Updated Mar 22, 2026 • ~14 min read
Chapter 11: The Aftermath
POV: Carter Vaughn
The week after Carter destroys everything is awkward as hell—there’s no other way to describe the uncomfortable tension that settles over every interaction with Priya, the careful distance she maintains at work, the way she looks through him instead of at him during team meetings, like he’s become a ghost she’s trying to pretend doesn’t exist.
They’re still hooking up, which is maybe the most fucked up part of this entire disaster—Priya asked for space, Carter agreed to give it to her, but three days after their conversation where he rejected her confession and broke her heart, she texted him at midnight with just his address as a question mark, and Carter responded with “yes” before his brain could override the desperate need to see her, touch her, have her in any capacity even if it’s destroying them both.
She’d shown up twenty minutes later and they’d had sex without speaking—desperate and rough and nothing like the tender lovemaking that preceded their conversation, nothing like the intimacy they’d been building, just physical need and addiction and the inability to stay away from each other even though being together is clearly making everything worse.
And then she’d left immediately after without a word, without staying, without any of the soft aftermath that used to follow their hookups.
It’s happened three more times since then—Priya texting, Carter agreeing, sex that feels increasingly hollow followed by her immediate departure—and each time Carter hates himself a little more for saying yes, for enabling this pattern, for taking what she’s offering even though he knows she deserves better than his scraps.
But he can’t seem to stop.
Can’t seem to say no when she reaches out.
Can’t seem to do the right thing and cut contact completely even though that’s clearly what would be healthiest for both of them.
The worst part is watching her pull away emotionally while still showing up physically—Priya’s there in his bed but she’s not really there, not present the way she used to be, not looking at him with affection or tenderness or any of the soft feelings he took for granted before he destroyed them.
She’s hollow now. Going through the motions. Using him for physical release while keeping her heart carefully locked away where he can’t hurt it anymore.
Carter notices. Hates it. Can’t fix it.
Doesn’t even know how to begin fixing it when the problem is him, is his fear, is his inability to give Priya what she needs despite desperately wanting to be capable of it.
He’s in the locker room after practice on Thursday—a week and two days after the conversation that broke everything—when Jamie drops onto the bench beside him with the kind of deliberate movement that means this isn’t a casual chat, this is an intervention.
“What did you do?” Jamie asks without preamble, and there’s accusation in his voice that makes Carter’s shoulders tense defensively.
“What are you talking about?” Carter focuses on unlacing his skates, not meeting Jamie’s eyes because he knows his friend can read him too well, knows that looking at him will reveal exactly how miserable Carter’s been for the last week.
“Priya.” Jamie’s voice is flat, unimpressed with Carter’s deflection. “She’s been different all week. Distant. Won’t make eye contact with you. And you look like you haven’t slept in days. So I’m asking again: what did you do?”
Carter’s hands still on his skate laces, throat tight with the urge to either confess everything or shut down completely, and he’s not sure which impulse is stronger—the need to talk to someone about this disaster or the instinct to protect himself by keeping it private.
“She said she has feelings,” Carter finally admits quietly, still not looking at Jamie. “I told her I can’t do that.”
The silence after his confession is heavy with judgment, and when Carter risks a glance at his friend, Jamie’s looking at him like he’s the biggest idiot on the planet.
“You’re an idiot,” Jamie confirms, voice flat with disappointment.
“I know—”
“No, you don’t know, because if you knew you wouldn’t have done it.” Jamie leans back against his locker, studying Carter with the kind of clinical assessment usually reserved for analyzing opposing team strategies. “Let me guess: she told you she’s falling for you, wants something real, and you panicked and said you can’t do relationships?”
The accuracy of Jamie’s summary makes Carter wince. “Something like that.”
“And now you’re both miserable but still hooking up because you’re addicted to each other and don’t know how to stop?” Jamie continues, and Carter’s impressed despite himself by how well his friend has diagnosed the situation. “Classic commitment-phobe behavior. Pushing away what you want most because you’re terrified of getting hurt.”
“I don’t do relationships!” Carter’s voice rises defensively, the familiar refrain he’s been repeating to himself for days, the justification that sounds increasingly hollow even to his own ears. “My parents—”
“Your parents’ shit marriage doesn’t mean you’ll have one!” Jamie interrupts, sharp and pointed and clearly done with Carter’s excuses. “How many times do we have to have this conversation? Your dad was an asshole who cheated. Your mom stayed too long in something toxic. Neither of those things means you’re doomed to repeat their mistakes!”
“You don’t understand—” Carter starts, but Jamie cuts him off again.
“I understand perfectly. You’re scared. You’re using your parents’ divorce as an excuse to avoid vulnerability. And you’re hurting someone who loves you because you’re too much of a coward to try.” Jamie’s voice is harsh but not unkind, delivering hard truth that Carter needs to hear even if he doesn’t want to. “That about sum it up?”
Carter wants to argue, wants to insist that Jamie’s wrong, that this is more complicated than just fear—except it’s not, is it? It really is just Carter being terrified of commitment and hurting Priya because he’s too broken to give her what she deserves.
“What am I supposed to do?” The question comes out defeated, tired. “Even if you’re right—even if this is just fear—I don’t know how to get past it. Don’t know how to be what she needs.”
“Have you tried?” Jamie asks pointedly. “Really tried? Or did you just panic the second she asked for more and retreat back into your comfortable isolation?”
The question hits like a body check because Jamie’s right—Carter did try for about two weeks, managed to take Priya on dates and call himself her boyfriend and make promises about meeting her parents, but the second she pushed for deeper commitment, the second she said she loves him and needs to know this is real, he panicked and took it all back.
“I tried,” Carter says weakly. “I took her on dates. Told her I was falling for her. It wasn’t enough.”
“Because you bailed the second it got scary,” Jamie points out. “That’s not trying, man. That’s putting your toe in the water and then jumping out when it feels too deep. Real trying means staying even when you’re terrified. Means being honest about your fear instead of using it as a reason to quit.”
“I told her I can’t give her more—”
“Can’t or won’t?” Jamie echoes what Priya asked, the same question Carter couldn’t answer then and still can’t answer now.
“I don’t know,” Carter admits, the truth feeling heavy. “Both? I don’t know if I’m capable of being in a relationship or if I’m just too scared to find out.”
Jamie’s quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks again his voice has lost some of its harsh edge, gone softer and more sympathetic. “You know what I think? I think you’re already in a relationship with her. Have been for months. You’re just too terrified to call it that.”
The words settle in Carter’s chest like stones because what if Jamie’s right? What if everything Carter’s been doing—the exclusivity, the jealousy, the tender moments, the inability to stay away from Priya even when it’s destroying them both—what if all of that is already relationship behavior and Carter’s just been lying to himself about it?
“Doesn’t matter now,” Carter says, trying for dismissive and landing somewhere near devastated. “I already broke it. She’s done with me.”
“Is she?” Jamie tilts his head toward the PT office, visible through the locker room windows, where Priya’s working with Tyler on shoulder mobility. “Because from where I’m sitting, she keeps showing up. Keeps letting you in even though you hurt her. That doesn’t sound done to me. That sounds like someone who’s still hoping you’ll get your shit together.”
Carter watches Priya through the glass—professional and competent and completely closed off, nothing in her body language suggesting she’s thinking about Carter or hoping for anything from him—and wants to believe Jamie’s right, wants to think there’s still a chance to fix this.
But how? How does Carter fix breaking someone’s heart? How does he prove he’s capable of change when his track record says otherwise? How does he overcome years of trauma and fear when he doesn’t even know where to start?
“I don’t know how to be what she needs,” Carter says quietly, admitting the core of his fear. “Don’t know how to be in a relationship. Don’t know how to not fuck it up the way my parents fucked up theirs.”
“So learn,” Jamie says simply, like it’s that easy. “Talk to someone. Get therapy for your commitment issues. Figure out how to separate your parents’ disaster from your own potential. Stop using their mistakes as an excuse to avoid trying.”
“Therapy,” Carter repeats, the word feeling foreign. “You think I need therapy?”
“I think everyone needs therapy, but you especially.” Jamie stands, clearly done with this conversation. “Look, I can’t make you fix this. Only you can decide if Priya’s worth overcoming your fear. But man, watching you both be miserable because you’re too scared to try? It’s painful. And it’s a waste.”
He walks away before Carter can respond, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the image of Priya through the window, and Carter knows Jamie’s right about everything—about the fear, about the excuses, about Carter needing to do actual work to overcome his trauma instead of just letting it control his life.
The question is whether he’s brave enough to do it.
Whether Priya’s worth the terrifying work of therapy and vulnerability and facing everything he’s been running from for years.
Carter watches her laugh at something Tyler says and feels jealousy spike sharp and familiar, feels possessiveness that has no right to exist when he’s the one who rejected her, feels longing so intense it’s almost painful—and knows with sudden clarity that yes, she’s worth it.
Priya’s worth facing his fear.
Worth getting help for his issues.
Worth trying to become someone capable of loving her the way she deserves.
The problem is Carter doesn’t know if trying is enough at this point—doesn’t know if Priya will give him another chance after he’s already broken her heart twice, doesn’t know if he can fix the damage he’s done, doesn’t know if she’ll trust him even if he does the work to change.
But maybe he has to try anyway.
Not for her—or not only for her—but for himself, because this pattern of pushing away anyone who gets too close isn’t sustainable, isn’t healthy, isn’t actually protecting him from hurt when he’s currently more miserable than he’s ever been.
Carter finishes changing and heads toward the PT office before he can talk himself out of it—heart pounding with anxiety and determination in equal measure—but when he reaches the door, Priya’s finishing with Tyler and gathering her things clearly preparing to leave for the day.
“Priya,” Carter says, and his voice comes out rougher than intended. “Can we talk?”
She looks up at him, and the expression on her face is carefully blank, emotionally neutral in a way that’s more devastating than anger would be. “I have another appointment. Maybe later.”
It’s a dismissal—polite and professional and completely lacking any of the warmth she used to show him—and Carter knows he deserves it, knows he has no right to her time or attention after how he’s treated her.
“When?” he pushes anyway, desperate. “When can we talk?”
“I don’t know, Carter.” Priya’s gathering her things, not looking at him. “I’m pretty busy.”
She’s lying—Carter can tell she’s lying—but calling her on it feels pointless when the real message is clear: she doesn’t want to talk to him, doesn’t want to hear whatever he has to say, has been hurt enough and is protecting herself the only way she knows how.
“Okay,” Carter says quietly, stepping back. “But Pri—when you’re ready, I—I want to fix this. Want to try for real this time.”
Priya finally looks at him, and there’s something devastated in her eyes that makes Carter’s chest ache. “You already tried, remember? And then you gave up. I can’t keep letting you try and give up and try again. It’s destroying me.”
The words are honest and raw and completely fair, and Carter has no defense against them because she’s right—he did try, he did give up, asking her to give him another chance is asking her to risk her heart a third time when he’s already proven he can’t handle the responsibility.
“I know,” Carter admits. “I know I fucked up. Both times. But I want—”
“I don’t care what you want right now,” Priya interrupts, and there’s steel in her voice despite the tears threatening in her eyes. “I need to care about what I need. And what I need is space from you. Real space. Not this—” she gestures between them, “—whatever this is where we keep hooking up but you can’t actually be with me.”
“So what are you saying?” Carter asks, even though he knows the answer, even though he can see it coming.
“I’m saying no more hookups. No more texts at midnight. No more pretending this is anything except us hurting each other.” Priya’s voice is shaking but firm. “You can’t give me a relationship, fine. But I can’t keep giving you my body when you won’t give me your heart. It’s not fair to either of us.”
Carter wants to argue, wants to beg her not to cut him off completely, wants to promise he’ll change—but the promises feel hollow when he’s already broken so many, and begging feels manipulative when Priya’s finally doing what’s healthy for herself.
“Okay,” he says instead. “Okay. If that’s what you need.”
“It is.” Priya slings her bag over her shoulder, clearly done with this conversation. “I’ll still treat you professionally if you need PT. But outside of work, we’re done. Completely done.”
She leaves before Carter can respond, and he’s left standing in the empty PT office feeling like he’s been carved out from the inside, like everything that matters has just walked away and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.
Jamie was wrong about one thing—Priya’s not still hoping Carter will get his shit together.
She’s done hoping.
Done giving him chances.
Done letting him hurt her.
And Carter has no one to blame but himself for the loss of the best thing that’s ever happened to him, for choosing fear over love, for being too broken to accept what she was offering.
The damage is done.
The rift has formed.
And Carter’s standing on one side of it watching Priya walk away, finally understanding that fear didn’t protect him from anything—it just cost him everything.
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