365 Days of Rain, 365 Days of Her, Zero Days of Me Chapter 05

365 Days of Rain, 365 Days of Her, Zero Days of Me Chapter 05

Julian knocked on the bathroom door. “Hey — where’s my phone? Did anyone call?”

Chloe pursed her lips, watching him carefully. “Audrey called.”

He grabbed the phone from her. “What did she say?”

“Not much. Just asked when you’d be back.”

Julian relaxed. A smile tugged at his mouth.

Then Chloe kept going. “She still seemed pretty upset, though. When I picked up for you, she kind of… told me to stay in my lane.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, jaw tight. “We’re heading back tomorrow morning.”

“What? Julian, you said we’d check out the city this weekend!”

That whiny voice usually worked on him.

But all he could think about was Audrey Hayes. Four days away, and she hadn’t texted him once.

He kept replaying the last time he’d seen her face — that look in her eyes, like the light behind them had gone out. The thought made his chest seize.

“Pack tonight.”

He turned and walked out without looking back. He didn’t see the look that crossed Chloe’s face — the mask finally slipping, nothing like the sweet girl she pretended to be.

The drive back went smoothly. He pulled up in front of the office building.

“I’m heading up to drop off the paperwork. You can take the subway from here.”

He leaned across and pushed her door open. Chloe stared at him.
“You’re ditching me so you can go find Audrey? Julian, do you even know what she—”

“Chloe.” His voice was quiet but final. “Whatever’s going on between me and Audrey — that’s between us.”

“And last night — what you said about Audrey telling you to stay in your lane? That was a lie. I know her. She’d never say that.”

Chloe’s teeth sank into her bottom lip. Her eyes darted away.

He sighed. “Get out of the car, Chloe. You’re young. I won’t hold this against you.”

He stood waiting for the elevator, watching the floor numbers tick down, and his mind drifted.

Fresh out of college, he’d been broke.

But splitting a ten-dollar street-cart hot dog outside the office with Audrey — that had been enough. He used to watch the office crowd through the window.

Every hair in place, not a wrinkle in sight, even in the rain – sliding into their cars without a second thought.

Then he’d look at Audrey next to him, picking out the best pieces and pushing them onto his plate, grinning the whole time.

No makeup, but her whole face lit up when she smiled. He told himself he’d give her a good life one day.

A car on rainy days. No more getting soaked. Heels she could actually wear without worrying about puddles.

He’d made every one of those promises to Audrey.

He’d kept every one of them for Chloe.

At first, it was only once or twice. Then his manager saw Chloe climbing out of his car and pulled him aside – told him to be careful about how it looked.

He’d rushed to explain – she was just an intern from work. But then the thought crept in: what would he have said if Audrey had been the one getting out of his car?

After he got the car, the same coworkers who used to ignore him suddenly couldn’t stop telling him how well he was doing.

Even the trust-fund kid on the team – the one who constantly flexed on everyone – nodded and said it was a nice ride.

Something loosened in Julian’s chest. He got addicted to the validation.

And Audrey disappeared into the background.

After a while, he stopped noticing.

He got used to her patience. Got used to her never complaining. Got used to leaving her in the rain. Got used to dropping everything the second Chloe needed him.

It wasn’t until Audrey was being wheeled into surgery that it hit him – what he’d actually done.

So he made another promise.

And broke it again.

The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open.

He’d fix it. Starting with this project.

He strode across the floor toward Audrey’s desk, papers in hand. His arm froze mid-reach.

The desk was empty.

Cleared out.

He stared at it, looked away, looked back – still empty.

He pulled out his phone with shaking hands and dialed.

An automated voice told him the number was no longer in service.

He opened their chat – empty now, everything deleted – and typed.

[Audrey I was wrong. I’m done with Chloe, I swear. You’ll come first.
You always should have. We’ll present the project together on
Monday. Where’s your stuff? Did you switch desks?]

A “Not Delivered” alert popped up beneath the text a few seconds
later.

The message hadn’t gone through.

None of them would, ever again.