Broken Records | Tayley

Chapter 23: Ghosts of the Past

Hayley's POV

I sat in the back of the cab, staring out the window as Los Angeles rolled by in a blur. The city had a different feel to it now—a mixture of familiarity and alienation. I hadn't been back since everything had fallen apart, and being here again stirred up a cocktail of emotions I wasn't ready to face.

When the cab pulled up to the house, I hesitated for a moment before stepping out. This was the place where so much of my life had happened, where I'd once believed in forever. Now it felt like I was walking into a ghost town.

I paid the driver and took a deep breath before heading up the path. The key turned easily in the lock, the door swinging open to reveal a house that felt like it belonged to a different life.

It was eerie, being here alone. The silence was thick, broken only by the soft echo of my footsteps as I made my way through the rooms. Everything was just as I'd left it—furniture neatly arranged, framed photos on the walls, the faint smell of Chad's cologne lingering in the air. But the warmth that had once filled this space was long gone.

I made my way to the bedroom first, grabbing a few things I'd left behind in my hurry to leave: a favorite sweater, a stack of books, and an old journal I thought I'd lost. They felt like relics of a past life, tangible memories I wasn't sure I wanted to keep but couldn't quite let go of either.

As I was finishing up, I heard the door open downstairs. My heart skipped a beat, and for a second, I thought about slipping out the back to avoid whatever awkward encounter was about to happen. But then I heard his voice.

"Hayley?"

I sighed, setting down the box I'd just packed. "Up here."

Chad's footsteps echoed up the stairs, slow and hesitant. When he appeared in the doorway, he looked at me like he was seeing a ghost. Maybe he was, in a way.

"I wasn't sure you'd really come," he said softly, leaning against the doorframe.

"I need to get my things," I replied, my voice steady. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how hard this was for me.

He nodded, his eyes scanning the room, taking in the half-empty closets and the bare spots on the walls where my pictures used to hang. "It's strange, seeing the house like this," he murmured. "It's so empty without you."

I didn't respond, focusing on taping up the last box instead. My hands moved mechanically, trying to ignore the wave of emotions his words stirred up. The house might have felt empty to him, but to me, it had been suffocating.

Chad hesitated for a moment, as if gathering the courage to say something more. Finally, he spoke, his voice tinged with an uncertainty I hadn't heard before. "I mean it, Hayley," he continued, stepping closer. "If you ever change your mind..."

I paused, meeting his eyes briefly before looking away. "Things have changed. I've changed. And this time I'm not coming back."

He studied me for a moment, and I could see the wheels turning in his mind. His expression shifted, a mix of realization and disbelief crossing his features. "You've moved on, haven't you?"

I didn't answer directly, just gave a slight shrug as I continued packing. "I'm just trying to figure things out, like we both are."

There was a pause, and then he let out a soft, almost bitter laugh. "It's Taylor, isn't it? I always thought there was something between you two."

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken accusations and regrets. I froze for a moment, the box in my hands forgotten as I tried to keep my composure. I didn't owe him any explanations, but the truth was simmering just beneath the surface, too close to ignore.

"That's not what this is about," I said, keeping my tone even. "This is about me finding a way to be happy again, after everything."

Chad's gaze dropped to the floor, his hands sliding into his pockets as he sighed. "I just... I never thought we'd end up here."

"Neither did I." I stood up, brushing off the dust from my hands. "But here we are."

He didn't push it further, and I was grateful. We were both tired, worn out by everything that had happened. He might have been the one who shattered us, but the pieces were mine to pick up now.

I shifted the conversation before he could pry any deeper. "Speaking of which, I noticed something in the terms. About Alf."

Chad looked up, his expression hardening slightly as he realized I wasn't going to engage in whatever emotional tug-of-war he might've had in mind. "What about him?"

"I'm not comfortable with you taking him whenever you please," I said, folding my arms. "Alf is my dog, and I'm not going to let you treat him like another piece of property."

Chad's gaze softened, and for a moment, he looked almost regretful. "I just thought... I don't know, I wanted to stay connected in some way."

"Alf isn't a bargaining chip, Chad. He's my dog, my responsibility. You don't get to just take him whenever you want."

He looked down at his hands, the tension between us palpable. "I just miss him, that's all."

"I'm not going to fight with you over this," I said, my tone final. "But you need to let this go. It's not fair to Alf, and it's not fair to me."

Chad sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. I'll talk to my lawyer about it."

"Good," I replied, picking up the last box and heading for the door. I didn't want to give him any more power over me than he already had.

I paused for a moment at the doorway, the last box cradled in my arms. The silence between us was thick, heavy with all the words we hadn't said and probably never would. I took a slow, deep breath, then reached into my pocket and pulled out the keys to the house—our house, once upon a time.

Turning back to face him, I held the keys out. He looked at them, then at me, his expression unreadable. For a second, I almost felt a pang of something—nostalgia, maybe, or the faintest trace of what used to be. But it was fleeting, like the shadow of a cloud passing over the sun.

"This was never just a house," I said softly, my voice carrying more weight than I intended. "But it's yours now. I don't need it anymore."

Chad's hand closed around the keys, and I saw the flicker of something in his eyes—regret, understanding, maybe even a hint of sadness. But I didn't dwell on it. I had spent too much time picking through the ruins of what we once had, trying to make sense of it all.

As I stepped out the door, I felt a strange sense of closure, like I was finally letting go of something I should have released long ago. The cab was waiting at the curb, engine idling softly, and I handed the driver my last box before sliding into the back seat.

Before the driver could pull away, I glanced back one last time. Chad was still standing in the doorway, the keys clutched in his hand, watching as I left. But this time, it didn't feel like a goodbye.

It felt like a beginning.

As the cab drove away, the house grew smaller in the distance, until it was just a memory in the rearview mirror. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding and leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes for a moment. The road ahead was long, and uncertain, but for the first time in a while, I felt ready to face it.

Because I wasn't just leaving a house behind—I was leaving behind the person I had been, and stepping into the person I was becoming. And that, I realized, was the most important thing of all.