She finally heard the faint bling from her phone. It had come back to life, buzzing with a flood of notifications after being off for so long. She was so consumed with him that she had spent over a day without even touching her phone. Over a day. No phone. No texts. No emails. Just him.
Focus, Erin! She opened her browser and typed on Google: NY to Bolivia flight time.
Eleven hours? Are you kidding me?
He wouldn't arrive until around 10:30 AM. Still so far away. She glanced at the time on her phone. 5 AM. Damn. He's only halfway there.
Her eyes were swollen and raw from the tears. Every blink hurt. Her head pounded like a drum, but her heart? Her heart was torn to shreds, as if every beat was trying to stitch itself back together, only to rip apart again.
At least it was the weekend and she didn't have to drag herself into work looking like this. But wait… It's Sunday. Already? Her stomach dropped.
"Holy fuck—Doctor Cass!"
She lunged for her phone, nearly dropping it. She opened the calendar and there it was, mocking her: 4 PM - Zoom Appointment with Dr. Cassidy. Saturday. Yesterday. She collapsed onto the bed, groaning.
"She is so going to kill me."
Doctor Cass had been clear—painfully clear—that Erin had to commit to every single session if she wanted clearance to return to full duty. She'd been steadfast about it, drilling the rules into her head over the last year. Erin couldn't afford to miss one. Not one.
Thirteen months. Since she hit rock bottom. Thirteen months of trying to stay afloat. And now? She was fucking drowning again
Her thoughts spiraled back to Jay. She hadn't been entirely honest with him when she mentioned the burnout, claiming it had landed her in the hospital. That part was true—technically. But the burnout had only been the tip of the iceberg. It wasn't just exhaustion or stress. It wasn't just about work. It was the weight of grief, trauma, and guilt crashing down all at once. A storm so heavy she let it pull her under. And she almost didn't fight it.
She could never tell him why she ended up in the hospital that night. Never. It would crush him, and she couldn't bear to see the look of pain—or worse, guilt—on his face.
Only two people knew the truth. Her and Dr. Cassidy. And Dr. Cass, bound by confidentiality, could never breathe a word of it. That secret was locked away, but it weighed heavy on her every single day.
Another wave of sadness crashed over her, pulling her under like a riptide. How the hell am I supposed to survive this? The thought clawed at her chest. She'd need far more than 10 sessions with her doctor just to start talking about those 27 hours. 10 sessions wouldn't even scratch the surface.
Hell, she would need daily sessions—maybe twice a day—just to start untangling the mess in her head.
Her phone vibrated with a fresh notification, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts. She grabbed it quickly, scanning her screen. No calls from Jay. Of course not. He doesn't have my fucking number.
Damn.
Her stomach twisted as her eyes landed on three missed calls from Dr. Cass.
But screw it. Dr. Cass would have to wait.
Her thumb hovered over her starred contacts—just two names. Hank and Jay. A pathetic little list of people she really loved. And one of them hadn't been used in over five years.
Before she could think, she pressed the call button. Once. Twice. Nothing. Of course not. What am I even doing? It was 5 AM. Jay was somewhere between New York and La Paz. Flying. She exhaled sharply, dropping the phone onto her lap, staring at the ceiling like it might have answers.
A second later, curiosity hit her. Where the hell is La Paz anyways?
She opened the maps app, zooming in, dragging her fingers across the screen. How far away is he from me now? Her chest tightened. Too far.
Funny, really. She almost went to La Paz once. Right after their first night together, before she quit the Task Force, before she begged Hank to take her back into Intelligence. History really did have a cruel fucking sense of humor, didn't it?
She clenched her phone tighter. Six more hours—at least. Assuming he'd even call.
No. He will. He has to.
Without thinking, she opened her messages and started typing.
"I hope you kept your number because I was stupid enough to forget to give you mine. Please let me know when you get there. I can't stop thinking about you."
Her thumb hovered over the send button.
God, did that sound desperate? Pathetic? She read it over again. And again. Then, with a shaky breath, she hit send. She had ended it with "I love you too" but deleted it after overthinking.
She longed for sleep—sweet, mind-numbing oblivion. Just eight months… give or take… to start. She curled in on herself, clutching her knees to her chest, squeezing her eyes shut. And immediately regretted the thought.
The tears came hard and fast, burning down her cheeks. How could I even think something like that again?
That terrible night slammed into her again. Wasn't that what she had wanted then, too? To sleep? To just disappear into the void and never wake up?
Her breath hitched, chest tightening as she fought against the spiral pulling her under. But no… that was not what she wanted now. She just wanted to fast forward. Skip the pain and the loneliness she was so familiar with.
She felt trapped inside her own head, a prisoner to exhaustion and sadness. She was so fucking tired. Yet sleep wouldn't come.
Morning was slipping through the cracks of her window, the world moving forward without her. And still, she hadn't closed her eyes for even a moment.
Dragging herself up, she stumbled toward the bathroom, her limbs heavy, sluggish. She flicked on the light, and the brightness slammed into her.
The reflection in the mirror was cruel and merciless—hollow eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, lips bitten raw. She barely recognized herself.
Her shoulders slumped, and her voice trembled as she whispered, "You've gotta keep it together, Erin. You've been through worse. You can get through this too."
She didn't believe it.
Still, she turned on the shower, letting the water heat until steam curled around her like smoke. Maybe a hot shower would help. Maybe it would wash away some of the ache in her body, some of the chaos in her head.
She finally peeled off those pathetic red laces and stepped in, the scalding water cascading over her skin. For a moment, it felt like she could melt into it—like the heat could thaw the frozen, fractured pieces inside her.
She pressed her forehead against the cool tile, her hands bracing the wall, the contrast between heat and ice grounding her. The water ran over her face, mingling with her tears.
Breathe. Just breathe.
But no matter how hard she tried to let the warmth soothe her, the knot in her chest wouldn't loosen. It never did.
As the heat wrapped around her, her mind slipped backward—to a different shower, when the heat had been for him.
She had stood right here, just hours ago, while he was in the living room. Waiting. Her heart had been pounding, her skin electric with anticipation. She had left the door unlocked—inviting him in, begging him without words.
Come in, Jay. Just walk in.
But nooooo.
He'd stayed in the goddamn living room. A gentleman, damn him.
The thought of his hands on her, his lips tracing the water's path, had her breath catching all over again. She could almost feel him pressing her against the wall, his breath hot against her neck, his fingers skimming over her wet skin, his voice low and rough in her ear.
But he hadn't come.
Instead, she had rolled her eyes at his restraint, half-smiling, half-frustrated, before reaching out and twisting the cold water knob all the way, willing the ice to chase away the fire in her chest.
Her gaze fell on the towel hanging neatly, and another memory slammed into her. Morning. His turn to take a shower.
She had been woken up abruptly by her nightmare. And then she'd reached for him. Cool sheets. Empty bed.
For one gut-wrenching second, she had thought he'd left. That the night—the weight of his arm around her, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek—had been nothing more than a cruel, vivid dream.
But then, faintly, she'd heard it. The shower running. Relief had crashed over her.
She chuckled now, the memory sneaking in through the wreckage of her emotions. God. She could still see his face—that look when she'd thrown the bathroom door open without warning.
The audacity. Then again, he hadn't locked the door either, had he? Maybe he'd wanted her to do it. Maybe he'd wanted her to cross that threshold just as badly as she had wanted to.
For a moment, they had just stood there. Suspended. She, panting from the adrenaline, frozen in place.
And him… Damn him. The bastard had enjoyed it. Didn't even try to hide it.
He had just stood there, water running down his body, his muscles more defined than she remembered—every line and ridge sculpted like some Greek fucking statue. Had he been working out more? Of course, he had. The man never could leave well enough alone.
She had almost commented on it, almost thrown out a teasing remark. But she knew that would only inflate his already huge ego.
But what killed her—what had left her utterly undone—was how still he had stayed. Not a single awkward movement. Not a single flinch. No attempt to cover himself.
Just him, standing there, watching her, unapologetic and so smug, while she stood there like a fucking deer caught by headlights.
Why hadn't she walked in? Crossed that invisible line? Closed the space between them and erased the years of distance? Every single part of her had screamed to.
Her muscles had ached to move. Her skin had burned to be against his again.
But she hadn't.
Because he was married.
Her smile faltered.
The memory shattered like glass, cracking under the weight of reality.
Her breath hitched. "He… is… fucking… married," she whispered. The words felt wrong in her mouth, like they didn't belong there.
And then louder—louder, because she needed to hear it, needed to feel it—
"He got married again!"
The wave slammed into her—anger, sadness, frustration all tangled into a mess she couldn't begin to unravel.
She wrapped her arms around herself, her nails digging into her own skin, tears spilling unchecked.
She hated him in that moment. Hated him for being so damned perfect. For stepping back into her life and wrecking her all over again.
But more than that—She hated herself.
She missed him. Missed him so deeply, it felt like something was physically breaking inside her.
Five years ago, they had been happy. Living together. Sharing their lives. Building something real—or so she thought. And then it happened. The bombshell that shattered everything.
He was still married.
Married.
The word sliced through her like a razor-sharp knife, each repetition sharper, more bitter. He had left her to fix it. To figure out his tangled past. She had thought that was the end of it. She had to believe that was the end of it.
But now? Now, he was married again. Her fists clenched, nails biting into her palms. "Why, Jay?"
Her voice cracked, raw and shaking. "Why did you get married?" Her chest heaved, rage and grief tangled into one unbearable knot. "Why did you come back?"
She swiped at her face, but the tears kept falling, falling, falling.
"Why did you show up just to flaunt that goddamn ring in my face? To remind me—"
Her breath hitched. She sucked in a sharp inhale, pressing a fist to her mouth, willing herself to keep breathing.
"Damn it… why?"
Her body gave out before her mind did. She sank to the floor of the shower, her knees hitting the tile with a hollow thud. The hot water pounded down on her, mixing with her tears, washing away everything—except the ache in her chest.
Her sobs came in waves, each one heavier, each one drowning her a little more.
Time blurred, slipping through her fingers like water down the drain. The heat eventually faded, replaced by a cold that settled deep in her bones, in her chest, in the hollow space where her heart used to be.
When she finally emerged, the apartment was flooded with sunlight. Too bright. Too cheerful. It mocked her.
Wrapped only in a towel, she wandered toward the living room window. She pressed her palms against the glass. The street stretched far below. Too far below.
When she first moved in, she couldn't even get close to this window without her stomach twisting in fear. But now? Now, the height didn't scare her. Not anymore. She almost welcomed it.
Her fingertips traced the glass, pressing just enough to feel the resistance. Strong. Sturdy. It wouldn't give.
Her gaze lifted—up, up, to the sky.
Why?
It wasn't fair.
The sun had no business shining. The sky had no right to be so blue, so clear, so… perfect. The world should have been cloaked in gray, drowning under the same storm raging inside her.
But no.
Instead, it was beautiful. Calm. Completely unaffected by the devastation she felt.
Her throat tightened. The sky reminded her of him. His eyes.
That impossible, magnetic blue that had always undone her. They were not really blue. His eyes were gray, but they were also green and sometimes, yeah, it would look totally blue. As if they were stealing the blue from the sky. The way it captivated the colors around him and reflected his own emotions was just fascinating to her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. It was cruel. Even the damn sky wouldn't let her forget him.
She turned away abruptly. The sunlight wouldn't let her rest. Wouldn't let her hide.
She moved through the apartment in a blur, yanking down every blind, every curtain, until the entire space was swallowed in darkness.
Pitch black. That was better. She needed to sleep—desperately.
If only her mind would let her.
She dragged herself back to the bedroom, pulling on whatever clothes were within reach. A pair of biker shorts. One of his old shirts. It didn't smell like him anymore—hadn't for a long time. But it was still his. And that was… something.
She set her alarm for 11 AM., hoping—begging—for just a few hours of oblivion. But sleep never came.
She tossed. Turned. Pulled the blanket over her head, then kicked it off again.
The thoughts wouldn't stop. Her pulse wouldn't settle. Her chest ached. The tears came in waves, relentless, soaking into her pillow.
By 10 AM, she gave up altogether.
He'd be landing soon. At least… she thought so. She didn't know his flight number. Didn't know if he had any layovers. All she had was an estimated arrival time based on a fucking Google search. Eleven hours. Give or take.
But was he even still in the air? Had he landed? Had he even made it?
Her stomach twisted at the thought, a sickening lurch that sent her heart racing. What if something happened? What if—
No.
No, no, no.
He's fine. She clung to that. Had to.
But she was stuck—trapped in limbo, counting minutes, counting seconds, staring at her phone like it might suddenly light up with his name.
But it didn't.
The entire afternoon ticked by in excruciating silence.
No calls.
No texts.
Nothing.
Her hands tightened around her phone, fingers trembling.
Why hadn't he called? Had he even gotten her message? Had he changed his number? Or worse—was he just… choosing not to answer?
The thought hit like a gut punch, knocking the air from her lungs. She couldn't stop spiraling.
Couldn't stop her mind from dragging her back—back to her own mistakes—when she left Chicago.
Back to the last time she cut him off completely.
How she'd ignored his messages, his calls—too broken to face him, too angry at the world to let him in.
She had told herself it was the right thing. That it would be easier to stay away. That she was doing him a favor.
But now?
Now, she wasn't so sure.
How much had she hurt him?
How much had it destroyed him to reach for her, only to be met with silence?
Her stomach twisted.
And now… a sinking fear slipped into her mind and she couldn't shake it… maybe… Maybe he was doing the same to her now.
Was he doing this on purpose? Payback for the hurt she'd caused?
No.
No, he wouldn't do that. Not Jay. Would he?
Her fists clenched.
The same question kept twisting through her mind, again and again, like a knife:
Why did he come back? Why show up, only to leave again? Why turn her world inside out when she had been desperately trying to piece it back together?
She wasn't okay before.
But at least she had been managing. Kind of.
Now, it was like the ground had been ripped out from under her.
And she had let him.
She wasn't honest with him.
She had focused entirely on his pain. His doubts. His needs.
She had spent every second trying to pull him back from the edge.
But now, she could see—crystal clear—the weight of all this crushing her.
Her chest ached with the weight of missing him.
She couldn't stop thinking about how good it felt to see him again, to be in his arms, to feel his love—even if it went unspoken.
But that ache?
It was quickly being swallowed whole by something else.
Anger.
He shouldn't have come.
Her hands trembled.
Did he even get her message? Did he still have the same number?
Maybe—maybe he wasn't ignoring her at all. Maybe he was just as desperate as she was.
The thought twisted inside her, an unbearable weight pressing down on her ribs.
She couldn't stay in this limbo. Not for another second.
She needed answers.
But how?
She couldn't tell Hank. She couldn't call Intelligence, couldn't ask if Jay had kept his number without setting off alarms. But why would he change it? Nobody changes a phone number anymore… except when you move or when you're… hiding. Or when you want to get rid of your past.
Erin paced the apartment, gripping her phone so tightly she thought it might crack.
There had to be a way.
There had to be.
But the hours stretched on, pulling her deeper into the silence. The sadness in her chest felt heavier, but at least the tears had stopped. Maybe she'd cried them all out. Maybe she was just too exhausted to keep breaking down.
She couldn't tell anymore.
Then—
Ding-dong.
She froze.
Her heart stopped cold.
No one ever showed up uninvited.
No one.
Her pulse roared in her ears as she rushed to the door, her mind racing with a wild, desperate hope.
Maybe… just maybe…
Had he missed his flight?
Had he changed his mind?
She glanced at the clock, it was over 8 PM. The apartment was dead silent. Even the hum of the fridge, the distant city noise—it all felt too still. Her fingers twitched against the doorknob, her pulse hammering in her throat.
Just open it. Move. Breathe.
The air felt thick, suffocating. She could almost hear the blood rushing in her ears.
She yanked the door open—