Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
SADIE
J asmine was late.
My left leg bounced under the small round table as I tapped my phone screen for what felt like the hundredth time.
The movement shook the teacup on the saucer sitting in front of me, tea sloshing over the sides.
I stared at the delicate porcelain like it might reveal a message, anything to prove this hadn’t been a mistake.
Then again, I couldn’t blame her. It was enough that she had answered my text message from the night before. Still, my nerves refused to settle, no matter how many times I checked the time.
It had been years, but I was hoping she’d at least hear me out. Besides Logan, she had been my best friend, and right then, she was all I had. Or maybe that was unfair. But I didn’t have the luxury of pride anymore.
I dragged my teeth over my bottom lip and scanned the inside of the Whitmore House Cafe once again.
A couple sat at a corner table, leaning toward each other, their hands linked in the middle, talking in low voices I couldn’t quite make out.
Two kids chased each other around their mother’s legs as she stood at the counter.
The more she tried to make herself heard, the louder their laughing became.
The overhead lights were too bright, the air tinged with burnt coffee and something fried. A spoon clinked against a saucer in an endless loop that buried beneath my skin. A few more people sat alone, their focus on phones, or books. No-one paid me any attention.
Exhaling, I pressed my fingertips into my eyes. What was the average time someone should have waited before they realised they’d been stood up? Twenty minutes? An hour? Maybe a lifetime? That’s often how it felt with Rowan.
A shadow fell over the table, and I dragged my focus from my teacup to the person standing beside me. Jasmine stood to one side, her hands gripping the strap of her handbag like it was the only thing keeping her from bolting.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said with a shrug. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure I was going to come.”
“Oh.” I frowned, chewing on my bottom lip for a second.
She had always been to the point, but I’d expected maybe something a little softer.
It felt like a door slamming in my face before I’d even knocked.
“Well,” I said, gesturing to the seat opposite me.
“I’m glad you did. Do you want to sit? Or not . . .”
She stared at the plastic blue chair for a moment. I could practically see the gears turning in her head, debating whether or not I was worth her time. She didn’t owe me this. I knew that. But it didn’t stop the ache in my chest when she hesitated.
Slowly she blew out a breath, and dropped into the chair, resignation set in her posture. Years of silence stretched between us like the wide, empty streets we grew up in.
Jasmine drummed her fingers on the scratched up wooden table, avoiding direct eye contact. The conversations and clink of cutlery continued around us despite the awkwardness.
What was I supposed to say after all that time? Hey, remember me, the friend who disappeared when things went to shit? Not likely.
I struggled to form any words, while she fidgeted with the zipper of her bag, waiting for me to say what it was I brought her here for.
This wasn’t just reckless. It was selfish. And yet, there she was. Flesh and blood. And probably still bleeding from what I’d done.
“I . . . I can’t believe you’re here,” she finally said, the words tumbling out in a rush.
She let her shoulders relax just a fraction as she studied my face, her focus zeroing in on the yellowing bruise beneath my eye.
I huffed out a laugh, but it came out more like a cough, awkward and raw. “Yeah, you and me both.”
Jasmine’s face fell, and she tilted her head, pinning me with those big, blue eyes.
“You didn’t have to text, you know? I get it.
It’s painful,” she said, lifting a shoulder.
“But I moved on without you, Sadie. So, if you’re here just to .
. . I don’t know, make yourself feel better or something, then I can’t help you with that.
” Her voice hardened, her words precise and sharp as though she’d practiced them in the mirror each morning just in case she ever saw me again.
She stood, springing up with the kind of fluid grace she’d always had, and swiped at her cheeks.
Shit. I was ruining this, and I’d barely even spoken.
Laughter burst from the table behind us, loud and jarring, a reminder that life outside our fractured friendship hadn’t missed a beat.
Jasmine flinched at the sound, and my stomach clenched, panic shooting through me like a live wire. She couldn’t leave. Not yet. I hadn’t even told her why I’d asked her to meet me. That was the worst part. And yet somehow, she was already bleeding from it.
I reached across the table, grabbing her wrist, hard enough to keep her from walking away. Like mine, her pulse beat a rapid rhythm. Fast. Too fast.
“That’s not what I meant, Jazz,” I said, pleading with my eyes. “Please . . . don’t leave.” My desperation poured out of my words, my hand slipping into hers. “Seeing you . . . it’s just surreal.”
She eyed our connection for a moment, fingers twitching against mine, her expression unreadable despite her tears. I shook my head, refusing to let go, refusing to let her slip away again.
Finally, Jasmine sighed, a long slow release, then sat back down.
“Fine. I’ll stay,” she said, pulling her hand from mine.
The absence felt colder than it should have.
She’d taken the last bit of warmth I had left when she let go.
She nodded towards my face, her eyes once again flicking over the bruise Marcus had left me to explain. “Are you okay, Coop?”
Jasmine’s eyes welled with unshed tears, and for the first time in six years, all I saw was my friend. The one I’d abandoned. The one I thought I’d lost for good.
How was I supposed to answer that? I wasn’t okay, not by any stretch of the word. Yet, being there, with her, everything felt a little less . . . fucked.
“I will be,” I muttered, aiming for a smile I didn’t feel. “Just glad I got out of there when I did. That’s something.”
Plus, I wasn’t in jail. That was a bonus.
My fingers twitched, and I rubbed my palms against my jeans.
With Jazz, pretending never worked anyway.
She’d always seen right through me. She probably had the moment she sat down in front of me.
That was part of why I’d stayed away so long.
I wasn’t ready to be seen. But now . . . I didn’t have a choice.
“I’m so sorry, Sades,” she said, her voice softening to something genuine. My throat tightened, my emotions lodging there for me to choke on. “I’m here if you want to talk about it.”
I hesitated, searching her face for any sign that opening up to her would be unsafe. Rowan had demanded to know who had hit me, but I hadn’t spoken to anyone about it. Sure, Dad knew the basics. Marcus attacked me. I stabbed him.
Did the finer details really matter? Maybe. But dragging them out at that moment felt like picking at a wound I’d barely stitched shut. It wasn’t the time to bleed all over her.
I sniffed, steadying my breath, and waved a hand dismissively. “Maybe another time,” I said, glancing away before she undid me completely. “But let’s just say, I didn’t go down without leaving a scar of my own.”
She swiped at a loose tear slipping down her cheek, and her lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “That sounds like the Sadie Cooper I remember.”
“Yeah.” I took a sip of my now-cold tea, more for something to do with my hands than any real comfort. It tasted like defeat. “I suppose she’s still in here somewhere.”
Jasmine sat back, her eyes dancing over my face.
Her expression flickered, curiosity warring with caution.
“So,” she said, with the same impatient edge I remembered her having when she couldn’t stand not knowing something.
She motioned for a server, inclining her head, her long blonde hair cascading over one shoulder. “What did you need to show me?”
Right. That.
The server took Jasmine’s coffee order, giving me a moment to process her question. He slunk away, casting suspicious glances over his shoulder. We probably looked like trouble, two women sitting there with grim faces and more baggage than the handbags sitting on the table.
My chest tightened. Would she even believe what I had to show her? “You’ll want to see it for yourself.” I reached into my bag, my throat dry, and pulled out the note.
I hesitated. This wasn’t just paper. It was a grave I wasn’t ready to open, yet I had no choice. With one more quick look around, I slid it across the table, the paper skimming over the scratched wood surface.
The couple in the corner were laughing together quietly now, oblivious to anyone but each other.
The kids ran past again, the mother issuing an empty threat while she sipped her coffee and stared at her phone.
The normalcy around us felt surreal, like we were living in our own little bubble no-one else could see.
Jasmine eyed the note, frowning. It felt like high school all over again, passing notes between each other, attempting not to get caught by Mr. Matthews as he scribbled out math equations on the whiteboard.
Except this time, it wasn’t getting sent to Mr. Hargrove’s office that had my insides twisting.
I’d read the words a dozen times, hoping I’d misunderstood. Handing it over now felt like surrendering a piece of him.
Finally, Jasmine took the note from me. The paper crinkled in her hands, her fingertips trembling just slightly as she unfolded it.
I barely blinked as her eyes darted over the page, and she frowned as though she couldn’t quite make sense of the words.
The seconds stretched, each one like a stone dropping into the pit of my stomach .
What if showing her had made everything worse? Was I dragging her back to that nightmare right alongside me?