow to Handle Your Boyfriend’s Immortality and the Inevitable Heartbreak That Comes With Itself-help section. Just me, standing in the rubble of something I thought was real, suddenly unsure if I ever truly had a chance in a fight so far beyond my understanding.
At first, Hayden tries. Texts, a call, small reminders he is still there.
But eventually, even those fade.
Maybe that’s for the best. Maybe that’s what I need right now as Naomi and I move forward, shifting plans, pivoting strategies. Doing what must be done in order to get this project back on track. We hold meetings, we bring in more volunteers, we get creative with funding.
And every single day, I smile brightly, pretend effortlessly, and act like my heart isn’t splintering a little more with every forced laugh.
Only when I’m alone…when the greenhouse’s earthy scent brings memories too close, or when I’m curled beneath a blanket that wraps me like his shadows…do I let myself feel it.
That’s when it hurts.
I miss the solid weight of his body pressed against mine, the low rasp of his voice whispering my name in the dark. The possessive way his shadows traced my skin, committing every inch to memory.
Andfuck, it’s so much worse because it’s devastatingly clear now how hard I fell for him.
I love Hayden. I don’t think I knew that fully until now, until it’s too late and he’s not here and all I have is the absence of him. But loving him hurts less than pretending I didn’t.
Hayden is complicated. His brothers, the Fates, the past he was allegedly trying to reclaim. I didn’t ask for any of it, and I sure as hell didn’t sign up for it. But Ididsign up for him, and now I don’t even know if I exist in that part of his life at all. If I ever really did. And the fact that he was looking for a way back this whole time, to a life that didn’t have me in it, tells me I was never really an option. Maybe I was only a tether to a life he never truly wanted. A placeholder he kept close until he found his way back to something else.
I should hate him. For the secrets, for making me collateral in his cosmic tug-of-war. I should resent every promise and touch.
But I don’t.
Because I know exactly how it felt to be his. How his shadows claimed me effortlessly, like I’d always belonged to them.
And god help me, I would still choose him. Even now.
• • •
Dominic and Elijahnever let me wallow alone. Not for long, anyway. They’ve given me space, held back their opinions and their endless questions, but I know them.Toowell. They’ve been counting down the minutes until they could step in.
And tonight, with the rain tapping gently against my windowsand loneliness pressing in on every side, my door swings open without warning. There they stand, rain soaked and grinning, proudly brandishing two bottles of gin, the expensive stuff, and a carton of my favorite ice cream. As if heartbreak could be fixed with sugar and alcohol.
With friends like these? Maybe it can.
“Elijah says breakups are a marathon, not a sprint,” Dominic announces, breezing into the loft.
“Don’t forget the part about gin getting you to the finish line faster,” Elijah calls, dripping rainwater onto my floor.
I sigh, not getting up from my claimed spot on the couch. “You know, when I gave you guys that key, I was picturing fires or floods, not emotional interventions.”
Dominic shrugs, kicking off his shoes. “Heartbreak counts as an emergency, honey. Read the fine print.”
I roll my eyes, resisting a smile because, annoying or not, he’s spot-on.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re sprawled on my couch, movie humming, gin in our glasses, eating ice cream straight from the carton.
“Alright,” Elijah announces, pointing his spoon at me. “Band-Aid ripping time. How the hell did we go from you two acting like lovesick morons in a Nancy Meyers fever dream to this?” He gestures vaguely. “Radio silence. You, Levi Wilder, living in the doom and gloom. Avoidance ofhisname as if it’s a cursed object.”
“Seriously,” Dominic chimes in, eyes narrowing, “did I miss some dramatic tear-filled confrontation? Want me to slap him?” he offers, then softens. “Or just sit here and let you talk?”
I sigh, rolling my glass between my hands. “It’s…complicated.”
He snorts, leaning back against the armrest. “It’salwayscomplicated. Try us.”
