Dear Lando - Book Two

𝟺𝟶 ♡ Almost Is Never Enough

Almost Is Never Enough By Ariana Grande, Nathan Sykes

Lana hadn't bothered unpacking her suitcase when she got home. It sat abandoned near the front door, its contents spilling out onto the hardwood floor, a silent testament to the haste with which she had fled Las Vegas. Her phone lay face down on the counter, silenced and ignored, while the house around her was eerily quiet.

The once-cozy home felt suffocating now, its familiar corners closing in on her like a vice. Her favorite candles sat unlit, and the fresh flowers she used to keep on the counter had long wilted in her absence. The air was stale, the vibrant energy she used to infuse into every corner of the house seemingly drained.

She spent the better part of the morning on the couch, curled up in a blanket she didn't even bother unfolding. The TV droned on in the background, playing something she wasn't paying attention to. Her eyes were red-rimmed, the dull ache in her chest refusing to subside no matter how many deep breaths she tried to take.

Every once in a while, she'd glance at her phone, seeing the string of missed calls and unread messages from Nathalie, Theo, and even Max. None from Lando, though. She wasn't sure if that made her feel better or worse.

By mid-afternoon, the emptiness became unbearable. She dragged herself to the kitchen, opening the fridge only to stare blankly at its contents before closing it again. She wasn't hungry—not for food, not for anything. She leaned against the counter, gripping its edge until her knuckles turned white, and let out a shaky breath.

Her reflection in the darkened microwave door caught her eye, and she barely recognized herself. Her hair was a mess, and her eyes hollow. She looked tired—no, defeated. She pressed her palm to her forehead and shook her head, muttering to herself, "Get it together, Lana."

But she couldn't. Not today.

She spent the rest of the day cycling between the couch and her bedroom, her movements sluggish, her mind plagued by what-ifs and regrets. Every time she tried to distract herself, her thoughts inevitably circled back to Lando—his words, his expressions, the look in his eyes when she walked out.

By evening, the house was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, but even that didn't lift her spirits. She sat by the window, knees drawn to her chest, watching the world go on outside while hers felt like it had come to a screeching halt.

When the tears came, she didn't stop them. She let them fall silently, her face buried in her hands. The weight of everything—her feelings for Lando, the fight, the overwhelming sense of betrayal—pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

For the first time in a long time, Lana didn't have the strength to fight it. She let herself fall apart, piece by piece, in the hope that maybe—just maybe—she could find a way to put herself back together tomorrow.

By late afternoon, the walls of Lana's house began to feel like they were closing in on her. She hadn't bothered brushing her hair, her face was pale and drawn, and she wore an oversized hoodie and sweatpants that had seen better days. She knew she looked like a wreck, but for the first time in forever, she didn't care. She needed air—anything to clear her head.

Stepping outside for the first time in days, she shoved her hands into her hoodie pocket and began wandering through the quiet streets of Monaco. The crisp sea breeze was refreshing, but it did little to ease the weight in her chest. Her thoughts raced as she walked, replaying the argument with Lando over and over like a broken record. She hardly noticed when she turned a corner and nearly bumped into someone.

"Lana?" a familiar voice called out, laced with concern. She blinked, focusing her gaze to see Azalea standing in front of her, holding a coffee cup in one hand and a small paper bag in the other.

Lana froze, momentarily caught off guard. "Azalea... hi," she said, her voice quiet and hoarse.

Azalea took one look at Lana and frowned deeply. "Oh my God, Lana, are you okay? What happened?" She reached out, her hand resting gently on Lana's arm.

Lana hesitated, the lump in her throat growing tighter. She wanted to brush it off, to tell Azalea she was fine, but the concern in her friend's eyes broke through her defenses. She let out a deep sigh. "It's... a long story," she admitted reluctantly.

"I've got time," Azalea said softly, steering Lana toward a nearby bench. "Sit. Talk to me."

Lana plopped down beside her, staring at the ground as she started to explain. "It's about Lando," she began, her voice shaky. "We got into this huge fight before I left Las Vegas. It was bad."

Azalea's brows knitted together in worry. "What happened?"

"There's this girl—Molly. She showed up at his place while I was there," Lana explained, her voice filled with frustration. "Apparently, she's his ex. She's been texting him, showing up at the airport, leaving stuff in his house... And he just—he let her. He didn't do enough to stop her."

Azalea's face hardened at the mention of Molly. "That's... a lot. But why does it matter so much to you? I thought you and Lando weren't really together."

Lana paused, her chest tightening. She debated lying, brushing off Azalea's question, but something about the way Azalea looked at her—calm, understanding, and unjudging—made her crack. "At first, it didn't matter. I was just playing along," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But then... I started to feel something real. And it felt like maybe he did too. But it's like... he never wanted to admit it, like he was holding back."

Azalea tilted her head, her expression softening. "Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know," Lana said with a bitter laugh. "Maybe he didn't want to believe it was real. Maybe he thought it was too good to be true. Or..." She hesitated, piecing her thoughts together. "Or maybe he didn't want to risk it after everything that happened with you."

Azalea's eyes widened slightly at the mention of their shared history, but she quickly recovered, offering Lana a reassuring smile. "Lana, listen to me," she said firmly. "Whatever Lando's issues are, they're not your fault. You're not a repeat of anything. You're... you're you."

Lana's lip trembled, her eyes welling up. "It just hurts," she confessed. "I let myself believe for a second that maybe we could work, but then it all just... fell apart."

Azalea placed a comforting hand on Lana's shoulder. "Hey, it's okay to feel like this. But if you're going to work through this, you need to give yourself a break. You're carrying too much on your shoulders."

Lana wiped at her eyes, sniffling. "Thanks, Azalea."

Azalea gave her a small smile, then glanced at the coffee and bag in her hands. "Actually," she said with a spark of determination, "I might have something that can help."

Lana furrowed her brows. "What do you mean?"

Azalea stood, placing the coffee and bag in Lana's hands. "Take this."

Lana shook her head, trying to give them back. "Azalea, I can't—"

"Yes, you can," Azalea insisted. "It's fresh. You need it more than I do."

Lana looked down at the items, the simple gesture tugging at her heart. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

Azalea smiled warmly, reaching out to squeeze Lana's hand. "You're stronger than you think. And keep your head up, you never know what could happen."

With that, Azalea walked off, leaving Lana sitting on the bench with the coffee and bag in her hands. For the first time in days, she felt the faintest flicker of hope.