I opened my mouth, desperate to speak—to explain, to beg—but nothing came out. There were no words. No pretty lie. No painful truth that could save me.
Because the fact that she had to ask... that was already my answer. Because I made her doubt us.
She let out a bitter, breathless laugh. It wasn't amusement. It was agony shaped like sound. Like she couldn't believe she'd once trusted me with her whole heart.
I stepped forward, tears burning in my eyes, shame clawing at my throat. "June, I—I would have... eventually... I swear..."
"Get out."
Two words. Sharp. Final.
"Please—"
"GET OUT!" she screamed, the full weight of her grief crashing into me like a wave I never saw coming.
And I knew then—I had broken something in her that might never be able to trust again. Not just in me.
But in love itself.
I left like her dad asked me to. Then, she slammed the door behind me.
But I leaned into the door. "I'm not fighting for a second chance because I think I deserve it, June—I don't. I'm fighting because you deserve better than the version of me that hurt you. You deserve my best. You deserve love that shows up. That proves itself."
I placed my hand on the doorframe. "I will fix what I broke. I will earn back what I lost. Not with words, but with who I choose to be from this moment on."
My voice drops. "I love you. I'm sorry. And I know trust doesn't come back overnight. But if there's even the smallest part of you that wants to try—then I'll be here. Becoming the man you can trust again, Can you remember the last six years and not just the last few months?"
Silence.
Chapter Seventeen: Gravity of Home
I hadn't gone to the studio. I hadn't even changed out of my robe.
The confrontation with Aaron yesterday had gutted me in ways I didn't expect. I thought I'd been doing better—Iwasdoing better. For months, I was rebuilding. Finding pieces of myself in places I forgot to look.
But yesterday cracked something open. Now, I just felt... raw. Quietly unraveling.
I padded into the kitchen, my hair still a mess, expecting the usual silence. Maybe a half cup of leftover coffee.
Instead, I found chaos. Waffles. Scrambled eggs. Bacon. Toast with strawberry jam. Sliced mango and a pile of fresh blueberries. Fresh-squeezed orange juice. Even cookies. Chocolate chip. My favorite.
My dad stood in the middle of it all, humming off-key to some old-school jazz record, still in his flannel pajama pants and that faded NASA hoodie I bought him ten Christmases ago. He was holding a spatula like it was a weapon of mass nourishment.
I blinked. "What... is this?"
He turned to me with a grin that lit up the entire kitchen. "Cookies for my tough cookie."
I laughed despite myself, sinking into one of the chairs. "You're ridiculous."
"Mm-hmm," he said, setting down a plate in front of me like it was a peace offering. " You didn't go to the studio."
I picked at a piece of toast. "I wasn't feeling it."
"June," he said gently, sitting across from me. "You don't have to pretend."
I sighed and looked out the window. "I was doing fine. I really was. I felt like myself again. Then he showed up and now... it's like I'm right back at square one. Angry. Sad. Small."
"You're not small," he said instantly. "You're the biggest damn heart I've ever known."
