Ghosts Between Us (ManxMan)

Chapter 12: The Spiral (Part 2)

Cole had been staring at his phone for the last twenty minutes, the weight of his guilt sitting heavy in his chest. The message from Keaton had caught him off guard. Of course, he knew it was coming. He knew he had left Keaton hanging, but still—reading the words, seeing the pain behind them—it struck a chord.

He wasn't used to feeling this way. He was used to casual hookups, easy exits, no strings attached. But Keaton wasn't just another guy.

Cole's fingers hovered over the phone screen. He had started to type out a response half a dozen times, each one either too blunt or too dismissive. What could he say? "Sorry, I freaked out?" No, that wouldn't work. It wasn't even the whole truth.

I can't just ignore him...

That much was clear. But the more he tried to explain himself, the more the words felt stuck in his throat. Nothing sounded right, and the last thing he wanted was to come off like he didn't care. But the truth was, he didn't know how to care—how to communicate in moments like this.

His stomach churned. The thought of explaining why he had left, why he had run, felt like pulling his own teeth out. He wasn't ready for that kind of vulnerability.

What am I supposed to say?

Finally, after staring at the empty message box for what felt like hours, he made a decision. He typed out his phone number, short and simple.

"Here's my number. - Cole."

It felt stupid as soon as he sent it. Cowardly. Like he was avoiding the real issue. But it was done now. The message was sent, and there was no taking it back. His heart thumped hard in his chest as he set the phone down and rubbed his hands over his face. He knew it wasn't enough. He knew Keaton deserved more, but what else could he give?

It was already more than Cole was used to offering anyone.

Keaton's Perspective

Keaton sat on the edge of his bed, eyes glued to his phone screen, waiting for something—anything—from Cole. His heart thudded in his chest, the wine in his mug long gone but still swirling in his system, making his thoughts feel both heavy and erratic.

Why am I doing this to myself?

He already knew how it would play out. He'd sent the message, poured his heart out, and now all he could do was wait. He hated waiting. It left him vulnerable, powerless. Every passing second felt like another thread unraveling in his chest.

Keaton glanced at the empty mug on his nightstand—the oversized souvenir his mom had given him. It looked ridiculous sitting there, wine stains clinging to the edges. He sighed. Wine in a mug? He was a mess.

He hated how much he cared. How much he needed Cole to say something—anything. Just an explanation. A reason why he'd walked out without a word. Was that too much to ask?

The phone buzzed in his hand, and Keaton nearly dropped it. His pulse spiked as he looked down at the screen.

Unknown number.

His breath caught in his throat. He opened the message, his stomach twisting.

"Here's my number. - Cole."

That was it? Keaton blinked, staring at the words. No apology. No explanation. Just a fucking phone number? He felt his jaw clench, anger rising in his chest like a tidal wave.

What is this?

It felt like Cole had thrown him crumbs, like he was dangling just enough to keep Keaton on the hook. No closure, no honesty—just more questions. He could feel his control slipping, the tight grip he kept on his emotions fraying.

For a second, his thumb hovered over the call button. Part of him wanted to call Cole right away, to demand answers, to take control of the situation. He wanted to feel like he had the upper hand, like he wasn't at Cole's mercy.

But he stopped. No. If he called now, Cole would have the power again. He'd be the one dictating the terms. And Keaton couldn't—wouldn't—let that happen.

Instead, he leaned back against the headboard, running a hand through his messy hair. His mind raced. He wanted to scream. He wanted to drink more, to drown out the emotions clawing at his chest. But he didn't. Not this time. Not yet.

Keaton let out a shaky breath, staring at the ceiling. He'd been here before. Waiting on someone who didn't care as much as he did. It always ended the same way—with him left behind, wondering what he'd done wrong. And he couldn't—wouldn't—go through that again.

His thumb hovered over the phone once more. He could call. Block his number so Cole wouldn't know it was him. But did he really want to?

Yes. Yes, I do.

But he hesitated. What was he trying to prove? That he could reach out? That he could regain control? Or was he just trying to feel something other than the sinking pit of rejection gnawing at his chest?

His thumb tapped on the phone, and before he could talk himself out of it, he dialed Cole's number. He quickly turned on no caller ID, his heart pounding in his ears.

Why am I doing this?

The phone rang once, twice—then three times. Keaton's breath caught in his throat. He imagined Cole seeing the unknown number, hesitating, wondering if it was him.

Would he answer? Or would he ignore it? Keaton's mind raced, a thousand scenarios flashing through his head. But at least if Cole answered, Keaton would have control—he'd be the one steering the conversation, deciding where it went.

But then, the ringing stopped.

Voicemail.

Keaton's stomach sank. He stared at his phone, his fingers tightening around the edges. He could leave a message, say something—anything—but he didn't.

Instead, he hung up.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. Of course. What had he expected? For Cole to pick up and everything to magically make sense? He tossed the phone onto the bed, his frustration boiling over.

You idiot.

Keaton pressed his palms to his face, his heart still racing. He could feel the familiar ache creeping up—the same one that had hit him when his ex had ghosted him, when he'd been left in the dark with no answers, no closure.

He refused to let it happen again. But this time felt different. Keaton wasn't just angry—he was tired. Tired of feeling like he wasn't good enough, tired of chasing people who didn't care.

Fuck this.

He stood up abruptly, pacing the room. He needed to calm down, needed to clear his head, but it felt impossible. Every thought kept circling back to Cole, to the message, to the stupid phone call that hadn't even gone through.

He glanced at the mug on the nightstand. His fingers itched to fill it again, to drown out the frustration in another drink. But no. Not tonight. He wouldn't give in.

Keaton sat back on the bed, his pulse still pounding in his ears. He stared at his phone, waiting for something—anything. Another text, a missed call, a sign that Cole wasn't just another ghost haunting his life.

His phone buzzed. His heart leapt in his chest as he snatched it up.

A text.

But it wasn't from Cole.

It was Uncle Will.

"Hey, Key. You haven't responded to my last message, just checking you're all good?"

Keaton frowned, his head spinning. Uncle Will? The timing couldn't have been worse. He let out a frustrated sigh, the tension between Cole's silence and Uncle Will's sudden message gnawing at him.

What now?

His thumb hovered over the phone, the weight of it all pressing down on him. He wasn't ready to deal with his family, with Uncle Will—especially not tonight. Not with everything else swirling in his head.

But before he could decide what to do, his phone buzzed again.

This time, it was from the app...