16. Stay

Bill:
I step inside and pull the door shut behind me.

My eyes scan the room as I gather my things, moving on instinct more than thought.

I pause at the nightstand. A faint glint of silver catches my eye.

Her bracelet.

I hesitate for a second, then walk over. My fingers close around the cool metal. I slip it into the pocket of my jeans, leave the room and meet the others in the lobby.


The ride isn't that long this time—just six hours to Brussels.

I sit next to the window. The silver bracelet rests in my palm. I lower my eyes, opening my hand just enough so I can look at it.

"Is that what I think it is?"

I look at Leen out of the corner of my eye, then back at my hand.

"Yeah," I say quietly. "She left it in my hotel room."

Leen shifts closer. “Why?” she asks. “Was it some kind of final goodbye?”

Goodbye?

I never even thought of that.
That maybe she left it behind not by accident, but on purpose.
Was it her way of saying goodbye without having to say the words?
Maybe it was her way of letting go—of closing the door without slamming it.
Maybe it was her way of making it clear: this was the end.


Evi:
"It’s gone,” I whisper, looking around the room like it would suddenly appear out of nowhere.
“It’s really gone.” I drag a hand through my hair, already feeling the panic settle in my chest.

"Are you sure you didn’t just leave it at Bill’s hotel room?”

“I called. They checked. Nothing.”

She steps closer. “Then call Bill. Maybe he found it.”

I shake my head slowly. “He can’t know I lost it. Not him.”

"Maybe you can buy a new one?"

"I don't even know where he bought it. And it was four years ago." I sigh. "It's not about the bracelet."

"I know." She says, shrugging her shoulders. "I'm sure it will turn up somewhere."


Bill:
I stare at the bracelet in my palm again, but something nags at me now, something I didn’t notice before.

There’s a tiny engraving on the back of the pendant.

One word, barely visible: “Stay.”

My chest tightens. That engraving wasn’t there before. She had it changed.

A slow ache spreads through me as the meaning sinks in. The tears come quick, hot, stinging at the corners of my eyes. I blink them back, but they blur my vision anyway.

Stay.

And again, I'm in the past. The moment I told her I was moving to LA. How I asked her to come with me. How she asked me to stay. Our last kiss, our last hug, our last everything.


I step out the door, suitcase in one hand, a bag clutched in the other.

The car is already running. My mom sits in the passenger seat, while Tom wrestles his own suitcase into the trunk.

I stare at the ground as I walk over to the car, my suitcase dragging behind me with a low, scraping sound.

I tilt my head, looking at Evi's house. As if Tom can feel my hesitation, he takes the suitcase from me.

"You coming?" he asks.

I don't look at him, I just nod, still staring at her house. Hoping the door will open. That she'll come running out, ask me to stay, or, better yet, tell me she's decided to come with me.

But the door stays shut.

A hard lump rises in my throat. I blink, and a single tear escapes, tracing a line down my cheek.

"Bill, we have to go," Tom says gently, already sliding into the driver’s seat, "the plane won’t wait."

I wipe the tear away quickly, forcing myself to turn. Without looking back, I climb into the backseat and close the door behind me.



"Bill, you coming?" I snap out of my thoughts, looking at the direction of the sound. "We arrived, at the hotel." Tom says, standing in the doorway from the tourbus.

"Yes," I say, my mind still a little blurry.

I shove the bracelet deep into my pocket and grab my bag from the seat beside me.
The hotel lobby is busy, full of people talking, laughing—and I feel completely out of place.

Tom hands me a room key without a word. Maybe he can see it in my eyes. Maybe he knows better than to ask.

I head straight for the elevators, wanting nothing more than to disappear for a while.

I drop my bag by the bed and sit down on the edge.

I pull out the bracelet from my pocket. I turn it over and over between my fingers, replaying everything in my mind—the day I told her I was leaving, the way her face changed, and how she told me she wasn't coming with me.

My phone buzzes in my other pocket.


Leen: We're meeting downstairs for dinner. You coming?

I type out a quick reply: “Not hungry. Going to crash early.” And toss the phone aside.

I lie back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
For the first time in a long time, I wonder if I made the wrong choice.

What if we never moved to LA? Was it really necessary? Or was it something Tom put into my head? Was everything really as bad as we remember?