What if I Stayed - Part One: Back Where We Started

Some goodbyes aren’t final. Some doors never really close. And sometimes, the hardest thing isn’t leaving—it’s coming back.

This is a story about the ache of unfinished conversations.

About what it means to leave, and what it takes to come back.

About holding your breath for too long… and finally letting it out.

What If I Stayed - Part of the MM 'What If ' Short Story Collection I’m working on and will publish once all stories are out. In the meantime… enjoy them here on the blog.

Small intro:

One year after walking away from the man he couldn’t stop loving, Eli finds himself back on the porch of the apartment he once called home. He doesn’t know what he’s hoping for. Forgiveness? Closure? Or just a chance to say what he couldn’t before. But when Caleb opens the door, it’s clear their story isn’t over. Not yet.

Part One: Back Where We Started

What if leaving was the biggest mistake I ever made?

Eli

The porch light’s still crooked. The boards creaks under my boots as I shift my weight. It’s not loud, but it’s familiar, just enough to raise goosebumps. I used to sit here on late summer nights with a warm beer in my hand and Caleb’s laugh echoing through the screen door. Now, the quiet feels louder than it should. Like even the air is waiting for me to say something I never did.

It flickers once, like it’s deciding whether to work and then steadies, casting a dull yellow glow across the peeling paint and the same stupid crack in the third step that almost broke my ankle once. I almost laugh. It’s like the place froze the second I left. Or maybe it just never noticed I was gone.

I shift my duffel bag higher on my shoulder, my fingers flexing around the worn strap like I’m still not sure if I’ll knock or turn around. I tell myself I’ll just stand here a second longer. That I’m only catching my breath, adjusting to the humidity, anything but stalling. But it’s a lie I’ve told myself before. Truth is, this is the closest I’ve been to Caleb in over a year. One knock. That’s all it would take. But there’s something paralyzing about being on the other side of a door you once called home.

But I don’t move. Not yet.

The air smells like rain and dust. The good kind, wet pavement and distant firewood and the ghost of something sweet coming from the bakery two blocks over. For a second, it hits so hard I feel winded. Like all the time I’ve spent running just caught up to me in one breath.

That bakery used to stay open until midnight on Fridays. Caleb always got the same thing, those little raspberry tarts he pretended not to like but devoured in two bites. I used to make fun of him for it, but I still remember the look on his face the night he bought two and handed me one without a word. I never told him it meant more than it should’ve.

I haven’t been here in over a year. But every cell in my body still recognizes this street. This door. The exact pattern of rust on the old handle.

I shouldn’t be here.

But I couldn’t stay away.

The cab already pulled off, and I didn’t ask for a return ride. That was deliberate. I knew if I left that option open, I’d use it. I’d get back in, say never mind, and let the what ifs stay buried where they’ve been rotting since the day I walked out of this house and didn’t look back.

Except I did. I looked back. A thousand times.

I close my eyes, just for a second. Let myself remember.

Caleb standing in the kitchen, barefoot and pissed. His hand wrapped around a chipped coffee mug, the one he always forgot to put in the dishwasher.

I remember the way the morning light hit his face through the blinds, streaking gold across his cheekbones. He didn’t yell. That made it worse somehow. Just stood there, coffee in hand, jaw clenched like he was trying not to say something he’d regret. I think he knew. Maybe not everything, but enough. Enough to know I was halfway out the door before I ever said goodbye.

My bag was already packed, my voice already shaking. I didn’t tell him why I had to leave. I didn’t say what I really meant to.

Didn’t say: I’m terrified.

Didn’t say: I’m falling in love with you, and it feels too big. Too real.

Didn’t say: If I stay, I won’t survive it when it falls apart.

Because if I’d stayed, I would’ve had to admit that Caleb made me believe in things I wasn’t ready to want. Like permanence. Like belonging. Love that didn’t come with conditions or caveats. And that terrified the hell out of me. I didn’t trust it and I didn’t trust myself. So I left. Like that would make it easier.

I just left.

And now I’m standing here, a year too late, hoping something about this place will look different. Feel different.

It doesn’t.

It feels exactly like what I gave up.

The door creaks open behind me.

I don’t turn at first. Just stay sitting on the steps, elbows on my knees, staring at the sidewalk like it might offer some kind of answer. The air shifts. I feel him before I hear him.

“Thought that was you.”

His voice is lower than I remember. Rougher.

My spine goes rigid before I can stop it, like my body’s trying to shield me from whatever I’m about to see.

I look up slowly. Caleb stands in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame like he’s debating whether to close it again. His hair’s longer now, the curls messier than I’ve ever seen them, falling into his eyes like they forgot how to behave. He’s barefoot, always barefoot. Like no time’s passed at all. That part nearly knocks the breath out of me.

“Hey,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say.

Caleb doesn’t smile. Doesn’t move closer. “Didn’t think you’d come back.”

“I didn’t think I would either.” I stand up, too fast, and instantly regret it. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Then why are you?”

It’s not bitter, but it’s not soft either. Just a question. One I don’t have an easy answer for.

“I don’t know,” I say, then shake my head. “That’s a lie. I do know. I just… don’t know how to say it.”

Caleb exhales, long and slow, and rubs a hand over his face. “Figures.”

That stings. The words hit harder than they should. Like he found the bruise I’ve been pretending wasn’t there and pressed down, just enough to make it ache.

My throat tightens, like my body’s begging me to shut up before I make it worse. I shove my hands in my pockets to stop them from shaking. “I didn’t come to fight.”

“You didn’t mean to hurt me,” he says quietly. “But you still did.”

The silence between us stretches too long.

“I kept thinking I’d see you again,” he says finally, softer this time. “But after a while, I stopped letting myself believe it.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d even open the door.”

That lands. I see it in his eyes, just for a second—how close he is to caving. But then he steps back, jerks his chin toward the doorway.

“Well. You might as well come in.”

He turns quickly, like if he looks at me for even a second longer, he’ll change his mind. As if letting me in is easier than saying why he almost didn’t.

The second I step inside, the air shifts. Not in a dramatic, thunder-clap kind of way. Just a subtle tilt. A breath held too long.

The door clicks shut behind me. And just like that, I’m back inside the space I used to know better than my own skin.

Caleb doesn’t offer a seat. Doesn’t ask if I want water. He just stands there, arms crossed, like if he moves, the whole thing might unravel.

But it already did. A year ago.

“I missed this place,” I say, because it’s easier than saying I missed him.

His jaw tics. “Didn’t realize you missed anything.”

I swallow the ache. “I missed everything.”

The words hang between us, thick and humming. His eyes meet mine, and for a second, I see it. The crack in him. The part that hasn’t healed.

He looks away first. Always did.

The silence pulls taut. My shoulder brushes his as I step closer, barely a touch, but enough to short-circuit my thoughts. He’s right there. Warm. Real. Still smelling like cedar soap and that damn spearmint gum he chews when he’s anxious.

I don’t mean to reach for him. But I do.

My fingers graze his wrist, and he tenses but doesn’t pull away.

“I thought it would be easier,” I say quietly. “Leaving. Staying gone.”

Caleb’s breath catches. He shifts like he wants to walk away but can’t.

“It wasn’t.”

His eyes flick to mine and something behind them cracks wide open. Not shattering or explosive, but a slow, deliberate fracture. Like he’s been holding everything in place and just got too tired to keep pretending it didn’t hurt.

His throat works like he’s trying to swallow something sharp. I can practically feel the war behind his eyes, whatever he wants to say, whatever he’s afraid to.

Then he mutters, barely above a breath, “Fuck it.”

His hands come up fast, one curling behind my neck, the other fisting in the front of my shirt, and then his mouth crashes against mine.

It’s not gentle or careful.

It’s a year’s worth of silence and ache and all the words we didn’t say.

I gasp into the kiss, but he doesn’t pull back. Just grips harder, like he thinks I’ll vanish again if he lets go. My back hits the hallway wall with a thud, and Caleb follows, pressing against me like he wants to crawl inside my skin.

My hands are in his hair, dragging through the curls he used to hate but I always loved. His stubble scrapes my jaw. His mouth moves over mine, frantic, claiming, hungry, and I can’t keep up.

A groan breaks from deep in his chest. Uncontrolled. Like it’s been building for a year and this is the only way it knows how to escape.

His thigh slots between mine, and I instinctively grind down against it. The friction makes my breath catch. I feel him respond, his hips jerking forward, fingers digging in.

“Caleb,” I whisper, but it comes out broken. Like I forgot how to say his name without shaking.

He doesn’t answer. Just tugs my shirt free from my waistband and slides his hand underneath. His warm palm on my skin.

We don’t undress, there’s no time, no patience. Just mouths and hands and breathless curses as we fumble for more.

His fingers find my ribs. My spine. He knows exactly where to touch, like his hands memorized me and never forgot.

It’s fast. Hot. A little desperate.

But under all that urgency, there’s something else. Something heavier.

Like if he kisses me hard enough, he might forget I ever left.

Like if I let him, I might believe we never broke.

And suddenly I’m not here. Not now.

I’m back in that bedroom, the night before I left.

The way he touched me like I wasn’t already halfway gone.

His hands slide up my back like he can’t get close enough, until suddenly, he freezes. Just for a second.

Then he pulls away fast. Like he just realized what he’s doing. Like the moment caught up to him.

He steps back, breath shallow, and brings a hand to his mouth like it’s still tingling. Like he’s just now registering that he kissed me first. That he didn’t mean to. Or maybe he did, and that’s worse.

We’re both unraveled. Shirts wrinkled, hair mussed, barely breathing.

It didn’t go further than that.

But it almost did.

Now the silence is deafening.

Our breath’s still jagged, chests rising and falling in sync, but something’s shifted. The air between us feels thinner now. Brittle.

Caleb moves away from me. Not far, just enough to remind me it’s over. His eyes are glassy, unreadable, and he won’t quite look at me.

“I can’t do this,” he says, voice low and rough. “Not like that. Not when it still hurts like hell.”

I stay frozen. “Caleb—”

“You left.” His tone sharpens. “You packed a bag, walked out that door, and didn’t give me a single damn chance to stop you.”

“I didn’t know how to stay.” My voice cracks on the last word. “I was falling so hard for you it scared the shit out of me. I didn’t trust myself not to ruin it.”

“You didn’t trust me,” he snaps. “That’s what this is.”

I flinch, but don’t deny it.

“I needed you,” I whisper. “But I didn’t know how to need someone without falling apart. I thought if I stayed, I’d mess it up. Or you’d wake up one day and realize I was too much.”

Caleb leans back against the opposite wall, arms crossed tight across his chest. His voice is quieter now, but somehow it lands harder.

“You were supposed to fight for me.”

My throat tightens.

“You want to talk about what if?” he says, looking up at me for the first time. “What if you’d stayed?”

To be Continued. Come back tomorrow for part two

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: September 2025

Cover Design by LS Phoenix