Episode 9: Fractures and Fixes

The first week of January cloaked Crestwood in a brittle frost, the streets glistening under a thin sheen of ice as Deon paced the apartment, his breath puffing in the cold air seeping through the cracked window. Anne sat on the couch, her knees drawn up, a mug of tea clutched in her hands, her eyes tracing his restless path. Three days had passed since his return—since the fight with Gary, the blood on his knuckles, her tearful confession—and the air between them had thickened with unspoken hurt. He'd been quiet at first, his hugs tight but his words sparse, but tonight, the dam broke."I can't get it out of my head," he said, stopping to face her, his voice sharp, jagged. "You and Gary—him in our bed, touching you, while I was halfway across the world. You let him in, Anne."She flinched, setting the mug down, her hands trembling. "I told you—I was lonely, messed up. He was there, and I was weak. I'm sorry, Deon—I've said it a hundred times.""Sorry doesn't erase it," he snapped, his sky-blue eyes blazing. "I was gone, yeah—chasing something you pushed me toward—and you turned to him. How am I supposed to trust you after that?"Her throat tightened, tears prickling. "I shut him out—kicked him out when I saw what he was. I chose you, Deon—I'm choosing you now."He laughed, a bitter sound that cut deeper than his words. "Chose me after screwing him? That's not choice—that's cleanup. I nearly killed him for you, Anne, and now I'm wondering if it was even worth it."The room spun, her chest caving under his rage. "Don't say that," she whispered, standing, her voice breaking. "You're worth everything—I messed up, but I love you. I've always loved you."He turned away, hands raking through his hair, his shoulders rigid. "Love's not enough right now. I see him every time I look at you—his hands, his smug grin. I don't know if I can stay with this."She froze, the threat of breaking up slicing through her. "Deon, please—don't do this. We can fix it.""I need space," he said, grabbing his jacket from the chair. "Can't think straight here." He stormed out, the door slamming behind him, the echo a gunshot in the silence.Anne sank back onto the couch, tears spilling now, the mug cold in her lap. The apartment—once their haven—felt hollow, the fairy lights dimming in her blurred vision. She'd betrayed him, yes, but she'd fought to reclaim them—Gary was gone, her mistake buried—and still, it wasn't enough. She curled into herself, the frost outside mirroring the chill within.Deon walked aimlessly through Crestwood's icy streets, his boots crunching on frozen pavement, his breath misting in the night air. The fight with Gary replayed in his mind—blood, snow, rage—but Anne's confession replayed louder, a wound that wouldn't close. He'd come back from the tour a changed man—sharper, broader, his name in print across the globe—but this hurt cut deeper than any war zone he'd faced. He loved her—God, he loved her—but trust was a frayed thread, and he didn't know how to mend it.He stopped at the old quarter, the crooked streets dark and quiet, when a figure stepped from the shadows—Elias, his gray coat blending with the frost, his scarf loose around his neck. His dark eyes glinted under the streetlamp, a faint smile tugging at his lips."Trouble follows you, Travers," Elias said, his voice a low rasp. "Saw your little brawl—messy."Deon tensed, hands balling into fists. "What do you want?""Calm down," Elias said, raising a hand. "Not here to fight—just passing through. You look like a man with a storm in his head.""Maybe I am," Deon muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. "What's it to you?"Elias leaned against a lamppost, his gaze piercing. "I know your story—hers too. Dream dust, a love pulled from shadows. You're mad at her, aren't you? For the politician."Deon's jaw clenched, the truth too raw to deny. "She slept with him—let him in while I was gone. Used her, and she fell for it. I can't unsee it."Elias nodded, his smile fading. "Betrayal stings—cuts deep when it's someone you'd die for. But you're here, aren't you? Back from the world, standing in her life. Why?""She's everything," Deon said, his voice breaking. "Always has been. But this—I don't know if I can get past it."Elias tilted his head, his tone softening. "I've seen things—collected tales of broken hearts, lost souls. Here's a piece of mine: I loved once, let anger tear it apart, and spent years chasing ghosts instead. You've got something real with her—rare, messy, alive. She strayed, sure, but she fought her way back. You gonna throw that away over a man who's already dust?"Deon stared at him, the words sinking in—Elias, a stranger who knew too much, cutting through his fury with a clarity he hadn't found. "What if I can't trust her again?""Trust's a choice," Elias said, straightening. "Build it or burn it—up to you. But don't let pride decide." He tipped his head and walked off, vanishing into the frost, leaving Deon alone with his thoughts.He stood there, the cold biting his skin, Elias's advice echoing against Anne's tear-streaked face in his mind. She'd messed up—badly—but she'd chosen him, fought for him. He'd nearly lost her to Gary's schemes, but she'd clawed her way back. Pride could break them, or love could mend them. He turned back toward the apartment, his steps heavy but certain.Anne was still on the couch when he returned, her eyes red-rimmed, the mug abandoned on the table. He shut the door quietly, his jacket dripping frost, and crossed to her, kneeling at her feet."I'm sorry," he said, his voice rough but steady, taking her hands in his. "I was pissed—still am—but I shouldn't have walked out. I don't want to lose you, Anne—not over this, not over anything."She blinked, tears spilling anew, her fingers tightening around his. "I thought you were done—I couldn't breathe.""Never," he said, pulling her into his arms, the fight draining from him. "I saw red—Gary, you, all of it—but I love you too much to let it break us. We'll figure it out—together."She clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder, relief flooding her. "I'll do anything—prove it, fix it. I love you, Deon.""I know," he murmured, kissing her hair, the warmth of her grounding him. "We're healing—slow, but we'll get there."They stayed tangled on the couch, the frost outside a distant hum, their bond frayed but stitching back together. Trust would take time—bruises lingered—but the fight had purged the worst, leaving room for forgiveness.Across town, Nina sat at a dive bar, her braids catching the neon glow, a whiskey in hand. Her breakup with Tom—a quiet guy who'd ghosted her after six months—still stung, and New Year's had left her restless, craving a rebound. The door swung open, and Gary stumbled in—his jaw bruised from Deon's fist, his sweater rumpled, his campaign swagger dimmed but alive. He spotted her, his grin flickering back, and slid onto the stool beside her."Nina, right?" he said, ordering a beer. "Anne's friend—seen you around.""Yeah," she replied, eyeing him over her glass. "You're the mayor guy—heard you got clocked."He laughed, rubbing his jaw. "Deon's got a mean right hook. Rough week.""Looks it," she said, her smirk sharp. "What's your deal tonight?""Drinking off a loss," he said, his tone light but edged. "Campaign's still kicking, but Anne's out—hurts more than the punch."Nina raised an eyebrow, sensing an opening. "Her loss, huh? You're not bad—loud, but not bad."He grinned, leaning closer. "Appreciate that. You're not so quiet yourself—got a spark.""More than you know," she shot back, the whiskey loosening her guard. Tom's absence ached, and Gary's energy—bruised but bold—was a match to her mood.They drank, traded barbs, the night blurring into a dance of flirtation. When the bar thinned, he offered to walk her home, his hand brushing hers, and she didn't pull away. At her doorstep, she turned, pulling him into a kiss—hard, reckless, a rebound fueled by spite and heat. He followed her inside, clothes shedding in a trail to her bed, their hookup a tangle of need and defiance—her against Tom, him against Anne's rejection.Morning found them sprawled in her sheets, the frost outside a quiet witness. Nina woke first, smirking at Gary's snoring form, no regrets in her bones—just a spark to burn out the old. Gary stirred, his grin lazy, already plotting—Nina, a new lever, a fresh game.Back at the apartment, Anne and Deon slept tangled on the couch, the fairy lights a soft glow over their healing bond. Elias's words had steadied him, and her tears had softened her—they'd bent but not broken. Across town, Gary spun a new web with Nina, his ambition undimmed, a wildcard loose in their world. The year stretched ahead, fragile and fierce, a canvas for mending and mischief alike.