The first time I see him again, he’s holding a carton of milk.
Not just holding it. Standing in the middle of Harper’s Grocery at 11 p.m., one hand wrapped around the red cap like it’s an anchor. Like he doesn’t know what else to do with his body. And for a second, I wonder if I’ve walked into one of my dreams again. The bad ones, the good ones, the ones that leave me staring at the ceiling at three in the morning.
“Lena.” His voice is quieter than I remember.
I almost drop the basket of apples I’m holding. “Eli.”
He says my name again, like testing if it will break. And suddenly, I’m seventeen years old again, sitting in the bleachers with graphite-stained fingers while he throws a perfect spiral under the Friday night lights.
I clear my throat. “You still drink two-percent?”
He blinks. Then. God help me. He laughs. “You still remember that?”
“Some things are hard to forget.” I push past him, basket clutched tight, heart hammering in my ears. “But I don’t think milk brands matter anymore.”
“Maybe not.” He follows me anyway, steps too familiar on the cracked linoleum floor. “You’re back?”
“For now.”
“For good?”
“Depends.” I keep walking.
“On what?”
“On whether the ghosts stay buried this time.”
The second time I see him, it’s raining.
I’m standing under the tiny awning outside the gas station, shivering because I didn’t bring a jacket. Of course, his truck pulls up. Same beat-up Ford, same dent on the left bumper from when he hit the fence outside Coach’s house senior year.
He gets out, runs a hand through hair that’s damp and darker now. He looks at me like I’m still the only thing in the room. “Didn’t figure you for the type to get caught in storms.”
“Didn’t figure you’d still be driving that truck.”
He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Some things are hard to let go.”
I cross my arms. “Or maybe some people just don’t know how to move on.”
That wipes the grin clean.
“Lena…”
“Don’t.” I shake my head, pressing back against the cold brick wall. “Don’t say my name like that. Like it still means something.”
“It does.” His voice is hoarse now. “It always did.”
I laugh bitterly. “You had your chance, Eli. And you walked away.”
The storm roars between us, louder than his silence.
The third time, it’s my fault.
I wander into Harper’s Hardware, hunting for a pack of nails to fix the rotting step on Mom’s porch. And of course, he’s behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, sawdust still clinging to his shirt.
“Of course,” I mutter under my breath.
He smirks like he heard me. “Can I help you find something, miss?”
I glare. “Nails.”
“What size?”
“The kind that hold broken things together.”
For a second, the air shifts. His face softens, just enough for me to see the boy he used to be. The one who kissed me in the dark under the bleachers. The one who promised forever with a trembling hand on my cheek.
Then it’s gone.
“I’ll get you some.” He turns, grabs a box, sets it on the counter. “On the house.”
“I don’t need your charity.”
“It’s not charity. It’s..” He stops, swallows hard. “It’s me trying to make up for being a coward.”
My hand freezes on the box. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t rewrite history.”
His jaw tightens. “I’m not. I’m owning it. I loved you, Lena. God, I—”
I shove the box back at him. “Stop.”
His voice cracks. “You think I don’t dream about that night? About how I let you go?”
I can’t breathe. “You didn’t let me go, Eli. You threw me away.”
The fourth time is at midnight.
Mom’s asleep upstairs. The kitchen light flickers, and I’m standing there with a half-empty glass of water, trying to forget how badly my chest hurts.
The knock at the door is soft. Too soft for anyone but him.
I open it anyway.
He’s standing there, hair damp again, like he’s been out in the rain even though it stopped hours ago. His eyes are tired, raw.
“Lena.”
“I told you…”
“I know what you told me.” He steps inside, uninvited but unstoppable. “But you don’t get to erase us with one word.”
I set the glass down before my hands shake it to pieces. “Us? There is no us. There hasn’t been for ten years.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is.” My voice rises, sharp as glass. “You chose the easy way out. You chose to run when it got hard. And I stayed behind with nothing but rumors and a broken heart.”
He flinches like I slapped him. “I was seventeen, Lena. I didn’t know how to stay. I didn’t know how to fight for you.”
“And now?”
He closes the space between us, so close I can smell the rain on his skin. “Now I’d fight for you until my last breath.”
My throat burns. “It’s too late.”
“Look me in the eye and say that.”
I do. Or I try. But the words crumble before they reach my lips.
The last time. At least, the last time before I break completely, comes on the football field.
The field hasn’t changed. Same rusted bleachers, same cracked asphalt track. I find myself there late at night, sitting where I used to draw plays in my notebook while the world cheered for him.
I don’t hear him walk up. But I feel it. Like I always have.
“You still sit here when you’re lost,” he says quietly.
I don’t turn. “You still think you’re the center of the universe.”
“Not anymore.” He sits beside me, not touching, but close enough that I can feel the warmth. “You were always the center. I was just too blind to see it.”
Silence stretches between us. Heavy. Fragile.
Finally, I whisper, “You broke me.”
“I know.” His voice cracks again. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to put you back together… if you let me.”
The words lodge in my chest like thorns.
I should get up. I should walk away. I should protect myself.
Instead, I say the thing that’s haunted me for a decade. “I never stopped loving you.”
His breath catches. “Then maybe. Just maybe… we get another chance.”
I finally look at him. The quarterback of my darkest dreams. The man who ruined me. The man I might never stop wanting.
And for once, I don’t run.
