Someone To Talk To
HARDIN’S POV
I couldn’t focus.
Not on the files in front of me. Not on the blinking cursor on my laptop. Not on the conversation happening just outside my office door.
Everything blurred together into a dull, suffocating haze—and her face was the only thing I could see through it.
Her face… looking right through me like I was nothing.
I ran a hand through my hair for the hundredth time and leaned back in my chair, jaw clenched so tight it ached. My office was silent except for the ticking of the minimalist wall clock and the occasional ping of emails I couldn’t bring myself to open.
How the hell was I supposed to pretend everything was fine when my world had just cracked open?
I should’ve gone home.
Should’ve distracted myself with work. With anything.
But I couldn’t.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her smiling.
Not at me.
At him.
Some smug bastard with expensive taste and perfect fucking timing.
The lilies. The inside jokes. The way she let him in like he’d been there all along.
It made my stomach churn.
I slammed the laptop shut and shoved back from the desk, pacing the length of the office like a caged animal.
What if he was someone from her past?
What if he was the reason she changed?
I needed answers.
But I also didn’t want to make things worse. She was still recovering. Still fragile—physically, at least.
Emotionally?
She was steel.
Cold. Sharp. Unbending.
And still, I ached for her.
The sun was already dipping low, casting shadows across the city skyline outside my window, when I realized I hadn’t eaten all day. My phone buzzed for the fifth time—texts, reminders, meaningless noise. I turned it facedown.
I didn’t want to go home.
Not when I'd have to face my mother.
Instead, I found myself driving with no destination in mind, hands clenched around the steering wheel, heart pounding harder with every red light I hit. My knuckles were white. My mind was chaos.
I should call her.
I wanted to call her.
But what the hell would I even say?
Why won’t you look at me? Why does he get the smile I’ve been chasing for days? What did I do that made you stop loving me?
My chest burned with the weight of all the questions I wasn’t brave enough to ask.
Before I knew it, I was pulling into a familiar driveway—iron gate already open.
Ronny’s place.
I hadn’t even meant to come here, but maybe my subconscious knew better. I needed someone. I couldn’t carry this alone anymore.
I killed the engine and stepped out.
The door opened before I could knock.
Ronny looked at me and immediately frowned. “Jesus, man. You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, rubbing my jaw. “Great to see you too.”
He stepped aside, motioning me in. “What’s going on?”
“Do you have whiskey?”
“That bad, huh?”
I didn’t answer. Just walked straight to the living room and collapsed onto his couch like I’d been shot.
He brought out a bottle—top-shelf, because Ronny didn’t do anything halfway—and poured us both a glass before sitting across from me.
“You wanna talk about it?”
I stared into the drink for a long beat. Then I downed it in one go.
Another burn. Another breath.
And then I cracked.
“She won’t look at me.”
Ronny raised an eyebrow. “Ariana?”
I nodded, gripping the empty glass in my hand.
“She got into an accident. I flew back the second I found out. Thought I was gonna lose my goddamn mind on the plane. I didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, just needed to see her. To know she was okay.”
Ronny leaned forward slightly, listening.
“But when I got there…” My voice broke, and I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “She looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I didn’t belong in the room. Like she didn’t even want me there.”
Ronny didn’t say anything. He just refilled my glass.
“And today—this fucking morning—I spent the night outside her door, waiting. Hoping. And then some guy shows up. Walking in like he owns the place, lilies in one hand, some boutique bag in the other. And she smiled at him. Like he brought the sun with him.”
I looked up, eyes burning. “She let him kiss her. On the cheek, sure, but she let him. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop him. She laughed with him. And me? I was just standing there like an idiot, watching her come alive for someone else.”
Ronny exhaled slowly. “Who was the guy?”
“I don’t know,” I snapped. “She didn’t tell me. Didn’t even look at me until I asked. And then—” My voice went low, dark. “She told me to leave.”
Ronny winced. “Damn.”
“Yeah.” I stared into the distance, the weight of it all pressing down on my shoulders. “And I did. Because what the hell else was I supposed to do? Stay and beg?”
“Would you have?” he asked quietly.
I hesitated.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Probably.”
He gave me a look. “You love her that much?”
“She’s not just someone I love,” I said, the words ragged. “She’s it. The air. The fire. The calm and the storm. There’s no version of me that doesn’t have her in it.”
Ronny leaned back with a sigh. “Then don’t give up.”
“You think I should keep fighting for someone who won’t even look at me?”
“I think love isn’t always convenient,” he said. “Or fair. But if she’s pushing you away, it’s not necessarily because she stopped loving you.”
“You didn’t see her face, man.”
“No, I didn’t. But I know you. And I’ve seen the way she used to look at you. That kind of thing doesn’t just disappear overnight.”
I rubbed my eyes, exhaustion crashing down on me. “So what the hell do I do?”
“Talk to her. Tomorrow. Ask for the truth. The real truth. Whatever it is—whether it hurts or not—you need to hear it. Because right now, you’re just bleeding in circles.”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“And for tonight,” he added, standing up and clapping me on the shoulder, “you’re staying here. You’re not driving like this.”
“Thanks.”
“You want food?”
I shook my head. “Just the drink.”
We talked for a while after that. About random shit. Dumb memories. Old jokes. It helped. Not much, but enough.
Eventually, the whiskey started to wear off, and my body gave up the fight.
Ronny led me to the guest room, and left me alone.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone.
Her name was still at the top of my recent calls.
I hovered my thumb over it.
Wanted to hear her voice so bad it hurt.
But I didn’t press it.
Instead, I set the phone down beside me and laid back, staring at the ceiling like it might give me answers.
Tomorrow.
I’d talk to her tomorrow.
I’d find out the truth—even if it shattered me.
Because this wasn’t over.
Not when I still loved her with every broken piece of me.
Not when my heart still beats her name.
Not when I hadn’t even begun to fight.
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