Still nothing.
No dots.
No reply.
Just silence.
He realized how fragile it all was and how easily the world he’d built was falling apart.
Back at home Kylee was on autopilot, folding tiny onesies, mismatched socks, and Jake Jr.’s grass-stained practice clothes on the long counter. The warm air from the vent curled her hair at the edges, and the hum of the washer was the only sound in the house.
Kayla was napping. Macy was watching Bluey. Jake Jr. was outside practicing his spiral toss against the fence.
Her phone buzzed once on the counter beside her.
She glanced at it, expecting a text from her sister. Or maybe Lillian with a scheduling question.
Jake:
Can I take you out to dinner this weekend? Just you and me. I want to talk.
Her hands stilled. The warm hoodie she was folding slid off her lap and onto the floor. She stared at the message, her throat tightening. Not because she didn’t expect it. She had. She knew him. She knew the cycle, charm, comfort, repair.
Dinner? Dinner didn’t undo what she saw. A dinner reservation wasn’t a bandage big enough to patch over the image of Rachel’s hands on his chest, his pants around his ankles, that half-zipped grin on his face when he thought she’d never see.
Kylee picked up the phone. Read the message again.
“Just you and me. I want to talk.”
Where was this version of him three months ago? When she was crying herself to sleep right beside him? When she initiated and he turned away? When she needed him to see her, touch her.
Now, suddenly, he missed her?
She locked the screen.
No response.
She tossed the phone face-down on top of the dryer and continued laundry. There was a time she would’ve texted back immediately. Apologized even. Asked what time. But not anymore. Kylee was starting to realize. He didn’t deserve the version of her that was always the first to forgive.
Jake sat behind his desk, staring at the glow of his tablet. The hum of the clinic buzzed faintly through the walls, but his mind wasn’t on work. He scrolled absentmindedly through Facebook, aimless and restless.
Then a notification caught his eye.
Bleeding Halo’s is coming to New Orleans.
His heart tightened. Kylee’s favorite band. The band she’d worshiped since Middle school. The band whose songs still played loudly in her car, even here in Idaho.
Jake tapped the link and read the details: concert at The Smoothie King Center, two weeks from now. Tickets on sale now.
A plan began to form in his mind. He picked up his phone and dialed Rachel. “Hey, Rachel,” he said, trying to sound casual, but feeling a pulse of urgency beneath his words. “Listen, I need you to do me a favor.”
Rachel’s voice was warm and curious. “Anything, Dr. Waterman.”
“I want you to buy the best tickets you can find for Bleeding Halo’s you know, the band Kylee loves? The concert in New Orleans. And make sure to get backstage passes.”
There was a brief pause, and Rachel’s tone dropped into something softer, almost wistful. “Backstage passes? That’s... quite the gesture.”
Jake grunted, a little embarrassed. “Yeah. I want to surprise her.”
