“Everyone’sseen it,” Kiri says flatly, holding up his phone. “It’s on tabloid reels, gossip accounts. Half of them are already saying your ‘ex-wife’ came back into the picture.” He snorts. “You were never even married.”
“Details never mattered to tabloids,” Ronan says. “They’ll build the myth faster than we can argue with facts.”
I take the phone back from Rithy. The unread messages are stacked now, little blue lines of panic and grace mixed together. My chest feels tight. “She’s gonna think I lied. That I didn’t call because I was with her.”
Rithy crouches down, hands on my knees. “Then call her now.”
“I can’t—” I stop myself. “Not like this. Not half-dressed, with you three breathing down my neck.”
“Rafe,” Ronan says. “This is the one thing youcan’tleave for later.”
He’s right. They all know it. I do too. But I can already feel my throat closing, the words forming and failing before they leave my mouth. How do you explain to the person who finally made you believe in peace that the world just put you back in the worst version of your past?
Rithy reaches out, taps my arm. “Listen. You tell her the truth, yeah? Word for word. She came to see you, you told her no, you went home, you fell asleep. You didn’t do a goddamn thing wrong.”
His voice is steady, too kind for his usual self which makes me even more nervous. “You just forgot to outrun the flashbulbs.”
I look down at Kasia’s last message glowing on the screen, her name, her heart, her disbelief and I feel it in my bones. He’s right. That’s all I did. I forgot how fast the world moves when it smells blood. He stands, looking down at me with eyes kinder than I probably deserve, then turns to leave, ushering the rest out with him. I wait until the door closes behind them. The silence that follows feels too wide, like the air itself is judging me.
“Good luck,” Ronan had said on his way out. Kiri had muttered something aboutdamage control,and Rithy, strangely quiet, just gave me a small nod before disappearing into the hallway.
I scroll past every headline, every mention of my name paired with hers, and hit “call.”
The phone rings once. Twice. Then she answers. Her voice is calm in that way people’s voices get when they’ve already spent hours trying not to cry.
“You’re awake.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I am. I just saw it all. I’m so sorry, Kasia.”
She doesn’t say anything right away. I can hear the background of her kitchen, water running, maybe the sputter of her coffee maker. Her silence feels worse than shouting would.
“So,” she says finally, “you didn’t think to tell me that you were meeting her?”
“It wasn’t planned,” I say, pressing my palm to my forehead. “She showed up after the show, asked if we could talk.Just talk.I meant to tell you. I fell asleep before I could find the rightwords.”
“Mm.Talk. I’ve heard that one before. Men’s version oftalkingis different than women’s. I saw the pictures,” she says. “You wereholding hands...Kissing.”
“She reached for me. I didn’t pull away fast enough, that’s on me.” I take a breath, fighting the urge to fill the silence. “But I told her. About you, about us. ThatI love you.That whatever she thought might still exist, it doesn’t.”
“Youtold herthat?” she repeats.
“I did. I promise, there was nothing else. It wasone coffee, then she kissedmy cheek, said goodbye and that was it.”
There’s a rustle on her end. Maybe she’s pacing. Maybe she’s trying not to throw the phone.
“Kurwa. I believe you for some stupid reason,againstmy better judgment...” she says finally. “Butnot calling, after?” her voice catches, “itlooks bad, Rafe. It feels like hiding,lying by omission. You ignored my calls.Ignored me.”
Theignored melands deep. I close my eyes. “You’re right. I should’ve called the second I walked out of that café. I just—” I swallow, throat raw, “You matterso muchto me, I just needed to find the perfect way to make sure I didn't make it sound worse than it was.It was nothing.”
“Nothing?” She snorts. “Tell that to the world, they definitely don’t think it wasnothing.” She takes a deep breath before continuing, “And you've managed to make it asawful as possiblefor me, forget aboutjust worse.” she says softly. It isn’t cruel. It’s just the truth.
I let the silence hold for a moment, because I can feel her pulling back, not out of anger, but out of exhaustion. The kind that saysI can’t patch holes I didn’t make.
“I know, I know I did. It’s how I manage to ruin everything good in my life.” I say. I let the words hang there, taking a moment to collectmy thoughts. Trying to stop them before they spin out of control, into just begging her to forgive me.
“I love you,” I say finally. “I know I fucked up here, but that hasn’t changed, I swear.”
She exhales, long, shaky. “Then fix this,” she whispers. “Whatever it is that makes your brain push me away. Stop making me feel like I'm standing outside your life, looking in, like I'mjust a fucking fan.”
