24. Regret

The first two weeks in L.A. were perfect.
Bill made sure of it. He showed me all his favorite spots—the beach, the little cafés tucked into quiet corners, the kind of restaurants that not everyone gets a chance to visit. Making himself look like a tourist just to show me the most beautiful places.

We walked, hands intertwined. We laughed.
I met his friends who welcomed me as if they’ve known me for years.

His house felt like mine from the moment I stepped inside. It didn’t even surprise me that Tom and Leen lived right next door.
It was almost too fitting, like his whole world was already built for me to slip into.

But after two weeks of doing nothing but soaking it in, reality hit. I started sending out résumés. Nursing jobs, assistant jobs.
Every morning I’d open my laptop, every afternoon I’d hit send on yet another application, and every night my inbox stayed painfully empty.

Now, two months later, I still haven’t heard back. Not one single interview. Not even a rejection. Nothing.

Most days, I sit with my phone in one hand, scrolling through job postings, applying to anything that even vaguely resembles something I’m qualified for. Anything feels better than sitting at home.

Bill and Tom are gone most of the time, locked away in the studio, working on the new album. And me? I’m here. Alone. For hours. Waiting for him to come back.

At first, I liked it. The quiet. The sunshine. I told myself I deserved this—time to breathe, time to start fresh.

Now, every day feels like a copy of the one before. I wake up to an empty bed, make coffee, scroll job listings, send out emails that no one ever answers. I walk Pumba. I make lunch. I sit outside. I cook dinner that usually goes cold before Bill gets home. I clean up. I go to bed.
Repeat. Over and over.

I’ve tried with Leen, but it’s like talking to a wall. Maybe we just don’t have anything in common. Maybe she still doesn’t like me. I don’t know, and honestly, I don’t care. I didn’t come here for her. I came here for Bill. Only Bill.

But Bill is hardly here at all. I barely see him. Barely talk to him. It’s like I came all this way for… nothing.

“Hi.” His voice breaks my thoughts, followed by the door closing.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye, not moving from the couch. “You’re late. Again.” I say, my voice sharp.

He exhales, already frustrated. “Please, Evi. Not today.”
I roll my eyes and turn back to the TV. “Whatever you want.”

He tosses his keys onto the counter, the clatter echoing through the room. “Can’t you just let it go? One night?”
I snap my head toward him, anger sparking hot in my chest. “One night? Bill, it’s every night. You come home late, you barely look at me, and I’m just supposed to sit here and smile like nothing’s wrong?”

His jaw tightens as he drags a hand through his hair, pacing. “I’m working. This album isn’t going to finish itself.”
“I know that,” I shoot back, voice rising. “But what about me? I didn’t move halfway across the world just to eat dinner alone and talk to the dog all day.”

That makes him pause, his eyes flicking to mine, sharp and wounded all at once. “So what? You regret coming here?”

The words sting, mostly because part of me doesn’t know how to answer. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold in the mess of emotions bubbling over.

“Yes. No.” I close my eyes briefly. “Maybe..” I admit.

For a moment, we don’t say anything, but I feel his eyes burning on my back.
I hear his footsteps behind me, coming closer.

He droops down onto the couch beside me. His hand hovers near mine, hesitant, like he’s afraid I’ll pull away.

“You regret coming with me?”

I shrug my shoulders, shaking my head at the same time. “No..” I stammer.

“You said maybe…” I turn my head, looking at him. “I know.” I mumble.

“So, do you regret it or not?”

I exhale deeply. “I don’t regret coming with you.” I say, turning my body toward him.

“But?” He asks carefully.

I exhale again. “We never spent time together. I didn’t move to the other side of the world to never see you, Bill.”

He leans back, exhaling slowly. “Evi, I don’t know what you want me to do. I can’t stop working. The guys need me. The album—”

“I don’t want you to stop working,” I cut him off. My voice trembles, and it surprises even me.
“But it’s all you do. You leave before I wake up. You come home late everyday. Sometimes I wonder why I am even here.”

His hand finally finds mine, curling his fingers around my palm. His thumb brushes the back of my hand, gentle. “Maybe I’m not so good at balancing everything. I thought it would be enough just having you here.”

“And it’s not?”

“It is,” he says quickly. “It’s more than I could’ve dreamed off. But I’m screwing it up, aren’t I?”
I don’t answer right away. Because yes, he is screwing it up. But also—so am I, in my own way.

“Why don’t you stop looking for a job and start looking for something else to do?”

I look at him weirdly. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t need a job. You need something to keep you busy. Like a hobby.”

I shake my head. “What are you talking about? Of course I need a job.”

“Not really.” He shakes his head. “You can do anything you want. Literally anything.”

I raise my eyebrows. “I can’t pay bills with a hobby.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but doesn’t. But it’s already to late, I know exactly what he was going to say.

“Bill, we talked about this. I don’t want you to pay for everything.”

“I don’t mind,” he says. “I just want you to be happy.”

“It’s not about money or me not finding a job, Bill. It’s about you never being here.” I pull my hand from his and fold my arms across my chest.

His expression softens, guilt showing in his eyes. “I know,” he murmurs. “I’ll do better. I promise.” He reaches out, resting his hand on my leg, his thumb brushing across my skin.

“Hey… I love you.”

I look at him, his beautiful brown eyes staring back at me. And I loose it. How can I stay mad at him?

“I love you too.”

He cups my cheek, leaning in closer until his lips touch mine. The kiss weakens me. The doubts, the regrets, the quiet sting of disappointment—they don’t disappear entirely, but they blur at the edges, softened by the warmth of his lips.

For a moment, it feels like nothing exists but us—no doubts, no regrets, no loneliness. I know it’s temporary, a fragile pause before reality creeps back in, but I let myself surrender anyway.

The tension between us ignites like it always does, sparking faster than either of us can resist. My anger blurs into need, his guilt into hunger, and suddenly nothing else matters. Once more, it’s sex that pulls us together, a fire so fierce it makes us forget how far apart we really are.