The Ex I Never Got Over - Short Story - Maybe!

Wren

 Not Long Enough

Weddings are supposed to be romantic.

That’s what everyone keeps saying. Like being surrounded by people drunk on champagne and false hope is supposed to make me forget I was left heartbroken on a bathroom floor three years ago.

Spoiler: it doesn’t.

I adjust the stupid satin strap digging into my shoulder and remind myself this isn’t about me. I’m here for Gwen. She’s glowing, she’s in love, and she deserves every ounce of this moment.

Even if it feels like I can’t breathe in the damn dress I was too polite to say no to.

“Wren!” someone calls, waving me over to the reception seating chart.

I plaster on a smile, but my eyes are already scanning for an exit plan. Just one drink, a polite smile, and then I can sneak out before the slow dances and the inevitable pressure to “just dance with someone—it’s fun!”

Then I see it.

Table Seven.

My name.

And his.

I freeze.

There are exactly one hundred and sixty-eight people at this wedding. And they sat me with him.

No. Absolutely not.

But before I can find Gwen’s wedding planner and kindly lose my shit, I hear a voice I know too well.

“Long time.”

His Scottish brogue hits me like a shot to the chest. Low. Familiar. Too casual, like we didn’t end in silence and destruction.

I turn slowly, already knowing what I’ll see.

Callum Boyd.

He’s broader now. Sharper jaw, messier hair, same cocky tilt to his mouth like he just got away with something. Like he always does.

He looks at me like he’s expecting a warm welcome.

I grab my champagne and lift my chin.

“Not long enough.”

His smirk flickers. Just for a second. And I hate how satisfying that is.

“Didnae lose that bite, then.”

“And you’re still showing up where you’re not wanted.”

“Got m’self an invite,” he says with a shrug.

“So did I,” I snap. “Doesn’t mean it was a good idea.”

He doesn’t flinch. Just tilts his head, gaze flicking from my face to the champagne glass in my hand like he’s considering whether I’m more pissed or nervous.

“There’s that fire,” he says.

That accent. It’s softened over the years, but not enough. It still curls around his words in a way that makes my stomach tighten.

“I should find my seat,” I mutter, brushing past him.

But of course, he follows.

“Table Seven, aye?” he says, like this is some kind of game. “That makes us tablemates.”

“I noticed,” I bite out.

We reach the table at the same time, and I see it now, the setup. Eight chairs. Two name cards. Ours, placed side by side.

Of course Gwen thought this was a good idea. She always did like playing matchmaker. What she doesn’t know is that Callum Boyd isn’t a chapter I want re-opened. He’s a book that should’ve stayed burned.

I sit. He doesn’t, not right away. Just watches me with those storm-colored eyes like he’s waiting for something.

An apology? A smile?

Not a damn chance.

He finally slides into the seat beside me, dragging it back with way too much confidence for someone who vanished off the face of the earth.

“Relax, Wren. I dinnae bite.” He pauses. “Unless asked.” Then smirks, “You should know.”

I shoot him a look sharp enough to draw blood. “You haven’t changed at all.”

He leans in just slightly, voice low enough that only I can hear it. “Aye, I have. You just don’t know me anymore.”

I hate that that line sticks.

Because he’s right, I don’t. But I knew the old Callum. The one who said forever like he meant it. The one who left without a goodbye.

The one I never got over.

I shift in my seat, suddenly hyper-aware of everything, his arm brushing the back of my chair, the faint trace of cologne I remember all too well, the way my pulse won’t settle.

He hasn’t said anything in almost a full minute, and that should feel like a win. Instead, it feels like I’m being studied. Unwrapped. Picked apart.

“You haven’t changed,” I mutter.

Callum huffs a quiet laugh. “You should know.”

I glance at him, jaw tight. “Yeah? Because I knew the guy who disappeared on me without a word? Who thought ghosting was easier than facing whatever the hell that was?”

His gaze darkens. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Really?” I say, low and sharp. “Because it sure felt like that. One day you were mine. The next, nothing. Not a text. Not a call. Just… gone.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table, voice pitched soft but steady. “I didnae leave because I didn’t love you.”

My stomach drops.

“I left because I thought I was going to destroy you. And I was already destroyin’ myself.”

I stare at him. No words. No breath. Just the ache of it settling right where it always does, deep and raw.

“You still did,” I whisper.

He nods once, eyes on mine. “I know. And I’ll spend the rest of my life tryin’ to be the man who doesn’t make that mistake again.”

My chest tightens, and I hate that it does.

The room feels smaller now. The music is too soft. The laughter too far away. And he’s sitting here like no time has passed, like we’re still us, like that kind of wound just… heals.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I say.

“Like what?”

“Like you didn’t throw me away.”

His jaw ticks. “I never wanted to. You have t’know that.”

But I don’t. Not really. Because if I did… I wouldn’t still be trying to figure out how to forget someone who left me in pieces and never looked back.

And now he’s here. At my side. Wearing a suit and a smirk and a voice I’ve never stopped hearing in my dreams.

I should walk away. I should excuse myself, grab another drink, fake a phone call, anything to keep him from looking at me like I’m something he wants back.

Instead, I sit there. Frozen. Pulled into the gravity of a man I promised myself I’d never fall for again.

The band starts playing something soft and acoustic, and Gwen steps onto the dance floor with her new husband, glowing in a way that makes my chest twist.

Callum leans in, voice just above a whisper. “You look beautiful, Wren.”

I flinch.

Because it’s the first time he’s said my name out loud tonight.

And it still sounds like a memory.

 

 

 

Callum

What I Never Said

I knew she’d be here.

Course I did.

What I didn’t expect was the way my whole damn chest would tighten the second I saw her.

Wren Hayes.

Still sharp as hell. Still too beautiful for her own good. Still lookin’ at me like I’m the villain in her story and maybe I am. Hell, maybe I always was.

She hasn’t changed. Not in the ways that matter.

She’s still got that fire in her eyes, still sits with her back straight like she’s daring the world to knock her down again. Only now, I can see the cracks underneath. The ones I helped put there.

She says I haven’t changed either, and maybe that’s fair.

But she doesn’t know what it cost me to walk away. She doesn’t know what I left behind. What I had to leave behind.

And she sure as hell doesn’t know what it’s taken to stay away.

I wasn’t ready to see her again. But the second I heard her voice, biting and breathless, I knew I never really stopped being hers.

She’s sittin’ next to me now, and I can feel the heat coming off her like she’s barely holding it together. I want to touch her. Just her hand, maybe. Something small. Something real.

But I lost the right to reach for her the day I left.

And she hasn’t forgiven me.

Not that she should.

I clear my throat, lean a little closer. “You look beautiful, Wren.”

She flinches. Doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t speak.

Just sips her champagne like it’s a shield.

But I saw it, the way her breath caught when I said her name.

I want to believe that means something.

I want to believe I still mean something.

But right now? I’m just the man who broke her heart.

And the worst part?

She still might be the one person who can break me back.

She excuses herself a few minutes later. Says something about needing air, but I can tell she just needs space… from me.

I give her a minute before I follow.

Not because I think I deserve it. But because I can’t sit here and pretend I don’t want to fix what I ruined.

The balcony’s quiet, tucked behind long glass doors and a string of white lights that flicker against the night. She’s out there alone, her back to me, arms wrapped around herself like she’s bracing for a storm.

The sight of her damn near guts me.

I step outside, let the door shut behind me.

She doesn’t turn. Doesn’t speak.

So I do.

“You should nae be out here alone,” I say, keeping my voice low.

“I’m not alone,” she answers, still facing the skyline.

I let that hang for a second, then move closer, slowly. Giving her time to stop me if she wants to. She doesn’t.

“I wasn’t plannin’ to come,” I say quietly. “Didnae even RSVP until the last minute.”

She laughs, cold and humorless. “Classic Callum. Running late for the things that matter.”

That one cuts. Because she’s not wrong.

“I didnae leave because I didnae love you.” I repeat, even though I already said it. Even though it’s not enough.

“I heard you the first time,” she snaps, finally turning to face me.

There’s fire in her eyes now. Real, furious heat. Her chest rising and falling like she’s holding back every word she’s wanted to scream at me for years.

“You don’t get to show up and rewrite history, Callum. You left. You didn’t call, you didn’t explain, you didn’t even let me hate you properly. You just disappeared.”

“I was a mess,” I admit. “Back then? I was barely holding it t’gether.”

“And I wasn’t?” Her voice cracks. “You think you were the only one falling apart?”

“I thought I was protectin’ you,” I say, the words grating in my throat. “I thought if I stayed, I’d drag you down with me.”

She steps forward, furious now. “You did drag me down. And then you weren’t there to help me back up.”

I don’t answer. Because there’s nothing I can say that will make it right.

So I do the only thing I can.

I move a little closer, slowly, carefully, until she’s pressed back against the railing and I’m standing just in front of her. Not touching. Not yet.

“Tell me to walk away,” I murmur. “Tell me you dinnae want this, dinnae want me.”

She doesn’t say a word.

Doesn’t move.

Doesn’t breathe.

And then I reach up, hand curling around the back of her neck, and lower my mouth until I’m just a breath from hers.

“Tell me t’stop.”

She doesn’t.

Her eyes flick to my mouth, then back to mine, like she’s daring herself not to close the distance. Like she wants to hate me for even asking but hates herself more for not saying no.

I wait. Just a beat longer.

Then I dip in, slow and deliberate until my lips brush hers.

It’s not a kiss.

Not yet.

It’s a memory. A whisper. A question.

And she answers it by grabbing the front of my shirt and crashing her mouth to mine.

It’s chaos from the start. Her anger. My guilt. All of it pouring out in teeth and tongue and desperate, punishing hunger.

She tastes like champagne and everything I’ve missed.

She pulls back first, breath ragged, fingers still curled in my shirt. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

I nod, even though we both know she’s lying.

“I just wanted to see,” she says quietly, eyes flicking away.

“See what?”

“If it still hurt.”

My chest aches. “Does it?”

She doesn’t answer.

But the way her throat works when she swallows? The way she won’t look at me?

Yeah. It does.

And now I’m the one who can’t breathe.

 

 

Callum

Still Burns

She just stares at me like she’s caught between running and giving in.

Her lips part, but no words come out. Just a sharp exhale, like she’s trying to hold back something dangerous.

It’s not a yes.

But it sure as hell isn’t a no.

I move in slow. Careful. My hand lifts, fingers brushing her jaw, and she lets me.

That’s all I need

I press my mouth to hers again, softer this time. Slower. She still kisses me like she hates me for it, like she’s tryin’ to prove a point ‘you left me, you bastard, you don’t deserve this’ but she doesn’t pull away.

She opens for me.

Lets me taste the hurt I caused and the hunger that never really faded.

My hands find her waist, grip tightening as I walk her back against the railing. She gasps as the cold metal hits her spine, and I take the opportunity to slide my tongue deeper, swallowing the sound.

Her hands are in my hair now, tugging, anchoring, and fuck me, if that isn’t the best goddamn feeling I’ve had in years.

I drag my lips to her jaw, then down her neck, taking my time, letting her feel every second of it. “Tell me to stop,” I murmur against her skin.

“You already asked me that,” she breathes.

I lift my head. “Aye, but you never answered.”

She looks at me, lips parted, chest heaving, eyes full of fire and something that looks a hell of a lot like pain. “Because I didn’t want to.”

I don’t give her the chance to regret it.

I spin her gently, press her front to the railing, and step in behind her my chest to her back, my mouth to her ear.

“Still wantin’ to see if it hurts?” I whisper, voice low, hands sliding down her hips. “Or are you ready to remember how good it used to feel?”

She arches into me, and that’s all the answer I need.

My hand slips beneath her dress, dragging the soft fabric up inch by inch. I find the edge of her panties, lace and barely there, and slide my palm over the curve of her ass before slipping lower.

She’s already wet, fuckin’ soaked and I groan at the feel of her pressed against me, practically beggin’ for it without sayin’ a word.

Her breath catches as I drag my fingers between her thighs, teasing slow. “Still so goddamn sweet,” I growl.

“Shut up,” she hisses, but she’s rocking into my hand now, head falling back against my shoulder.

I curl my fingers just right, and she chokes on a moan.

“That’s it, lass,” I murmur, lips against her neck. “Let go. Let me make you forget everything else for a minute.”

My fingers work her in slow, steady strokes, two deep inside her, curling just right while my thumb circles her clit in tight, relentless passes.

Her body goes tight.

Her nails dig into the railing, knuckles white as her breath stutters out in broken little gasps.

And then she falls apart.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just soft, shaking, and completely undone, like she’s been holding it in for years and finally let herself break.

I don’t stop.

Not when her hips are still rocking, chasing the last sparks of it. Not when she whimpers my name like it’s been buried under every grudge she’s ever held.

She’s trembling in my arms, thighs slick, heart racing. Mine.

And I know I should slow down. Say something. Give her a second to breathe.

But I can’t.

I reach down, unbuckle my belt with one hand, the other still gripping her hip. She feels me against her hard, aching, and makes this quiet, wrecked sound in the back of her throat that nearly finishes me on the spot.

I pull my cock free, thick and aching, and line myself up against her soaked center.

“Tell me no,” I rasp, voice right against her ear.

But she only presses back, hips rolling, eyes fluttered shut like she needs this as much as I do.

So I push inside, slow, deep, every inch dragging through her like a promise I never kept.

She sucks in a sharp breath, her whole body going still as I bottom out, buried to the hilt. Fuck, she’s tight, hot, wet and gripping me like she never stopped being mine.

I groan against her shoulder, one hand braced on the railing beside hers, the other anchored to her hip like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

She lets out a broken moan, low and strained, her head dropping forward.

“Christ, Wren…” I grit out, voice thick. “You feel like fuckin’ heaven.”

She rocks her hips back into me, like she’s daring me to lose control.

And I do.

I start to move, dragging out slow just to slam back in hard enough to make the railing shake. She gasps, fingers tightening around the edge, trying to hold herself steady while I fuck her like I’m making up for every second I left her empty.

Every thrust is deep and punishing, but I’m careful, watching the way she moves, the way she breathes, the sounds she makes.

She’s so damn responsive, every little cry and whimper winding me tighter.

“Missed this,” I rasp, my hand sliding down her stomach, palm flat over her core as I drive into her again. “Missed the way you squeeze around me when you’re close. The way you come with my name on your lips.”

“Don’t—” she chokes out.

“Don’t what?” I growl, slowing the rhythm just enough to make her whimper.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

I lean in close, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “I mean every fuckin’ word.”

 

 

Wren

It Wasn’t Supposed to Feel Like This

I hate him.

I hate the way he touches me like he never let me go.

I hate how good it feels.

I hate that I want more.

Every thrust steals another breath. Another piece of dignity I swore I’d hold onto.

He fills me completely, so deep I swear I feel it in my ribs. His hand slides down my stomach, rough and familiar, grounding me right when I think I might shatter again.

“Missed this,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “Missed the way you squeeze around me when you’re close. The way you come with my name on your lips.”

I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, eyes burning.

“Don’t,” I whisper. My voice cracks, betraying me.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

He slows. Just enough to make it worse. Just enough to make it feel like something.

“I mean every fuckin’ word,” he murmurs against my ear—and I hate him all over again.

Because I believe him.

His hand moves, finding my clit again, circling just right as his hips pick up speed. My body betrays me in seconds, tightening, pulsing, fire coiling low until I’m a mess of broken moans and heat and the truth I’ve been trying to outrun for years.

“Callum—” I gasp, and it’s not even a warning. It’s surrender.

I come with his name on my lips, same as before and he follows right after. His large frame going stiff and holding in place while holds his breath and spills inside me.

Only this time, it hurts.

Because it’s not just my body that gives in.

It’s everything.

My legs go weak.

He holds me upright, still deep inside me, breathing hard against the back of my neck like he’s the one barely keeping it together.

But it’s me. It’s always me.

Because the second the high fades, reality rushes in.

I shouldn’t have let him touch me.

Shouldn’t have let him feel me.

Not after everything he walked away from.

And yet, here I am, pressed against the railing of a wedding venue, body still throbbing with the echo of his name, while my heart threatens to unravel all over again.

His hand grazes my hip like he’s about to say something soft. Something I’m not ready for.

So I speak first.

“Pull out.”

He freezes.

“Wren—”

I feel him pull out slowly, and it’s worse than I imagined. The sudden emptiness. The heat fading. The way my body clenches around nothing, like it already misses the one thing it never should’ve welcomed back.

I grip the railing like it might hold me together.

But it doesn’t.

So I push off, forcing space between us, not trusting myself to look back. Not trusting myself at all.

Smoothing my dress down, “You got what you wanted,” I say, voice flat.

It’s a lie. We both know it. But I need it to be true. “Now leave me alone.”

He doesn’t move. But I hear him curse under his breath, low and guttural, and I feel his hesitation behind me like a weight I’m not strong enough to carry.

And then— “Wren.”

Just my name. Nothing else.

But it’s enough.

There’s anguish in it. Regret. Something sharp and real that slices right through me.

But I keep walking because if I turn around, I’ll fall apart.

And this time? I can’t afford to be the one who breaks.

the end… or is it?

 

I hope you have enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. This may end up becoming a book. I loved teh push and pull between these two and then there’s something about a man with an accent! 🥵