The Replay (Boys of Richland #3)

2. Cecilia

cecilia

. . .

Five hours earlier

Felix pulls up in front of my house, the silence in the car heavy as I look up at the illuminated front porch. It’s early evening—not quite dark yet—but it will be in another hour or so. Our neighborhood is quiet, the kind of suburban tranquility that hides secrets behind closed doors. The streetlamps flicker on as the sky darkens, casting long shadows across the manicured lawns and perfectly trimmed hedges. It’s almost too perfect, like a scene from a movie set.

My parents’ cars sit in the driveway letting me know they’re home.

Terrific.

“Do you want me to ...?” Felix’s voice trails off, soft and uncertain. He’s looking at me, then at the house like he knows what I’m thinking but doesn’t know how to say it.

“No. It’s fine,” I say, swallowing down the tightness in my throat. “I’m good.”

He nods, but his frown doesn’t disappear. “If you change your mind ...”

I shake my head. “I won’t, but thanks.”

Felix doesn’t owe me anything. He’s Gabriel’s friend, not mine. He already gave me a ride home, and that’s more than enough. I can’t ask him for more. I won’t.

Unbuckling my seatbelt, I hesitate, staring down at the still-dark screen of my phone. No new messages. No calls. The longer the silence, the harder it gets to fight the growing knot in my stomach.

We’re fine. He’s mad, sure, but we’re fine. “We have to be fine.” I whisper the words under my breath, as if saying them aloud will make it true. I’m trying not to blow up Gabriel’s phone, but every minute that passes without a word from him makes it that much harder.

The drive from the wedding to my place was only twenty minutes. More than enough time for him to realize I didn’t mean for tonight to happen the way it did, right? He knows I wouldn’t hurt him intentionally. Not ever. If I’d known the way his mom would react, I never would have pushed him to go.

“Call me if you need anything,” Felix says, his voice breaking into my thoughts as I open the car door. “You have my number, right?”

I freeze. “Uh, yeah.” I don’t, but I lie because why would I have Felix’s number?

Felix doesn’t move, though, just stares at me with that same look until I sigh and hand him my phone. He taps away at the screen for a few seconds, then hands it back.

“I saved all our numbers. Mine, Julio’s, Deacon’s, Atticus’s. The whole crew. Call if you need anything.”

“I could sell that, you know?” I say in a failed attempt to lighten the mood. “I could probably pay this semester’s tuition with the number of girls who want that kind of access to you guys.”

He snorts, but his eyes soften. “You won’t.”

“You sure about that?” I jest.

The corners of his eyes crinkle. “Yeah, Cecilia. I am.” He gives me a knowing look. “You’re one of us,” he says. “And family doesn’t turn on their own.”

My chest tightens in a way I didn’t expect. “Well, thanks,” I mutter, not knowing what else to say.

Stepping out, I close the door behind me, but before I’ve taken more than one step, Felix rolls down the passenger side window.

“He’s crazy about you,” Felix adds, softer this time. “Just ... sometimes the timing isn’t right, you know?”

My throat feels thick, and I blink back the sudden moisture in my eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

“Get some rest,” Felix says, his voice calm, yet firm, as though he’s issuing an order. “Timing for you two might be shit, but all that means is you guys have more ups and downs than most. Give him some space. He’ll come around when he’s ready.”

I want to believe him, but doubt gnaws its way into the pit of my stomach. “Thanks,” I manage.

I know Felix is just being nice, but I wish he wouldn’t. I wish he'd just be honest with me.

When he first showed up tonight, he said what Gabe and I are doing, that it isn’t healthy. This back and forth rollercoaster ride we’re on—together one minute and pushing each other away the next—it’s not good for either one of us. And I hate that it’s true and that he isn’t the first to say that to me. Julio said almost the exact same thing a handful of weeks ago.

So why tell me that he’ll come around? Why get my hopes up if neither of them think we should even be together?

But what am I supposed to do? Allow Gabriel to push me away when he’s hurting? Prove him right by leaving when things get tough? How does that help anyone?

For what feels like the hundredth time, I think about calling Gabe. I want to. I need to. But he’s made it clear he doesn’t want to talk. Not now. If I push him before he’s ready, I’ll only make things worse. I keep hearing his parting words over and over in my head. It’s over. I’m done. I don’t want to be your fucking friend.

How do we recover from that?

“You’ve got my number now,” Felix says, interrupting my spiraling thoughts. “Use it if you need it.”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

I wave him off, but he doesn’t leave right away. “You going inside?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“In a couple minutes.” I sigh. “Just ... need to get my head on straight first, you know?”

Felix’s lips press together before he nods. “My mom would kill me if she knew I left you out here alone.”

“I’m fine. Really. I just need a few minutes. Promise.”

He hesitates, then relents. “Only a few minutes. You swear?”

I raise two fingers. “Scout’s honor. I’m a big girl.”

With a roll of his eyes, Felix shifts into drive. “Take care, Cecilia.”

I watch him go, standing there until his taillights disappear around the corner. Then it’s just me, the shadows, and the hollow ache in my chest. It’s going to be okay. I repeat it over and over, trying to convince myself it’s the truth.

Giving Gabriel space is the right thing to do. An easy thing, really. One that requires zero effort on my part.

So why does it feel impossible?

Gabriel told me to back off, and I’m going to respect that.

My fingers tighten around my phone. I hate this. Hate that I’m spiraling, obsessing, waiting for a call that’s not going to come tonight. It shouldn’t hurt this much. It shouldn’t feel like we’re at opposite ends of the world growing further and further away from one another.

But it does.

Why is this so freaking hard?

It’s not like we were together together. We weren’t dating. I’m getting so worked up when this doesn’t have to be a thing.

We tried the friends-with-benefits thing. It didn’t work. Then we tried just being friends.

Clearly that also failed.

Maybe the best thing for the both of us really is a clean break.

But the thought of losing Gabriel ... I can’t. I’m not ready for that. Maybe that’s selfish, but I don’t care. I don’t know how to quit him. And even if I did, I don’t think I could go through with it.

I take a few steps toward the front door, but anxiety sinks its claws into my chest.

My parents. Shit.

Mom knows I went with Gabriel to the wedding. She was practically giddy when I left. She doesn’t know where we stand now, but she’s aware things have been rocky between us, especially after the whole Austin ordeal. She asks about him a lot—always eager to remind me how he hasn’t been around as much. Gabriel is the dream package to her, and I get it, he’s amazing. But it’s complicated, way more complicated than she thinks.

Tonight, she was so excited that I was "giving him another chance." Her words, not mine. If I walk in right now, she’ll know something’s off. It’s only been an hour since I left. The questions will start before I even close the door.

Why are you home so early?

Where’s Gabriel?

Why didn’t he walk you to the door?

Is everything okay?

Did you two have a fight?

Why do you look like you’ve been crying?

I’d have to tell her what happened because I’m too tired and emotionally drained to come up with a plausible lie. And if I tell her the truth, she’ll freak out. Dad will be dragged into it, and suddenly, my mental health will become their main concern. Mom’ll suggest calling my therapist—just to be safe—and then it’ll become a whole thing.

No. I can’t deal with that. Not tonight. Not after everything else.

I take a step back, my chest tightening, the air feeling too thick. Shit. Not now, Cecilia. Get it together.

But the panic keeps building, clawing at my insides. My heart races, my breaths come too fast, too shallow. I can see my dad’s worried face already, the fear in my mom’s eyes.

Clenching my fists, I try to focus. Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Hold it. One … two … three … four seconds.

I do it again. Then again.

It’s not working.

My nails dig into the fabric of my dress, the soft satin-like material crumpling between my fingers as I grip tighter. It’s damp from the sweat on my palms. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the tension in my chest to release. The pressure feels like a weight pressing down, making it hard to breathe.

Okay, new plan. Senses.

My therapist said to focus on my senses. One by one.

I open my eyes and latch onto the porch. Visuals first. Rocking chair. There’s a faint creak it makes as the wind pushes it back and forth. Red flowers in a ceramic pot, bright against the grey backdrop of the day. The brick steps—solid, worn, reliable beneath my feet. The wood door. Sturdy. A barrier between me and the chaos inside my head.

I shift, feeling the coolness of the breeze brush over my skin, goosebumps rising in its wake. Touch. The way the fabric of my dress sticks to my thighs, wrinkling under my hands as I smooth it down, trying to focus on the texture. It’s soft, familiar. I rub my thumb over it again, needing the anchor.

Sound. There’s a faint rustle of leaves, the distant hum of traffic, the chirp of a bird somewhere off in the distance. The world outside moves at its own pace, indifferent to the storm swirling inside me.

Slowly, the pressure in my chest begins to ease. My heartbeat, which had been hammering wildly, starts to slow, each thud a hair less frantic than the last.

The dizziness fades.

I’m okay.

I’ve got this.

I glance down at my phone again. Still nothing. The knot in my stomach tightens, but I shove the phone back in my pocket. Maybe I’ll take a walk to clear my head before going inside. Just as I start to turn around, the door swings open.

Dad steps out, dressed in his business suit, his tie loose, phone pressed to his ear. He glances at me, surprised, but holds up a finger, mouthing, "One sec."

I nod, forcing a small smile while he wraps up his call. Something about a meeting that ran late.

When he hangs up, he looks me over quickly, but doesn’t ask any of the questions I’d been dreading. “Hey, kiddo. Didn’t expect you home so soon. How was the wedding?”

I manage to shrug casually. “It was ... good. I actually just forgot something so I’m uh … gonna run in and grab that.”

He nods, clearly distracted as he tucks his phone into his pocket. “Alright, kiddo. Your mom had a charity dinner tonight, and I’m running late to pick her up. We should be back in about an hour. You want us to bring you anything for dinner?”

I shake my head, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. I don’t have to explain anything. Not yet. “No, I’m good. Just grabbing a few things,” I say, hoping that’s enough to satisfy him.

“Alright,” he says, already halfway down the driveway. “See you soon.”

I watch him climb into his car and pull away, my heart still hammering, but with a bit of space to breathe now. Thank god for small miracles. At least I don’t have to face the inevitable onslaught of questions yet.

But I can’t stay here, waiting for Mom to come back. She’ll notice everything Dad missed. My red eyes. The tightness in my voice. She’ll dig deeper than Dad did, and I don’t have the energy to deflect her.

I need to get out of here. Right. The walk. Fresh air. Maybe then, I’ll be able to think straight.

At the very least, it will kill some time. Long enough so that when I go inside, I can smile and pretend the wedding was terrific. That Gabriel and I had a great time. With a quick glance down the darkening street, I start walking.