Chapter 27 #2
We take seats at the bar. He orders something dark and slow without glancing at the menu. I ask for tequila. The bartender’s posture shifts subtly when Hayden nods in approval. Respect. Deference. Something that isn’t fear but isn’t casual either.
I watch the room over the rim of my glass. Couples sit close, but aren’t clingy. Conversations are low and intense. A woman in a fitted black dress approaches and brushes her fingers lightly over Hayden’s wrist as she leans in to speak to him.
He doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t lean in either. He just listens, composed, contained. In complete command. He sips his drink like he has nowhere else to be. I toss mine back quicker than I should.
“You’ve lost control.” He speaks without looking at me.
I chuff once under my breath. “You sound like my fucking dad.”
“You react to everything.” The tone of his voice exactly the same, and the words settle somewhere uncomfortable. He turns slightly toward me now, his gaze steady. “You let people pull you. You let noise decide for you.”
“I’m fine.” I toss back another two fingers of the tequila the bartender refilled without me even asking.
“You’re not. Stop pretending you are.”
The music shifts. A slower beat. Someone laughs seductively across the room.
Hayden’s attention drifts back to the space like he’s assessing something invisible.
The woman in black returns, her hand sliding along the back of his chair.
He looks at her this time, a small tilt of his head, almost imperceptible, and she smiles like she’s been granted something.
Power doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it just exists. He stands eventually, finishing his drink. “You need to stop listening to the noise.” He adjusts his jacket. “Or it’s going to swallow you whole.”
“That’s supposed to be helpful?” I scoff with a shake of my head.
“You either take control of it, or it will take control of you.” Does he think talking in riddles like this is actually helpful?
He speaks into the ear of the woman waiting, and my brow raises as I watch her walk five steps, stop, and then drop to her knees and bow her head.
“You think that kind of control is what I need?” I point my chin in her direction.
He pauses, glancing at me with something that could almost be amusement in his eyes. “You don’t need what I do.”
I don’t answer. Because, he’s right. I don’t want that.
“You do know what you want however.” He pauses, looking deeper into my soul than I’m comfortable with. “You just have to ask for it.”
He doesn’t say another word. He steps to the woman, taps her on the shoulder, and she rises up beside him, her eyes downcast. He begins to walk and she keeps step beside him. They don’t rush. They don’t sneak. They just move through the room like they’ve agreed to something without words.
I sit there longer than I should. Another tequila lands in front of me. I let the burn spread slow this time as I watch Hayden disappear into a private hallway. I realize something with a clarity that makes my chest tighten; he’s never looked lonelier.
Not unhappy. Not empty. Just contained. Sealed off in a way that doesn’t let anything in far enough to ruin him. That kind of life would suffocate me. I don’t want someone who understands the rules. I want someone who forgets them. I don’t want control. I want connection.
The image of Quinn curled into my bed flashes in my mind. The way she folds the blanket before setting it aside. The way she orders pizza with my toppings without asking. Comfort to balance out my chaos. That’s what I want. And that realization hits harder than the tequila.
I leave not long after, calling an uber before I can overthink the fact that I didn’t stay. The hallway outside my apartment feels too quiet. I unlock the door and step inside carefully, setting my keys down quietly instead of tossing them like usual, in case she’s asleep. The habit surprises me.
The lamp in the living room is on. She’s curled on the couch again, blanket around her legs, phone in her hand. She looks up when the door shuts. Relief flickers across her face first. Then something more cautious.
“You’re late.” Her voice isn’t accusing. Just factual.
“I was out.” I’m being obtuse on purpose because it’s easier than being honest.
She studies me like she’s trying to read the rest of the sentence. “I sent you a couple of texts, but you didn’t answer.”
“I was busy.” The tequila loosens my tongue just enough to let the wrong thought surface. “Why’d you wait up?”
A beat of silence, the quickest flash of confusion across her features. “Because I wanted to see you.”
The simplicity of that should undo me. Instead, panic spikes and the tequila causes me to speak before my brain can react appropriately. “You’re gonna be gone soon anyway.”
“What?” Her brows pull together, confusion flashing across her face. “I didn’t-” she starts, the words catching like she’s about to correct me. And then she stops. Something in her expression. Not doubt. Decision.
Her mouth presses into a thin line and before she can say anything else, I dig the hole I’m in a little deeper and speak again. “I mean, you’ve got your own place lined up now. Why pretend this is-” I wave vaguely between us, “permanent. You said it yourself; I’m a practical, temporary solution.”
The hurt in her eyes is immediate and quiet.
Not anger. Not fury. Just disappointment.
She stands slowly. Lifts the blanket. Folds it carefully in half.
The movement is steady. Controlled. Intentional.
She doesn’t slam doors. Doesn’t throw words.
She holds the blanket against her chest like it’s something fragile.
Then she walks down the hallway and closes the guest room door behind her. And I get the distinct feeling that I just missed something important.
The click echoes louder than it should. The couch looks wrong without the blanket draped over it. The apartment feels colder instantly. I stare at the hallway long after she disappears. What the hell did I just do?
I scrub a hand over my face and lean back against the wall. You wanted her to reassure you. Instead, I shoved her away. I know exactly what I just did. And that’s the problem.
I don’t go after her. Not because I don’t want to. Because I don’t know how to fix it without admitting why I said it. And I’m afraid to say it out loud in case it’s not what she wants.
I wake reaching for her. My hand slides across empty sheets. The realization hits before I’m fully conscious. She’s not there. I sit up too fast. It’s too quiet. The apartment is silent. I throw on a pair of sweats and open the door to my room.
Her door is open. The bed inside is made. The bathroom is empty. The pair of flats she wore last night aren’t by the door. My stomach drops. She left. Of course she left. I basically told her to.
I move through the space like I’m searching for proof I missed something. The kitchen is clean. The coffee pot is empty. No note on the counter. The air feels thinner. For a second I stand there, staring at the front door like it might explain itself. And then, it opens.
She steps inside carrying a small paper bag in one hand and a bag of coffee beans in the other. A few loose strands of hair brush against her cheek from the wind. She pauses mid-step when she spots me. “We were out of beans.”
The air comes back into my lungs so fast it almost hurts. I didn’t realize I’d stopped breathing. She didn’t leave. She’s still here. Relief floods through me in a wave so strong I have to grip the back of the chair to steady myself.
But the tension doesn’t dissolve. It settles between us instead. Thick. Unspoken. Hovering in the air between us. She moves past me toward the counter, setting the muffins down and reaching for the grinder like this is just another morning.
And I realize how close I am to losing something I never meant to push away.