Sunday
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Audrey woke up and stretched in bed, her muscles still heavy with sleep. She blinked a few times, her eyes settling on the alarm clock by her bedside. 11:45 a.m. again. She couldn't believe it. Almost noon? It was becoming a pattern. Lately, it seemed like her body just couldn't get enough rest, no matter how long she stayed in bed.
She leaned back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling as the memories of the last few nights flooded her mind. That ball... last night with Paul until 1 a.m., she thought, shaking her head. After that awkward, tense evening, she had spent nearly two hours on the phone with Jack, talking until the early hours of the morning. Then, of course, there was the whole mess in her living room—smashing things. She sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips as she recalled the relief she felt after. But still... crazy.
The night before had been the same. Talking to Jack well into the early morning hours, until—what time had it been? She had forgotten. It was all starting to blur together. Every night felt the same lately, drifting between exhaustion and the strange comfort she found in Jack's voice. They'd spoken until nearly 3 a.m. that night, too.
Thank God it's Sunday, she thought. She knew she couldn't keep this up. The tiredness had crept in so deep she wasn't sure it would leave. This can't go on. Audrey knew it, but somehow, she couldn't stop. She couldn't keep spending half her nights talking on the phone, losing herself in these late-night conversations with Jack, no matter how much they filled a void she hadn't realized she had.
Her eyes drifted from the clock to the secure phone beside it. 9 a.m. in Los Angeles, she calculated. Where is he right now? The thought stirred her awake a little more. They hadn't even had the chance to talk about how he'd spent the night after their call ended. Where had he gone? To a motel, maybe? Probably not. She couldn't picture Jack renting a room just to crash for a few hours. Knowing him, he had likely stayed in his car.
She grabbed the phone, turning it over in her hands, staring at the display.
Nothing. No unread messages.
Not that she had expected one, but the absence of it left a small pit of disappointment in her chest. A message would have made her day, but Jack wasn't the kind of person to send texts just for the sake of it. Still, part of her wished he would. Just once.
Audrey sighed and placed the phone back on the table, trying to push the thoughts of him away, even if only for a moment. But it was harder than she liked to admit.
Eventually, Audrey got out of bed and forced herself into a routine. She busied herself with mundane tasks, anything to distract her mind. Breakfast instead of lunch, though she barely had an appetite. Laundry. She even found herself cleaning the living room again, methodically going over the floor, hoping to find another shard of porcelain that had escaped her the night before. Checking her phone for messages.
None yet.
The minutes seemed to stretch as the day continued. After another round of checking her phone and finding the screen blank, she decided to go for a run, hoping the physical exertion might help clear her head. But as her feet hit the pavement, her mind stayed tangled in the same thoughts. The act of smashing things in her living room was still fresh in her mind—how liberating it had felt, how it had pulled her out of the emotional fog she'd been living in. And Jack's story, the weight of his past, still lingered there too.
Not once did her thoughts stray to Paul, or to the strained evening they had shared at the ball. She didn't dwell on her failed marriage, her miscarriages, or even the quiet ache she carried for the child she never had. Those thoughts, which usually circled her mind on Sundays, had been replaced by something else—something different. And, though she wouldn't admit it to herself just yet, it was a longing for Jack that now filled that space.
It was strange, she thought, how thinking of him felt somehow painful, but less painful than the memories that usually haunted her on Sundays.
Sundays. Jack had once told her how much he hated them. He had talked about that song, "Sunday Morning Coming Down," and how he couldn't listen to it if it came on the radio. Audrey could understand why. She pictured him, grimacing at the idea of a day meant for families, a day that broke the rhythm of the week and forced people to reflect, to slow down. It reminded him of days he should have spent with his family, instead of being somewhere on the other side of the globe, chasing some mission. Sundays reminded him of Teri, of the life he'd lost, of expectations he never felt comfortable with—like going to church, something he had grown to despise after his years in Catholic boarding school.
Audrey had to admit, she didn't feel much different about Sunday mornings. They always reminded her of what was missing in her life. Even in the times of her marriage with Paul, he'd often been gone on Sundays, staying in London, or just at the office. Her friends now were busy with their families, wrapped up in their own little worlds, while there was no-one in her world. Sundays left her with too much time to think, too much time to feel alone. There were even moments when she found herself wishing for the company of her insufferable coworker Janice, just for the distraction. But if she went to the office on a Sunday, even Janice would be at home with her loved ones.
As Audrey reached her apartment again, her body flushed from the run, she was proud of herself for resisting the temptation to check her phone right away. She took a shower instead. But it didn't take long after she got out before she gave in.
Two unread messages.
Her heart skipped a beat as she opened them. They were already an hour old, messages she must have missed before heading out for her run.
"Hey"
"Can I call you later?"
They were short, simple—matter-of-fact, straight to the point. But reading them still sent a rush of warmth through her. She couldn't help it. As much as she told herself not to, she felt it. The way her heart lifted, the way a smile pulled at her lips, all because of a few words from him.
She typed back. "Anytime."
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As the phone vibrated in his pocket, Jack pulled it out and glanced at the screen. "Anytime," Audrey had replied. It brought a faint smile to his lips, but he quickly switched the phone to silent and slipped it back into his pocket. There were things he had to take care of first.
The woman behind the counter handed back his credit card, her brows furrowed with concern. "Are you sure about this?" she asked again, doubt heavy in her voice.
Jack nodded. "I am."
"Dr. Blake would like to speak to you one last time," she added, her voice softer, as if hoping to persuade him to reconsider.
Jack took a deep breath, holding it for a moment. He didn't want to talk to the shrink again. The few sessions they'd had over the past two weeks had been short, filled mostly with his silence and her attempts to pry into the parts of himself he'd long since buried. He hadn't told her much. He didn't need to. This wasn't about psychological breakthroughs or finding peace. She couldn't have given him any of that.
Before he could decline, Dr. Blake appeared around the corner, her expression lined with concern.
"I heard you're leaving us," she began, her tone careful, as if she already knew how the conversation would go.
"Yes," Jack replied, friendly but to the point.
"Are you sure this is a good idea? After only two weeks?" she asked, stepping a little closer. "You know our guests usually stay four weeks or more." Her voice was gentle but firm, reminding him of what she had said when he first checked in: Ten days to detox, but weeks—months, even—to address the psychological dependency.
Jack knew that. He also knew that staying here wasn't what he needed. In fact, being inside this place only served as a constant reminder of the drugs, the darkness he had been trying to escape. He needed to move forward, not to stay stuck in some sterile room, reliving everything.
He had wanted to tell her he was going home, but the truth was, he had no real home to go back to. The word home felt empty. The idea of staying here, though, wasn't an option either. He just wanted to get out.
Dr. Blake's expression shifted, her voice dropping to a quieter tone, aware that they weren't in her office but standing in the entrance hall. "It happens, you know. People relapse, even during rehab," she said carefully, watching his face. "That shouldn't be a reason to leave."
Jack understood what she was implying. They had noticed he hadn't been there the previous night. It was their conclusion, and a wrong one: that he had relapsed, and now he was running away. But that wasn't it.
He shook his head slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile crossing his face. "Thanks for all your help," he said, his tone polite but resolute. "But I'm leaving now." His words were firm, final. He wasn't going to be talked into staying.
Dr. Blake seemed to understand that there was no convincing him, and with a reluctant nod, she stepped back. Jack shouldered his bag and headed for the exit.
Outside, the sun was high. His beat-up car sat right in front of the entrance, a stark contrast to the Jaguars, Bentleys, and BMWs that lined the lot. Jack didn't care anymore. For the first time, he had parked it there without the need for excuses or shame. He had hidden it before, taken the long walk from the edge of the lot as if he didn't want anyone to know he had an old car, but now, it didn't matter. It was just a car, a means to an end. And the rehab facility, with its high-end amenities and clients, was now part of his past.
Twenty grand for seventeen days, he thought, shaking his head. It wasn't about the money—he had enough of that to cover his stay. No, he was just glad he'd been able to cross Audrey's credit card number off the bill and use his own. This was his mess to clean up.
As he stepped through the doors, he felt like being 18 again—leaving, just a bag on his back, nothing more, no place to call home. But this time, it was also different. He wasn't the reckless kid any more who had left home with nothing but a bike and a backpack. He had the money to start fresh. And, more importantly, Kim was part of his life. She had offered him a place to stay for a few weeks, her words careful and kind. She hadn't wanted to say, If you need a place, because she knew he could afford whatever place he wanted. But what she had really meant was, If you want to be around people who'll stop you from falling off the edge again.
He didn't plan on taking her up on the offer. Not yet. But he wanted to go see her today, maybe check into a hotel near her place, just to be close. That felt like a better option.
After all, it was Sunday. Time to spend with family.
Jack drove toward the self-storage facility, the place where his real stuff was—family photos, memories of Teri, and the things that actually mattered to him. His belongings had been packed away there two weeks before his undercover mission in Mexico, which started with him being imprisoned for drugs, fleeing to Mexico and his rental apartment being evicted. It was like those pieces of his life had been frozen in time, kept safe while the world around him was meant to crumble.
As he opened the storage unit door, he realized how long it had been since he'd touched anything inside. This is home, he thought, staring at the boxes. Not the apartment in Pacoima, not the places he had stayed while high. This was the closest thing he had to stability, to the life he had once known.
He quickly unloaded four of the five boxes from the car, stacking them neatly inside. The one box left in the back seat was filled with fresh clothes, the only things he'd keep for now. His eyes drifted to a carton in the back corner, and he opened it, pulling out the photo album he'd been looking for. Teri's handwriting on the cover caught his eye: 1985-1991. These were the pictures that went along with the memories he had shared with Audrey over the past few days, the ones that had surfaced during their late-night conversations. He ran his hand over the cover but didn't open it yet.
Glancing at his watch, he saw it was already 3 p.m. It's time to call Audrey, he thought. He didn't want another late-night conversation that stretched into the early hours.
Jack leaned against the boxes in the storage unit, feeling the weight of his own words settle in as the silence stretched between them. Audrey had picked up after two rings, and as always, just hearing her voice had steadied something deep inside him. But today, there was an extra tension inside him, something still unspoken yet unavoidable.
"Hi," Audrey had greeted, her voice light, though Jack sensed the edge of anticipation she couldn't quite hide.
"Hey," he had replied, the usual opening line tumbling out naturally. "Tired?" As the sound of her voice reached him, Jack couldn't help but smile.
"Always," she had answered, and he could almost see her faint smile on the other end. "You?"
"Always," Jack laughed, a warm sound filling the small storage space. It was just so good to talk to her, hear her voice, share these little moments. "How are you?" he asked, hoping that she was in a better place than the night before, when they'd ended their call on a note of vulnerability.
"I'm a lot better," Audrey replied, and the relief that swept through him was palpable. "And surprisingly, I still own some china," she added, chuckling.
He laughed too, sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the boxes of his life, plugged into the only power outlet available in the small, dusty room. "Sorry my battery died last night," he said, the apology coming easily.
"No problem," she replied warmly. "Otherwise, I guess we'd still be talking anyway."
They both laughed at the truth behind her joke. Their calls usually ran long, stretching well past when either of them intended, and neither seemed to mind. It had become a rhythm they both found solace in.
Audrey, curious but careful, took a breath. "How did you spend the night?" she asked softly.
Jack paused, looking back at the past 15 hours since their last conversation had ended. He hadn't fully processed it himself, but now, sitting here, he found the words. "I made some choices," he began.
Audrey could sense the shift in his tone. She stayed quiet, giving him space to explain.
"I checked out of rehab," Jack said, bracing himself for the reaction he expected—her concern, maybe even disapproval.
"In the middle of the night?" Audrey asked, her tone calm, not judgmental, but genuinely curious.
"No, two hours ago," he clarified, his voice steady.
"Okay," she replied.
Jack blinked, caught off guard by her response. No pushing, no lectures, no reminders that he might not be ready to face the world outside rehab. "Just 'okay'?" he asked, his voice softening, almost disbelieving.
Audrey sensed what he was getting at. "Jack, I'm not going to criticize your decisions," she said softly, her words filled with an acceptance that eased the tightness in his chest. "Even though maybe I should have, at times."
He knew exactly what she was referring to—his spiral into drug use, the secret he had kept from everyone except her. Audrey had been the only one who knew. It felt good to talk to someone who wouldn't nag, criticize, or try to change him. Someone who saw him for who he was, flaws and all, and accepted it.
"Are you going back to your apartment in Pacoima?" Audrey asked, her tone careful.
Jack blinked, slightly surprised. Audrey was one of the few people who even knew about that place. Michelle had had the address for emergencies, but no one else from his life had ever set foot there—except for Audrey.
"No," he said firmly, shaking his head as if to reinforce his words. "I'm not going back."
Jack told her about driving around after their last call, sitting by the beach, making the decision to leave both rehab and the apartment behind. It had been time to cut ties with everything that reminded him of the darkest parts of his life—the drugs, the isolation. He told her how he'd packed up his few belongings, how even crashing at the apartment for a few hours felt wrong. He had driven to the rehab center to clear out his room early in the morning, gathering only a few clothes and the charger for the secure phone that he plugged in to call her, but the battery just barely came to life.
He told her about coming to the storage unit, where all his real belongings were—his memories, his life before everything fell apart. "It's about time to start over," he said, his voice quiet, reflective.
Audrey listened, absorbing every word. "Sounds good," she said softly, fully understanding his need to move on. There was no judgment in her voice, only empathy.
Jack took a deep breath before continuing. "I had to call earlier today," he said, knowing this would be the worst part of the call.
"Oh?" Audrey asked, slightly surprised. "Why?"
"I'm going to see Kim," Jack said, his voice steady, but Audrey could hear the mix of emotions behind it. He wanted to see his daughter, but he also knew that meant he wouldn't be able to talk to her tonight.
Audrey's heart squeezed a little, but she pushed that aside, focusing on Jack. "That's great," she said, encouraging him. "How is she doing?"
"Good, I think. I haven't seen her in a while, but... well, she doesn't know I have a phone. And Chase... Chase would recognize it in a second," Jack explained, the tension evident in his voice. "A DoD secure phone sticks out, and I can't risk them asking questions."
Audrey nodded to herself, feeling a twinge of concern. "Right," she murmured softly. The secure phone had been her idea, a way for them to stay connected without the risk of being overheard, even when talking about the classified parts of Jack's life. But now, hearing Jack's words, the risk suddenly got obvious. If anyone found out—especially someone like Chase—this phone would raise far too many questions. Questions neither of them were prepared or willing to answer. If Chase recognized it for what it was, Jack would be cornered. And that corner could easily lead back to her.
"I don't want anyone asking questions," Audrey admitted.
"Exactly," Jack echoed quietly.
They fell into a brief silence, both knowing there was more under the surface. Jack could feel it, the invisible bond between them, one they had never really defined but was undeniable. It was something they both felt, but neither dared put into words. Jack leaned back against the boxes, wondering if now was the time to talk about it—but he didn't. Instead, he took a safer route.
"We've really been talking a lot lately," he said, his voice cautious. "I can't let Kim see me sneaking off to make calls." He didn't want Kim to know about Audrey. It would raise too many questions, ones he wasn't ready to answer.
Audrey's sadness deepened, though she kept it hidden. "I can relate," she whispered, feeling the weight of everything between them pressing down. "I'll miss it though." The words slipped out before she could stop them, hanging in the air between them.
Jack paused, his voice gruff when he finally spoke. "I will too," he admitted. "I'll call you when I'm alone again."
"Okay," she replied softly. But even as she said it, Audrey felt the distance growing between them, unsure when "alone again" would come. She didn't ask. It felt like it would make things worse.
The silence was there, heavy with the unsaid. Neither wanted to admit to the growing attachment between them, and cutting back on their calls wasn't just about Jack needing to hide the phone. It was about the space between them, the slow but inevitable pull of reality that told them both to wake up and not descend into a world of phone calls and unrealistic longing.
"Take care, Jack," Audrey whispered, her voice filled with something she couldn't name. "Have a nice evening with Kim."
"Thanks," Jack replied, his voice quieter than usual. "Bye, Audrey."
And just like that, the call ended.
Audrey stared at the phone for a long moment, the silence in her apartment heavy. She knew this was the right decision—for both of them. Jack needed to focus on Kim, and she needed to find a way to keep living her life without the late-night calls that had become her crutch. But the sadness, the loneliness, crept in anyway, filling the spaces between her thoughts.
Jack, still sitting on the cold floor of the storage unit, stared at his phone as well. A heavy feeling settled in his stomach. He knew what this feeling was, though he refused to name it.
And somehow, that hurt more than he expected.
Jack got up from the floor, his joints stiff from sitting so long, and grabbed the charger and the phone. He slipped them both into his bag, carefully tucking them beneath fresh clothes and his toiletries. Before zipping it up, he made sure the phone was on silent and that even the faint hum of vibration was disabled. No one would find it there. He couldn't leave it behind in the storage unit. Protocol said it shouldn't be left unattended. But in truth, it wasn't just protocol keeping him from leaving it. The phone wasn't just a device—it was his connection to Audrey, and despite everything, he wasn't ready to let that go.
As he shut the garage door to the storage unit and walked toward his car, a sense of lightness began to settle in. Sliding behind the wheel, Jack started the engine, anticipation building as he thought about the evening with Kim.
For now, the phone, the past, and everything else faded into the background, as he started to drive.
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