They shuffled past me toward the door. Jason paused. “Evan, man, I’ll text you,” he said, then glanced at me with an awkward nod before slipping outside. Mike followed, the speaker’s bass fading as he disconnected it and tucked it under his arm.
The house fell into a heavy silence. Evan took a step toward me, his voice softening. “Stel, I can explain.”
I folded my arms. “Try.”
He looked everywhere but at me. “I missed you. I didn’t know how to handle it. Coming home to an empty bed, cooking for one, hearing nothing but my own thoughts. I needed a distraction. I swear, it wasn’t what it looked like.”
“It looked like a party,” I said. “A lot of parties.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It helped me cope. I was grieving too.”
“Grieving,” I repeated, my eyes on the overflowed trash. “While I sat by Mom’s bed and fed her soup. While I signed paperwork and picked out a casket. While I begged you to visit, and you told me work was too busy.”
He flinched. “I didn’t want to take time from you and your mom. I thought I was giving you space.”
“You gave yourself a loophole,” I said. “You chose the easy thing. You chose this.”
He took another step. “Please, let me fix it. I’ll clean, I’ll—”
“Stop,” I said. “Go to the bedroom. Grab a duffel.”
He blinked. “Wait, what?”
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