Garrett Graham x f!reader
Summary: You were in a loving relationship with Garrett Graham, and for the first time in your life, you had someone who loved you unconditionally. The problem was that no matter how much he loved you, it couldn't save you from yourself. You still seemed pretty sad for a girl in love.
Author's Note: This fic is inspired by The Cure by Olivia Rodrigo. I wanted to explore what happens when someone has love but still struggles to feel okay because of the battles happening inside their own head. Hope you guys enjoy!!
Warnings:
Angst, hurt/comfort, self-worth issues, jealousy, family issues, and themes of depression.
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You had been dating Garrett Graham for almost a year now.
Sometimes, that still felt weird to you.
You met sophomore year in a philosophy class after being forced into the same discussion group. At first, it was nothing more than late-night library sessions and sarcastic arguments over assignments. Then came coffee runs between classes, sitting in freezing hockey arenas just to watch him play, and the way he always walked you home afterward even when his apartment was in the opposite direction.
Somewhere along the way, the line between friendship and something else disappeared completely and now he was yours.
Sweet, patient, impossibly loving Garrett Graham. He was the kind of boyfriend people wrote songs about.
He remembered the smallest things about you. He kissed your forehead when he thought you were overthinking. He pulled you into his lap whenever you got quiet for too long, like he could physically hold you together with enough effort. Loving him came easy. Too easy.
Because no matter how gentle Garrett was with you, no matter how much he cared, there were still days where sadness clung to you so tightly you thought it might swallow you whole. Days where you looked at him and felt guilty for not feeling as happy as you were supposed to.
Tonight, the boys were throwing a party after beating Eastwood.
The house was loud in the way hockey houses always were. Music shook the walls while people shouted over each other from every corner of the room. Dean was currently making out with Allie against the kitchen island without a single ounce of shame while Hannah sat comfortably in Justin’s lap laughing at something he whispered into her ear. Across the room, Logan and Tucker were on what had to be their third game of beer pong, yelling like the championship depended on it.
You stood near the counter with a drink in your hand, watching everything happen around you without really feeling part of it.
Your mind had drifted somewhere far away again.
A cold can suddenly pressed against the side of your bare arm and you jumped slightly before turning to glare at your boyfriend.
Garrett grinned instantly, completely unapologetic.
“Did you really have to do that?”
You shoved at his shoulder lightly and he only laughed, slipping an arm around your waist to pull you against him.
“Of course I did,” he said. “How else am I supposed to get your attention?”
His tone was teasing, but there was something softer underneath it. Something that made your chest ache a little.
Garrett noticed everything.
He noticed when your smile started looking forced. When you got too quiet in crowded rooms. When your eyes lost focus because your thoughts had carried you somewhere he couldn’t follow.
And somehow, he always managed to bring you back.
The second your eyes met his, the noise around you faded into nothing.
You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Garrett sighed into it immediately, one of his hands tightening slightly against your waist like he needed you closer. When you pulled away, his thumb brushed absentmindedly against your hip. He’s about to say something when Logan suddenly yells his name from across the room.
Garrett groans dramatically and you can already tell what it’s about. After every game, the four boys lined up shots on the kitchen counter and took them at the exact same time. They claimed it was good luck. At first you thought it was ridiculous, but considering how well their season was going, maybe they were onto something.
“You gonna survive two minutes without me?” Garrett asks, smiling softly.
You roll your eyes. “Go do your weird hockey cult tradition.”
He laughs quietly before leaning down to kiss you again. Slower this time. His hand cups the side of your face gently like he can’t help himself.
“You okay?” he asks against your lips and there it is again. That look that felt like he was searching your face for cracks. You give him a smile anyway. “Mhm. Go.”
He hesitates for half a second longer before finally pulling away. The second he disappears into the crowd, your smile slowly fades.
The noise around you becomes unbearable again almost immediately. Music. Laughter. People talking over each other. Everyone seemed to belong somewhere in the room.
Standing awkwardly in the middle of it all pretending you fit here. You loved them. You really did.
The boys had welcomed you so easily into their lives because Garrett loved you, and Hannah and Allie had done everything they could to make you feel included from the very beginning. They never made you feel unwanted.
But somehow you still kept everyone at arm’s length.
It was like there was a wall inside you that refused to fully come down no matter how badly you wanted connection. You could laugh with them, spend hours around them, care about them deeply but never completely let them in.
Garrett had been the exception and that still scared you a little.
Not because he’d ever hurt you. God, no. Garrett Graham was probably the gentlest person you’d ever known.
And somehow, despite every wall you’d tried to keep standing, he’d slipped past all of them anyway.
Not by forcing his way in. Not by demanding pieces of you before you were ready to give them. He’d just stayed. Patient and steady and impossibly warm. He noticed things without making you feel exposed for them. The forced smiles. The quiet spells. The way your eyes drifted somewhere far away when your thoughts got too loud.
And every single time, he found a way to bring you back.
It became one of the best things that had ever happened to you.
Which was exactly why it terrified you sometimes.
Because even with Garrett loving you the way he did, there were still days where your sadness sat so heavy inside your chest it felt unbearable. Days where you felt raw and exhausted and impossible to fix. Like a wound that had healed wrong.
Those were the days you tried hardest to hide from him.
He already carried enough. Hockey. Classes. Expectations. The pressure of always being needed by everyone around him.
He didn’t need to carry you too.
Your chest tightened suddenly, exhaustion settling deep into your bones. Before you could overthink it further, you slipped quietly out of the party and headed upstairs toward Garrett’s room.
The music dulled into a distant thump the second the door shut behind you.
You locked it immediately, not trusting one of the drunk hockey guys not to stumble into the wrong room later, then crossed toward Garrett’s dresser. His scent lingered everywhere in here — cedarwood, clean laundry, something warm and comforting that always made your chest ache in the softest way.
You peeled off your clothes until you were standing in just your tank top and shorts before grabbing one of Garrett’s old Briar hockey shirts from the pile near the bed.
The fabric swallowed you whole, hanging past your thighs. You crawled beneath the blankets slowly, curling into his side of the bed while muffled laughter and music echoed faintly through the floorboards below.
For a while, you just stared at the ceiling.
The sound of the lock clicking made you sit up immediately.
Garrett stumbled inside a second later, trying very hard to look sober despite the obvious sway in his step. The second he spotted you, his entire face lit up.
A dimple appeared in his cheek.
You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you.
“So much for not letting Logan get you drunk.”
Garrett scoffed dramatically as he kicked the door shut behind him. “The guy is relentless,” he slurred, words running together slightly.
You walked toward him before he could trip over his own feet, grabbing his hands and guiding him toward the bed. The second he sat down, he immediately wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face against your stomach with a soft sigh.
“You smell good,” he mumbled into the fabric of his own shirt hanging off your body.
You smiled despite yourself, fingers sliding gently through his messy hair. “That’s probably because it’s literally your shirt.”
A quiet laugh left you as he pulled you closer between his knees, eyes already half shut from exhaustion and alcohol.
“Why’d you leave?” he asked softly after a moment, voice quieter now. “I was looking for you.”
Your fingers stilled briefly in his hair.
“I just wanted you to have fun with your friends,” you said gently. “Besides, I have biology at eight in the morning and my professor is evil about attendance.”
Garrett hummed against you, clearly listening even as sleep threatened to drag him under. His grip around your waist tightened slightly, like he needed the reassurance that you were still there.
“Still wanted you downstairs,” he mumbled.
Your heart squeezed painfully.
The word came out so simple. So honest.
You swallowed hard and brushed his hair back from his forehead. “Alright, c’mon. You need to sleep, mister.”
He groaned dramatically as you tugged his shoes off, letting himself fall backward onto the mattress the second you finished. He landed crookedly across the bed, one arm immediately reaching for you even with his eyes closed.
You laughed quietly and pulled the blankets over him.
Garrett looked impossibly soft like this. Sleepy and warm and trusting.
His eyes stayed shut as he whispered, almost like it was instinct, “I love you so much.”
For one fragile second, all the noise in your head went quiet. You leaned down, brushing your fingers gently across his cheek.
“I love you too,” you whispered.
A sleepy smile spread across his face almost immediately and within seconds, Garrett was completely asleep, still reaching for you even in his dreams.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Not because the material was hard, but because your professor spoke in the same exact monotone voice for an hour and twenty minutes straight while the room stayed unbearably
By the end of class, you had doodled all over the margins of your notebook and retained exactly three pieces of information, none of which you were confident were actually correct.
The second class ended, you shoved your notebook into your bag and practically bolted for the door heading back to your apartment with Hannah and Allie.
When they had asked you to move in with them for junior year, you'd agreed almost immediately. Part of it was because you genuinely liked them, and part of it was because you'd spent most of your life feeling lonely. The idea of having roommates who actually wanted you around had felt nice.
The second you walked in, the smell of Allie’s famous chicken curry hit you, and when you looked up, you saw both of them in the living room.
“She’s back!” Allie yelled from her seat, making you jump.
“Geez, Als, tone it down,” Hannah said from beside her, covering her ears.
You flopped down in the middle of them and sighed. “I hate bio.”
Then you turned to Hannah. “How exactly did you get an A in that class? The professor is terrible.”
Hannah tapped her temple. “I got the brains, babes.”
As an architecture major, you still didn't understand why biology was required as a gen ed. You had yet to find a single connection between cellular respiration and designing buildings.
“Okay, enough of the science talk. It’s giving me a headache,” Allie said, throwing her hands up dramatically.
You rolled your eyes. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have to deal with it.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, already offended. “I would have you know theatre is genuinely harder than anything.”
You and Hannah both raised an eyebrow, and Allie gasped again.
“You know what? I was going to give you chicken curry, but now I’m withholding it.”
You gasped immediately, begging her to change her mind.
After hanging out with them for a while, you texted Garrett. He was at hockey practice.
You: how's the amateur hangover?
Garrett was a lightweight, and teasing him about it was one of your favorite things. He could genuinely get drunk off three shots, and you found that absolutely hilarious.
Garrett: Coach is killing us with drills
The stupid smile appeared before you could stop it.
Another message followed.
Garrett: the guys and i are going to malone's later
Garrett: i think dean would've told allie but if not everyone's invited
You: and i'll definitely think about it
Garrett: gotta go before coach catches me
The words made your chest warm.
The typing bubble disappeared.
You sat there staring at the screen for a second longer than necessary before setting your phone down. After texting Hannah and Allie about Malone's and confirming they wanted to go, you spent the next hour working through assignments.
You were halfway through a discussion post when your phone rang.
You picked it up, automatically assuming it was Garrett.
But you froze the second you heard your father’s voice.
“Hey, lovey,” he said softly. The nickname making something uncomfortable twist inside your chest.
In the background, you could hear kids talking and laughing. “Just calling because Rachel wanted to know if you were down to have dinner this weekend?”
Rachel was your dad’s new wife. He had divorced your mom when you were ten and started dating Rachel soon after. They got married two months later, and he had two kids now, ages eleven and nine.
Your dad had left you screaming and crying for him, and he never looked back. He only called you now maybe twice a year, and even then, it was usually because his wife pushed him to.
“Lovey?” he called again.
You cleared your throat. “Yeah, that works.”
He hung up before you could say anything else, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.
Then your phone buzzed with a message in the group chat with you, Hannah, and Allie asking if everyone was ready. You typed back that you weren’t feeling up to it anymore, and after a lot of persuasion that didn’t work, they finally gave in. You texted Garrett that you had a lot of assignments to do and would see him tomorrow, and you didn’t wait for a reply before silencing your phone and flipping it over so you wouldn’t have to look at the screen.
You knew exactly what you were feeling.
Every time your dad ended a call, it was like being ten years old all over again, and that feeling of abandonment hit you like a wave. The silence in the room felt too loud, and you knew you could talk to Garrett, but it all felt too raw and ugly to even bring up with him.
So you grabbed your laptop and opened Instagram.
You went to your dad’s page and unblocked him.
Your past therapist had told you that if blocking him was the only way to set a boundary, then that was fine but you never told her that every few months, curiosity won anyway.
You clicked on his profile.
The first picture was of him and Rachel. They were standing on a beach somewhere, smiling at each other like they were the only two people in the world. The caption underneath read, Didn't start living until I found you.
You told yourself to keep scrolling.
There were family vacations, birthday parties, Christmas mornings, little snapshots of a life that seemed so full of happiness. Every photo looked effortless. Every smile looked genuine.
Then you found a picture of him standing between your half-brother and half-sister.
His arms were wrapped around both of them, pulling them close against his sides. They were grinning at the camera while he looked down at them with a smile you recognized immediately.
You stared at the screen.
Maybe he didn't mean anything by it. Maybe he wasn't thinking. Maybe it was just a harmless caption that had taken him three seconds to write.
But your brain didn't care about any of that.
All it could focus on was what wasn't there.
A sharp ache spread through your chest so suddenly that it almost stole the air from your lungs. Before you realized it, tears were slipping down your cheeks.
You slammed the laptop shut and immediately blocked him again.
And just like that, you weren't twenty-one anymore.
Ten years old, standing on the front porch after he'd driven away.
Ten years old, staring out the window every time a car pulled into the driveway because maybe this time it would be him.
Ten years old, waiting for phone calls that never came and birthdays he forgot and promises he never kept.
The worst part wasn't even that he'd left.
The worst part was that somewhere deep inside you, there was still a little girl trying to figure out why.
Why had it been so easy to leave you?
Why did everyone else seem worth staying for?
What was so wrong with you that your father could love another family so effortlessly while loving you always seemed to feel like an obligation?
The thought hit so hard that your breathing started to shake.
You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes and tried to force yourself to calm down, but every breath felt too fast, too shallow. The tears wouldn't stop, and no matter how many times you reminded yourself that you were older now, that you had people who loved you, that none of this was your fault, the hurt still felt exactly the same.
A knock at your door pulled you out of it.
You froze for a second before forcing yourself up. When you looked through the peephole, Garrett was standing there, eyes lowered to the floor, a small frown pulling at his face. The sight of him like that made your stomach drop. Panic hit instantly, and without thinking, you turned and rushed back into the bathroom.
You splashed water on your face, trying to get rid of the redness around your eyes, blowing your nose quickly and wiping at your cheeks until you felt slightly more put together. You didn’t want him to see you like this. You didn’t want to see that look on his face either—the one that made it feel like you were something fragile he might not know how to hold without breaking.
By the time you walked back out, your breathing was steadier, your eyes less puffy. You opened the door again.
This time, Garrett was still there, standing a little straighter. In his hands he had a Malone’s bag. His eyes moved over your face immediately, narrowing slightly like he could already tell something was off.
Before you could say anything, he stepped inside and set the bag down without a word. Then he cupped your face gently, tilting your head up so you’d look at him. His arm slipped around you, pulling you into his chest, his chin resting lightly on top of your head.
He didn’t speak at first. He just held you.
And that was almost worse, because it made the lump in your throat come back immediately.
You wrapped your arms around him tightly, clinging to him before the tears could start again. The thoughts in your head didn’t stop, though. That quiet voice telling you you didn’t deserve this. That he came here because he felt bad. That you were too much. That he was going to get tired of it eventually. That you were already starting to wear him down.
You clung to him harder, like if you let go even a little bit, you’d fall apart completely.
“What—what are you doing here?” you asked, your voice breaking slightly, like you were trying to distract him, or maybe yourself.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, then pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.
“I brought you some food,” he said quietly.
You frowned at him, because you knew him well enough to know he wasn’t saying the full truth. He wasn’t going to admit he was worried. He never did, not in a way that would make you feel worse.
“Besides,” he added, a small hint of teasing in his voice, “do I need an excuse to see my girlfriend?”
A soft laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.
“I guess not,” you murmured.
He pulled you back in again, kissing you softly this time, and you melted into it without thinking. When you broke apart, he guided you toward your room like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He set the food down and ate with you, the two of you falling into an easy quiet after a while. Eventually, he sat back against your headboard, and you rested your head in his lap. His fingers moved through your hair slowly, steady and grounding.
After a few minutes, he spoke.
“Are you going to tell me what’s really wrong now?”
You looked up at him. For a moment, you hesitated, your fingers picking at each other in your lap. You weren’t sure you were ready to go back there fully, but you also knew Garrett wasn’t going to push.
“I spoke to my dad,” you said finally.
He didn’t interrupt. He just kept stroking your hair, waiting.
“He has a new family,” you continued quietly. “And he wants me to come visit this weekend.”
Garrett’s expression softened immediately. “And do you want to?”
You shrugged, still avoiding his eyes.
Garrett didn’t respond right away. His hand stayed in your hair, slow and steady, like he was giving you space without letting you feel alone in it.
“I can come with you if you want me to,” he said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.
The words hit you immediately.
You shook your head before he even finished the sentence. “Absolutely not. I can’t make you do that.”
Just the idea of it made something twist in your chest. Taking him there, putting him in the middle of that, letting him see all of it—it felt wrong in a way you couldn’t properly explain. Like it would somehow make everything more real, more exposed. Like you’d be dragging him into a version of your life you were still trying to keep separate from him.
Garrett didn’t look surprised by your answer. If anything, his expression softened even more.
Your eyes flicked up to his.
“I’m not doing it because you’re making me,” he added. “I’m offering because I want to.”
Your throat tightened slightly, and you looked away again, focusing on your fingers instead of his face.
“I don’t want you to see it,” you admitted quietly. The words came out smaller than you intended. “I don’t want you to see… that part of me.”
There was a pause, and then his hand shifted, gently tilting your chin back toward him so you had no choice but to meet his eyes.
“That part of you?” he repeated, not unkindly. Just confused in a way that made it clear he didn’t accept what you were implying.
Your chest tightened again.
You didn’t answer right away, because there wasn’t a clean way to explain it. How do you tell someone that you feel like there’s a version of your life that’s too messy, too painful, too much—and you’re scared that if they see it, they’ll start looking at you differently?
Garrett seemed to understand the silence anyway.
“I don’t need everything to make sense,” he said quietly. “And I don’t need you to be okay all the time.”
His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek like he was grounding you back into the moment.
“I just need you to stop acting like I’m gonna disappear the second things get hard.”
That landed heavier than you expected.
Because that was exactly what your brain kept preparing for.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The entire drive to your father's house felt like you were heading toward an execution.
You sat in the passenger seat with your hands wrapped tightly around the pie resting in your lap. It was something you'd picked up on the way over, a last-minute decision that somehow made the visit feel less empty. The aluminum tin dug into your palms as you stared out the window, watching familiar neighborhoods blur past while your stomach twisted itself into knots.
It had been three years since you'd seen your dad. The last time being at your mothers funeral and even that was just a quick check in with you before he had to leave.
Three years since you'd stood in the same room as him, heard his voice without it coming through a phone speaker, looked him in the eye instead of seeing him in pictures online. There had been the occasional text over the years. Birthday messages. Holiday greetings. Random check-ins that always felt awkward and forced. You usually responded with something short before letting the conversation die.
You still weren't entirely sure why you'd agreed to come.
Maybe it was because he'd mentioned Rachel wanted to see you. Maybe it was because part of you had always been curious about the woman who'd become more important than his daughter. Whatever the reason, it felt too late to back out now.
Every few minutes Garrett's hand would leave the steering wheel and find yours. Sometimes he squeezed your fingers. Sometimes his thumb brushed over your knuckles. He never said anything about it, but you knew he could tell how nervous you were.
The house came into view far too quickly.
Garrett pulled up to the curb and turned off the engine. The sudden silence felt deafening.
You stared at the front door.
You could text your dad and tell him something came up. You could claim you were sick. You could tell Garrett to put the car in reverse and drive away before anyone knew you'd arrived.
A warm hand settled over yours before you could disappear too far into your thoughts.
You looked over and found Garrett already watching you.
"Last chance to run," you muttered, twisting his fingers between your own in a desperate attempt to calm yourself.
A small smile appeared on his face.
You sighed dramatically. "No?"
"Nope. I've already spent all morning preparing my polite boyfriend routine."
That earned the smallest laugh from you.
"Yeah. Firm handshake. Good posture. Lots of eye contact. Maybe a 'yes, sir' if I'm feeling ambitious."
His smile softened as he squeezed your hand.
"You don't have to do this alone."
The teasing disappeared from his voice completely.
"If you decide you've had enough, just squeeze my hand."
"I'll tell everyone I suddenly got diarrhea and we need to leave immediately."
A surprised laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
"You are absolutely not."
"I am. I'll even add dramatic stomach cramps if necessary."
Your smile grew despite yourself.
The sight seemed to relax him as much as it relaxed you.
He leaned across the center console and kissed you gently. It wasn't a passionate kiss or a dramatic one. It was grounding. Familiar. The kind of kiss that reminded you that no matter how awful tonight became, Garrett would be there beside you through all of it.
When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours for a moment.
You weren't entirely convinced.
The two of you climbed out of the car, and Garrett's hand settled against your lower back as you walked up the driveway. The gesture was subtle, but it made you feel steadier somehow.
Before you could knock, the front door swung open.
Your father stood there smiling.
The nickname hit you harder than you expected.
Before you could react, he wrapped his arms around you.
Your entire body went rigid.
It wasn't that you hated him. You weren't even sure if hate was the right word for what you felt. The problem was that he was practically a stranger now, and strangers didn't get to hug you like they still knew you.
When he pulled away, he looked genuinely happy to see you.
The answer came out too quickly.
You immediately thrust the pie into his hands.
"I didn't know what to bring."
"You didn't have to bring anything."
Then his attention shifted to Garrett standing beside you.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
You opened your mouth, but Garrett beat you to it.
He stepped forward and held out his hand.
"Garrett Graham, sir. Her boyfriend."
For a split second your dad looked genuinely caught off guard.
Then he laughed and shook Garrett's hand.
"Nice to meet you. You can call me Aaron."
"Nice to meet you too, Aaron”. Your father stepped aside and invited both of you in. The first thing you noticed wasn't the furniture or the decorations. It was the photographs,they were everywhere.
Family vacations. Christmas mornings. Birthday parties. School pictures. Smiling faces frozen behind glass frames lining shelves and walls. An entire life. An entire family.
"Rach," your father called. "She's here."
Rachel appeared from the kitchen almost immediately, two children following behind her.
The second she saw you, her face lit up.
"Oh my gosh." Before you could react, she pulled you into a hug.
The last time you'd seen her in person had been your father's wedding. You'd still been a kid.
"Yeah," you answered quietly.
The silence that followed felt awkward until Garrett smoothly stepped forward.
"I'm Garrett, by the way. It's nice to meet you Mrs Hale"
Rachel smiled and shook his hand.
"Well, luckily I made enough food for a small army."
"Oh, don't call me ma'am. You're making me feel ancient." That made him laugh.
"Sorry. Thank you, Rachel."
Your father pointed toward the two kids. "This is Rowan and that's Reagan ." The older boy gave a small wave and the younger girl immediately hid behind Rachel's leg before peeking around it and waving shyly.
The moment felt strangely surreal. You already knew what they looked like. You'd seen enough pictures over the years for that. But standing in front of them felt different. Real.
Dinner was ready soon after, and everyone gathered around the table. You ended up seated beside Garrett while your father sat at the head. Rachel sat across from you with the kids on either side of her.
The longer dinner went on, the harder it became to ignore the ache in your chest.
Your eyes drifted toward Reagan.
She leaned against your father's shoulder while she talked. Without thinking, he reached over and helped cut up her food. A moment so small nobody else noticed but it hit you like a punch. She was the same age you'd been when he left.
Looking at her made it impossible not to think about that little girl you used to be. The one who waited by windows. The one who thought every phone call meant Dad was coming back. The one who couldn't understand why she suddenly wasn't enough anymore.
The lump forming in your throat became difficult to swallow.
Under the table, Garrett's hand found yours. His fingers slid between yours naturally, like he already knew exactly where your thoughts had gone. Two gentle squeezes.
The code had developed over months together. Small signals exchanged in crowded rooms and long lectures and uncomfortable situations.
You squeezed his hand once.
It wasn't entirely true but Garrett didn't let go. Throughout dinner, Rachel made a noticeable effort to include you. She asked questions about your classes, your friends, your plans after graduation. Whenever conversation started drifting away from you, she found a way to bring you back into it.
You appreciated it more than you could admit, but at the same time, every attempt somehow reminded you how much time had already passed.
How many years had existed without you sitting at this table.
How many dinners had happened before this one.
How many memories filled the walls around you.
You answered politely when spoken to, but the entire evening felt distant, almost unreal, like you were standing outside a window looking in.
Thankfully, Garrett seemed to sense it. Whenever attention shifted toward you for too long, he effortlessly redirected it toward himself. He answered questions, told stories, and made everyone laugh.
Within twenty minutes, Rowan was asking him about hockey, Reagan had decided he was her favorite person at the table, and even your father seemed amused by him.
Garrett handled the conversation so naturally that nobody appeared to notice how often he was shielding you from it.
After the dinner, Your father stood in the driveway long after dinner had ended, insisting on walking the two of you to the car despite your quiet protests. The evening had already drained you enough. The last thing you wanted was to be left alone with him, waiting for whatever apology or explanation he thought would somehow make things better.
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Garrett,” he said, reaching out to shake Garrett’s hand. His smile was polite, almost strained at the edges, like he was trying too hard to make the moment look normal. “Hopefully this won’t be the last time we see each other.”
The words were directed at Garrett, but your father was looking at you when he said them. You immediately looked away because you couldn't bear the hopeful expression on his face.
“It was nice meeting you too, sir,” Garrett said, courteous as always, his voice calm and steady in a way that made you feel even more fragile by comparison. He looked at you then, his expression quietly asking whether you were going to be okay, and you gave him the smallest nod you could manage before he slipped into the car.
You wrapped your arms around yourself while your father remained standing beside the driveway, the night air suddenly feeling too cold against your skin. He was smiling, but it did not reach his eyes. If anything, it looked like the smile was hurting him.
“I’m happy you gave us a chance and came over,” he said softly.
You did not know what to say to that. You had given him a chance, maybe, but you still did not understand why you had agreed to come in the first place. Maybe a part of you had been tired of carrying all that anger alone. Maybe a smaller, sadder part of you had wanted to see if he would be any different now that enough time had passed.
“Rachel and the kids were really happy you came,” he added.
You nodded, still saying nothing, because your silence was safer than your voice. If you spoke, you knew the words would come out sharper than you wanted them to.
“I know with your mum gone, I haven’t—”
Your chest tightened immediately, and before he could finish, you cut him off. This was not a conversation you were willing to have standing in a driveway, as though one dinner could somehow erase everything that had broken between you. You could feel your pulse in your throat, the old grief and the newer anger twisting together until you could hardly tell them apart.
“I would rather not talk about that,” you said, your voice strained but controlled. “Thank you for inviting me. You have a beautiful family.”
You did not wait for him to answer, and turned away before he could say anything else, because if he kept talking, you were not sure you would be able to keep yourself together. You slid into the car and shut the door behind you, and Garrett started the engine without asking questions, pulling out of the driveway and leaving your father behind in the light spilling from the porch.
The drive to Garrett’s apartment was painfully quiet. It was not an uncomfortable silence, exactly. You stared out the window and tried so hard not to cry that your throat began to ache. You were angry, but you were also ashamed of how much it still hurt. You hated that he could still get to you.
You hated that a single dinner had dug up all the things you had tried so hard to bury. And underneath all of it was the awful, quiet fact that you did not even fully understand what you were feeling. Grief, resentment, humiliation and loneliness all blurred together until your chest felt heavy enough to collapse under.
When you finally looked up, you realized you were already in front of Garrett’s apartment. You did not have to say that you did not want to be alone. You would never have admitted it out loud, not with your pride and he knew that.
Tears began to spill over before you could stop them and you did not even know what you were crying for at first. Maybe it was for your father, and all the years of being left behind. Maybe it was the humiliating ache of seeing him happy while you were still carrying everything he had done. Maybe it was the way Garrett could look at you and seem to understand the whole mess of your heart without you having to explain a single thing. Whatever it was, the tears came faster once they started, and suddenly you could not hold yourself together anymore.
“Baby…” Garrett said, and his voice cracked with concern.
He did not hesitate. He reached for you immediately and pulled you into him and the second you were in his arms, something in you finally gave way completely, like your body had been waiting all evening for permission to fall apart.
“I’m sorry… I don’t know why—” you managed, embarrassed even through the tears, because crying in front of someone always made you feel raw and exposed .
Garrett pulled back just enough to look at you, and when he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushed gently over your skin. His frown was soft, not disappointed or frustrated, just full of quiet concern that made your chest ache all over again.
“You don’t have to apologize,” he said. “Never apologize for showing your emotions.”
That made your chin wobble, and the helplessness of it only made you cry harder. His tenderness was almost worse than anger would have been, because there was no edge to hide behind with Garrett. There was only honesty and care.
“Seeing him happy should make me feel good,” you said, voice trembling as it finally broke open. “But it doesn’t.”
“He left me,” you continued, words spilling faster now, like once they started they couldn’t be stopped. “And he didn’t look back. I wasn’t enough for him to stay.”
Your fingers curled tighter into Garrett’s shirt as if it was the only thing anchoring you.
“When my mum died, he came to the funeral,” you said, swallowing hard, your voice shaking more with every sentence. “And all he did was talk about how sorry he was. How he should’ve been there. How he failed her.”
A bitter laugh slipped out through your tears, but it didn’t hold any humor.
“And I just sat there listening to him talk about her like she was the only thing he lost.”
Your throat tightened painfully.
“She wasn’t the only person he abandoned.”
The words came out quieter this time, heavier.
“I lost my mum,” you whispered, “and somehow I ended up comforting him.”
You shook your head slightly, like you were still trying to make sense of it years later. Like it still didn’t sit right inside you.
“And tonight,” you continued, voice cracking again, “watching him laugh with his kids… acting like this version of him actually exists… I just kept thinking—”
“Why couldn’t I get that?”
.The words hung in the air between you, raw and aching, like once they left your mouth there was no taking them back. For a second, you almost wished you could swallow them again. You could still feel the weight of them settling in your chest, the sting of admitting something you had spent years refusing to say out loud.
Garrett’s face softened. He pulled back just enough to brush the hair away from your face, but he didn’t let you go. His hands stayed on you as if he was afraid you might disappear if he loosened his grip even a little.
“You were a kid,” he said quietly, each word careful and steady. “You didn’t do anything to make somebody stay or leave. That was on him. Not you.”
His jaw tightened for a second, and you could see the anger he was trying to keep under control, not at you, never at you, but at the man who had made you carry this for so long.
“I know it hurts,” he added more softly. “And I know it messes with your head seeing him be a different person with someone else. But that does not mean there was something wrong with you. It means he failed you.”
His thumb brushed gently over your cheek.
“You were always worth staying for,” he said, his voice lower now, almost tender enough to break your heart. “He just wasn’t capable of doing it.”
Something inside you cracked open at that, and you felt yourself love him even harder for saying exactly what you needed to hear. You leaned in before you could overthink it and kissed him, putting every bit of love and pain and relief into it.
Garrett kissed you back immediately, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he pulled you closer. Your fingers slipped into his hair, and for a moment it felt like everything else disappeared. When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathing a little harder.
“Trust me,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lips, “I want nothing more than this right now, but not when you’re hurting like this.”
You groaned softly, but you nodded because you understood, even if you were still a little frustrated.
He kissed your forehead once, then got out of the car and came around to your side before you could protest. When he opened the door, he lifted you into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your head against his chest as he carried you inside.
The apartment was quiet when you got in.
You looked around, surprised. “Where are the boys?”
It was Saturday night, and usually that meant noise, movement, people somewhere in the background. At least one of them should have been here.
You caught the small hesitation in Garrett’s face before he answered, and your brows drew together.
“They had plans tonight,” he said. You frowned a little but you let it go.
Garrett carried you upstairs without another word. In his room, you changed into one of his hoodies while he took off his clothes, and soon you were both under the covers.
He pulled you close immediately, wrapping himself around you until his face was buried in your neck, holding you like he knew exactly how much you needed it.
**************************************************************************
The next morning, you woke slowly to the sound of water running in the bathroom. For a few seconds, you lay there half-awake, staring up at the ceiling, until the events of the night before began to settle back over you in pieces. The dinner. Your father. The tears you had tried so hard to hold back. Garrett’s arms around you when you finally gave in.
You turned onto your side and stayed there for a moment, still wrapped in the warmth of his bed, listening to the sound of the water and letting yourself breathe before the day fully began. You wanted to do something nice for him. After last night, after everything he had done without asking anything in return, making breakfast felt like the least you could do.
So you got up quietly and made your way downstairs, still half asleep but smiling a little at the thought of surprising him.
By the time you reached the bottom of the stairs, voices drifted out from the kitchen. Dean, Tucker, and Logan were in there, talking as they moved around, and you instinctively smiled, already ready to step inside before one word caught your attention and stopped you cold.
Your feet came to a halt before you even realized you were listening.
“Coach almost lost his mind,” Logan said. You frowned, standing still in the hallway, unsure what they were talking about but unable to make yourself walk away now.
“I mean, what else was he supposed to do?” Tucker replied. “He spent two months setting that dinner up.” A chair scraped against the floor and your stomach tightened for reasons you didn’t understand yet.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that angry,” Dean said, sounding tired. “Especially because Garrett didn’t show up.” Didn’t show up to what?
“He kept calling him,” Tucker said. “I’m pretty sure he called him like ten times, but his phone was off. I honestly thought he was gonna throw it.”
You took a small step closer without meaning to, your body moving before your mind could stop it. You were still hidden from view but still close enough to hear everything
“The Bruins guy looked pissed too,” Logan muttered. Your face fell the second you heard that.
“What was the point of getting scouts there if the captain couldn’t even show up?” Logan added, and the word landed like a blow.
Your thoughts started moving too fast, too scattered to catch. A dinner. Coach. Garrett not answering. Last night flashed in your head all at once, your question, the hesitation in his voice, the way he’d said the guys had gone out like it was nothing important.
But it hadn’t been nothing. It had been important. Important enough that he should have been there.
“Has anyone seen him this morning?” Tucker asked.
“No,” Logan said. “He replied to my flood of messages at like twelve.”
“Coach is gonna kill him when he gets to practice,” Tucker said, and the three of them laughed again, but you couldn’t focus on that. All you could focus on was that Garrett had missed something big for you.
“Yeah, he better have a damn good excuse,” Logan said. “Coach was really adamant about Garrett meeting the scouts.” You already knew the answer. You knew exactly where Garrett had been and why he hadn’t gone and it made your throat tighten so suddenly it hurt to swallow.
Then Dean’s voice cut through the silence, lower now.
“Do you think it’s because of her?” The kitchen went quiet after that. No one answered right away.
“I don’t know,” Tucker said eventually, but his voice had lost some of its ease. Your fingers curled tighter around the hoodie you were wearing, the fabric bunching in your fists as you stood frozen in the hallway.
“I’m just saying Garrett’s never blown something like that off before,” Logan said.
Nobody rushed to defend you or argued that the statement he made was false.
Dean spoke again, and this time there was something gentler in his voice, something tired and conflicted.
“I love her,” he said. “I really do. She’s good for him. But Garrett’s been dropping a lot lately. He missed practice when she was sick, which I’m not saying was wrong. I just—I don’t think it’s healthy.”
The words settled over you like cold water.
“Garrett loves people hard,” Dean said after a moment. “When he cares about someone, he gives them everything. But lately it feels like he’s been giving so much of himself away that there might not be anything left.”
You stood frozen in the hallway, your heart beating too hard, too fast, as if it had suddenly forgotten how to be calm. The space around you felt smaller somehow, the walls closing in until it was hard to breathe properly.
And just like that, every ugly thought you had ever tried to bury came rushing back.
The missed practices. The late nights. The way he always showed up the second you needed him. The way he had stayed beside you yesterday instead of being wherever Coach had expected him to be. The way he had held you all night while you cried over a man who had already hurt you more than enough.
Garrett never made you feel guilty, not once. He never sighed like you were asking too much. Never acted irritated. Never made you feel like loving you came with a price. He gave and gave and gave, as if caring for you was the most natural thing in the world.
And maybe that was exactly what scared you because Garrett loved so completely that he didn’t seem to know where to draw the line. He kept reaching, kept giving, kept choosing you so easily that it almost felt like he didn’t notice what it cost him.
Your throat tightened at the thought of the scouts. The Bruins. All the opportunities that people spent years fighting for, hoping for, praying for. And Garrett had let one of them go.
The realization should have wrapped itself around your heart like warmth. Instead, it sank there like a stone.
Because no matter how many times Garrett told you otherwise, you couldn’t stop thinking the same thing anyway.
He shouldn’t have had to do that.
You loved Garrett. God, you loved him so much it almost hurt to admit it even to yourself. You loved the way he remembered the smallest things about you, the way he reached for your hand without thinking, the way he looked at you like you were delicate in all the right ways—not broken, not a problem, just worth caring for.
But standing there, listening to his friends worry about him, something inside you shifted.
Not because you loved him any less.
Because you loved him enough to be afraid.
Afraid that one day he would wake up and realize how much he had given up for you. Afraid he would look back and see all the things he missed because he chose to stay by your side. Afraid that somewhere down the line, all that love would turn into regret.
And the worst part was that you weren’t sure you would survive it if it did.
Maybe Dean was wrong. Maybe Garrett would laugh it off and tell them they were overreacting. Maybe none of this meant what your mind was trying so hard to make it mean.
But the thought had already taken root inside your chest and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pull it out.
You didn’t remember walking back upstairs, only that somehow your legs carried you there.The conversation from the kitchen replaying endlessly in your head.
Garrett’s been dropping a lot lately.
I don’t think it’s healthy.
You were still shaking by the time you reached his bedroom door, and for a few seconds you just stood there with your hand around the handle, trying to convince yourself that there had to be some other explanation for what you had heard downstairs, some version of the truth that did not leave you feeling like you were about to split open from the inside, but deep down you already knew there wasn’t.
When you finally pushed the door open, Garrett was standing near his dresser pulling a clean shirt over his head, his hair still damp from the shower and darkened at the ends with water, and the second he looked up and saw you, his whole face softened in that easy, familiar way that usually made your chest feel warm.
“Hey,” he said with a small smile, “I was wondering where you went.”
The smile disappeared almost immediately when he got a proper look at your face, and concern replaced it so fast it made your stomach turn. He crossed the room in a few quick steps and stopped in front of you, his hands settling gently on your arms as his eyes searched your face like he already knew something was wrong but needed to hear it from you anyway. “What’s wrong?”
You swallowed hard, because your throat already felt too tight to let the words out easily, but once you spoke there was no stopping it. “Did you miss the scouts dinner yesterday?”
Everything in him seemed to still, not in a way anyone else would have noticed, but you noticed because you knew him too well by now, because you could read the smallest changes in his face like other people read a page. His fingers tightened slightly around your arms before he took a slow breath and looked at you with something that already looked too close to guilt.
“You did.” Your voice came out sharper than you meant it to. “Please tell me you didn’t miss it because of me.”
He looked away first, and a hollow, disbelieving laugh slipped out of you, though there was nothing funny about it at all, nothing even remotely close to it, and you took a step back before you could stop yourself because suddenly you couldn’t stand the feel of his hands on you anymore, not because he had done anything wrong, but because the guilt inside you was crawling under your skin like something alive.
“Why would you do that?” you asked, shaking your head as if you could physically shake the answer loose. “Why didn’t you tell me? Garrett, I would’ve been fine. It was one dinner.”
His expression softened immediately, and it made him look so sincere, so gentle, so heartbreakingly convinced that he had done the right thing. “You weren’t fine.”
You stared at him. “What?”
“You weren’t fine,” he repeated, quieter this time but no less certain. “You were crying in my car. You could barely breathe. You spent the whole night convincing yourself that your father leaving was somehow your fault.”
Your eyes burned instantly. “No, it doesn’t. Hockey matters. Your future matters. Scouts matter.”
The answer came so fast it sounded like instinct. He said it like he had already decided, already chosen, already let his heart go exactly where it wanted to go, and all you could think about was the cost.
“You can’t keep doing this,” you said, and even to your own ears it sounded like the beginning of a confession you were trying very hard not to make.
He frowned. “Doing what?”
Garrett looked genuinely confused, like he could not understand how something so simple could feel so impossible to you. “As opposed to what?”
“As opposed to everything else.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh and ran a hand through his damp hair. “You say that like I’m being forced into this. I missed one dinner.”
“One dinner with Bruins scouts.”
You stared at him, because the fact that he could say it like that, like it was nothing, like it was just one unimportant thing on a long list of other things, made your chest ache in a way that felt almost unbearable. “Do you hear yourself right now?”
“Do you?” His voice wasn’t raised, but there was an edge to it now, frustration finally slipping through. “You needed me.”
“And you needed to be there.”
“I wanted to be with you.”
Tears stung your eyes harder now, and your voice cracked around the next question before you could stop it. “Why?”
The frustration disappeared from his face all at once, replaced by something that looked almost like heartbreak. He seemed to understand then that this was not really about the dinner, or the scouts, or the missed opportunity, and the realization passed between you both in one silent, devastating second.
Your head shook before you could stop it. “That’s not enough.”
His eyes widened slightly. “What?”
“It shouldn’t be enough.” You wiped angrily at the tears slipping down your cheeks, furious at yourself for crying, furious at him for saying the exact thing that made everything inside you feel worse. “You shouldn’t be missing important things because your girlfriend is having a bad day.”
“A bad day?” He looked at you like he couldn’t believe what you were saying. “That’s what you think last night was?”
You looked away, because you did not know what else to call it, and the truth was that you had spent the whole night feeling like something inside you was coming apart. All you knew was that he had given up something important because of you, and the weight of that had begun settling in your chest like lead.
“No,” Garrett said quietly, “I don’t think you understand.”
You looked up at him again, and there was something in his eyes that made your stomach twist. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t annoyance. It was pain, pure and open and immediate. “You keep acting like loving you is some kind of burden.”
Your breath caught. “That’s not—”
His voice cracked just slightly, and the sound of it nearly split you in half.
“You keep acting like every time I choose you, I’m losing something.”
The force in his voice startled both of you into silence, and for a second all you could hear was the sound of your own uneven breathing. Garrett dragged in a breath, his eyes bright now, and you could tell he was trying not to push too hard, trying not to turn this into something uglier than it already was.
“You don’t get to decide what matters more to me,” he said.
And that was the problem, because he meant it. He meant every word, every choice, every sacrifice, every missed dinner and skipped practice and late night spent holding you together when you were falling apart. There was no resentment in him, no frustration, no regret, nothing you could point to and say this is why I’m leaving, this is the reason it hurts, because he had none of that, and somehow that made everything feel even worse.
You thought about what you had heard downstairs. Dean saying Garrett loved people hard. Logan and Tucker talking about the scouts and Coach and how Garrett had never blown something like this off before. Nobody had denied it, and that silence had scared you more than actual blame would have, because if even they could see it, then maybe the truth had been there all along.
“One day you’re going to regret it,” you whispered before you could stop yourself.
Garrett went very still. “What?”
“One day you’re going to wake up and realize how much you’ve given up.”
His face changed immediately, like the words had hit somewhere deep and ugly and tender all at once.
The pain in his eyes was immediate and raw, and it made your throat close up because you had hurt him now, really hurt him, and you hated yourself for it even as you kept going. “I could never resent you,” he said, and his voice was breaking now. “You don’t know that.”
You loved him. God, you loved him so much it was almost cruel, because if you didn’t love him this would have been easier, this would have just been anger or fear or a stupid misunderstanding you could laugh off later, but you did love him, and that made every sacrifice feel heavier, every compromise feel dangerous, every choice feel like another thing waiting to collapse. The realization hit you so suddenly it stole the air from your lungs: you were not afraid he would stop loving you, you were afraid of what happened after he finally realized how much of himself he had given away.
A sob caught in your throat.
He stepped toward you. You stepped back.
You closed your eyes for a second, because you could feel the end of this already, and you knew that if you looked at him too long, you would lose your nerve. “I can’t do this anymore.”
When you opened your eyes again, he looked like he had not understood the words, like maybe if he just stared at you hard enough the sentence would somehow rearrange itself into something kinder.
Your tears came harder now, hot and unstoppable. “I think we should break up.”
The color drained from his face so fast it scared you, and for a second all he did was stare at you, waiting for you to laugh, waiting for you to tell him you were spiraling and overreacting and never meant it, but you didn’t say any of that, because you knew if you did you would never leave, and leaving had become the only thing that felt remotely possible.
“No,” he said finally, but it was quiet, like the word had fallen out of him more than been spoken.
“No.” He took one step toward you, his eyes locked on yours. “ because this doesn’t make any sense. You’re upset because I missed a dinner. Fine, be upset. Be angry. Yell at me if you want. But we are not breaking up over this.”
“That’s not what this is about.”
“Then what is it about?” he asked, and now there was genuine confusion in his voice, almost desperation. “Because I don’t understand. I chose to be there for my girlfriend. Why are you acting like I did something horrible?”
You looked away because he couldn’t see it. Garrett loved you in a way that made sacrifice feel natural, and all you could think about was how much he had already given up to stay beside you. You thought about last night, how he had sat with you through the dinner, how he had squeezed your hand every time he felt you drifting, how he had held you until you fell asleep as if your sadness was his own burden to carry, and now you knew what had cost him that time, what he had walked away from, and suddenly it felt unbearable.
You wiped at your face with the heel of your hand. “I’m tired.”
His expression softened instantly. “Then let’s talk about this when you’ve calmed down.”
Your voice cracked on the word. “No, because if I don’t say it now, I never will.” You wrapped your arms around yourself, forcing yourself to look at him even though it felt like looking straight at the thing that would destroy you. “A part of me was relying on you.”
His brows pulled together. “What?”
“A part of me was relying on you to fix me.”
The words tasted awful the second they were out, humiliating and ugly and too honest to take back. Garrett shook his head immediately.
Your voice broke completely this time. “Every time I was sad, every time I felt awful, every time I started spiraling, you were there. Every single time.”
“Because I wanted to be.”
“I know,” you cried, and that was the problem, because you did know. “That’s the problem.”
He looked lost now, and the sight of it made your heart twist with guilt because you had been his whole world for a moment too long, and you had let yourself depend on that feeling because it was easier than facing the mess inside your own head.
“I kept thinking,” you said, voice trembling, “if you loved me enough, maybe eventually all this would go away.”
You gestured helplessly toward yourself, toward the sadness, the anger, the loneliness you had carried for so long you barely knew what it felt like to be without it. “The heaviness. The overthinking. The part of me that always feels wrong.”
“But it didn’t,” you whispered. “It didn’t go away.”
The room blurred through your tears. “I love you so much, Garrett.”
That hurt him. You could see it instantly.
He took a step toward you. “Stop. You don’t have to be fixed.”
“Maybe not.” Your breath shook. “But you shouldn’t have to carry me while I figure out how to fix myself.”
The silence after that was heavy and awful, because he understood now, maybe too much, and the realization sat between you like something fragile and doomed. “I don’t carry you,” he said quietly.
The pain in his voice almost made you change your mind.
“You do,” you whispered back. “You notice everything. When I get quiet. When I stop eating properly. When I start overthinking. When I spiral. You notice all of it.”
“Because I care about you.”
“And I care about you too,” you said, the words coming out desperate now, almost pleading. “That’s why I’m doing this.”
“No,” he repeated, this time with more force, though it still sounded like it was tearing something open inside him. “Don’t say that.”
“You deserve somebody who doesn’t need this much from you,” you said, talking over him now because if you stopped you might lose the nerve to keep going. “You deserve somebody who isn’t sad all the time. Somebody easy.”
His face twisted like you had struck him.
“You think you’re hard to love?” he asked, and the devastation in his voice nearly made you take it all back right there. “You actually think that?”
You looked away, because yes, you did, every day of your life, and hearing it from your own mouth made it worse. Garrett stared at you for a long time before he dragged a shaking hand down his face and let out a breath that sounded like it hurt.
“I’ve spent almost a year loving you,” he said, rough and raw now, “and somehow you’ve convinced yourself I do it because I have to.”
You opened your mouth, but he kept going.
“I don’t stay because I feel sorry for you. I don’t choose you because I’m trying to save you. I choose you because you’re you.”
The tears would not stop now, and you wished they would, because all of this was too much, too honest, too painful to survive in one room. You wanted to believe him, you wanted to take the words and hold them somewhere safe, but there was still that terrified part of you, the part that had been abandoned once and never really recovered, whispering that nothing this good could last.
“What happens when you get tired too?” you asked quietly.
Garrett looked at you like that broke him in a place he had no words for.
He took a breath, and when he spoke again his voice was almost gentle. “Then we deal with it together.”
He always wanted to fix things together. Always wanted to stay, always wanted to talk, always wanted to build something strong enough to survive whatever came next, and you could not stop thinking that someday he would wake up and realize how much he had already given and how little he had gotten back in return.
Maybe that made you a coward. Maybe it made you cruel. But all you could see now was the future, and in it Garrett looked tired and disappointed and quietly resentful, and the image was enough to make your chest hurt all over again.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered. You could barely see through your tears anymore, but you forced the next words out anyway because this was the part that would break both of you, and once it started you couldn’t stop it. “I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can.” His voice cracked. “We can figure this out.”
He was already trying, already reaching, already turning this into something solvable, and all you could think was that he should not have to do any of that for you, not after last night, not after the scouts, not after all the pieces of himself he’d already given away just to stay beside you.
The room suddenly felt unbearable. You could not breathe. Could not think. Could not stay one second longer without either collapsing into his arms or saying something even worse.
So before your courage failed you, before you turned into a mess of apologies and broken promises, you reached for the door.
The word stopped you because it wasn’t loud, it wasn’t angry, it was worse than that, it was broken, and hearing him sound like that nearly made you turn around.
You almost did it, almost turned back, almost let him pull you into his arms and undo every word you had just said, but if you looked at him again you would not leave, and if you did not leave now, you knew you never would.
So you opened the door and walked out.
By the time you reached the bottom of the stairs your vision was blurred completely, and the boys were still in the kitchen. Dean looked up first, then Logan, then Tucker, and the second they saw your face, all three of them froze. Concern flooded the room immediately.
“Hey—” Dean stood up so fast his chair scraped the floor. “What happened?”
You could not answer, because if you tried, the sob that had been sitting in your throat for the last ten minutes would finally tear loose and leave you wrecked in front of all of them. Tucker looked toward the stairs, then back at you, and the understanding that slowly settled over his face was almost worse than the confusion.
“Where’s Garrett?” he asked quietly.
The silence in the kitchen was deafening.
Nobody knew what to say. Nobody knew what had happened. They only knew something terrible had. Behind you, there were footsteps upstairs, fast and urgent, followed by Garrett’s voice calling your name, and the sound of it nearly destroyed you because it was so full of panic and grief and love and everything you could not bear to hold anymore.
You reached for the front door.
You heard someone move behind you, heard Garrett’s voice again, more desperate this time, but you did not turn around, because if you did, you would stay.
So you opened the door and stepped outside, and for the first time in almost a year, you walked away from the person you loved most.
