Twenty-two
Sadie
T he sun filters through the leafy canopy above the produce market on a Saturday afternoon.
I pause beside a display of peaches, close my eyes, and let the warmth settle over me.
It’s been a little more than a week since things shifted between Beckett and me, and for once, everything seems to be falling into place.
A voice cuts through the air. “Sadie?”
I freeze, trying to place it. Demi . Demi Franklin is dating Alex’s brother Simon’s friend, but I think she dates Simon occasionally too.
I turn slowly to face her. She looks the same—bright-eyed, friendly, glowing with the effortless confidence I always envied. But my body reacts as if she’s a threat. My shoulders stiffen. My smile is automatic and fake. “Hey,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s been a while.”
She steps closer, her eyes searching. “You look…different.”
I shrug. “I’m still me.” How awkward is that?
Her smile dims slightly. “Have you talked to Alex?”
I grip the peach in my hand. “No, I haven’t.”
Her eyes dart toward the entrance like she’s worried someone might overhear. “He’s been spiraling. Really upset you left.”
“That’s too bad. He must miss his housecleaner and cook.” My voice is cool, but I can’t help it. Just the sound of his name curls my stomach.
She drops her voice. “And Simon…he’s not taking it well either. He said you took off with something.”
The fruit slips from my hand and hits the bottom of the basket with a dull thud. “What did I take? I only have my clothes and belongings.”
Demi shifts, uncomfortable. She won’t meet my eyes. “He said if you’re not already dead…he’ll make sure you are.”
Everything in me stills. My breath vanishes. The world narrows.
“I have to go,” I whisper.
I drop the basket and bolt, ignoring the calls of vendors and the blur of curious faces. My vision tunnels. My thoughts splinter. My heart thunders as I burst into the parking lot, fumbling with my keys.
I don’t even make it halfway down the row before my hands start shaking. Simon wants me dead?
Demi just casually dropped that like it wasn’t the most terrifying thing I’ve heard in weeks. Simon once broke a pool cue in half because someone beat him at darts. He’s huge and angry and unstable.
I grip my tote and try to swallow past the lump rising in my throat. Why would Simon want me dead?
It doesn’t make sense. Alex and I are a mess, but I left clean. I barely even took what belonged to me. I know I left stuff behind in that house, but I don’t regret it for a second.
I thought Alex’s texts were trying to scare me. Get me to come back. That’s what abusers do, right? Make it your fault. Twist until you start questioning your own memory.
But I didn’t take anything. I know I didn’t.
Except …
I pause mid-step, a chill crawling down my spine.
There was that one pair of jeans that were Alex’s. I remember tossing them aside when I unpacked. But why would the jeans matter? They just got mixed in when I swept everything off the bedroom floor in a rush.
There is no way they’re that upset about a pair of jeans. Even if they were designer or something—and trust me, they weren’t—Simon wouldn’t be angry over clothes.
If Simon thinks I took something valuable, this isn’t just a misunderstanding anymore. It’s dangerous.
Do I tell Beckett? I bite my lip. He’s been so good to me, and we’re just figuring things out. The last thing I want to do is drag him into the wreckage of my old life.
But Simon’s unhinged. He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t make threats. He makes examples.
I suck in a shaky breath as I reach the Jeep and focus on remembering how to drive back to Beckett’s. The scenery a blur.
Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe Alex is bluffing, and Demi misheard something, and I’m just paranoid because that’s what trauma does. Or maybe I’m sitting on a ticking time bomb, and I didn’t even know I lit the fuse.
By the time I reach Beckett’s house, I’m barely holding it together. My hands are shaking so hard I almost drop my keys. I shove the house key into the lock, step inside, and slam the door behind me. The noise echoes like a warning shot.
The house is quiet, but Beckett’s scent lingers in the air—cedar and citrus—and I breathe it in like oxygen. But even here, I don’t feel safe. Not really. Because Simon is still out there.
Beckett appears just as I round the corner into the living room. He’s barefoot, hair a little tousled, holding a glass of water. The sight of him, calm and ordinary, twists my gut.
“Sadie?” he says.
I manage a weak smile. “Hey.”
He watches me closely. “What happened?”
I shake my head, my arms wrapping around my middle. “I just…picked up some fruit and did a few errands. To clear my head.” I can’t just dump this on him. What if he goes back over there? Simon could really hurt him.
He nods like he doesn’t believe me but won’t push. “Come on,” he says, setting his glass down. “Let’s go for a walk.”
I take a deep breath and try to calm my frayed nerves. “It’s a beautiful day. That sounds like a great idea.”
We cross the pool deck and head out into the warm afternoon, picking up the lake trail behind the pool fence.
It unfurls in front of us, lined with tall natural grass that rustles in the breeze.
We walk in silence for a few minutes, our steps crunching softly on the gravel.
My thoughts organize themselves a little better with every step.
But just as I’ve rehearsed what I want to tell Beckett, he reaches for my hand and the contact erases all my thoughts.
“I can’t believe all the houses along the lake now. Remember when we used to come here as kids?” he asks.
I smile at the memory. “You dared me to jump off that big rock. I still can’t believe I did it.”
He laughs. “I really thought you’d chicken out.”
“You made it sound like I’d be branded a coward if I didn’t.”
“Well, yeah,” he says, bumping his shoulder against mine. “There were reputations at stake.”
I laugh softly. “You always had that thing about you. Like people needed to rise to your level.”
He shrugs. “Still do, I guess.”
We reach a bench near the water and sit down. The ski boats are out across the lake, but their wakes are too far away to affect this side.
“I always felt invisible,” he says after a moment. “Being in the middle—you get used to people talking around you, not to you.”
I turn to him. “I never saw you that way. You always seemed so self-assured.”
“I faked it,” he admits. “Sometimes, it felt like I had to shout to be seen.”
His words stir something inside me. “Caleb used to steal my dolls. Not because he wanted them, but just to upset me. It wasn’t about the toy. It was about the power.”
Beckett’s brows knit. “That’s awful.”
“It was just…normal back then. I didn’t know how to fight back. I just wanted peace.”
He looks at me, his eyes softening. “We all want that. Peace. Safety. Someone to see us.”
Silence falls between us again.
“At least I never had my dolls stolen,” he teases.
I smirk. “You were too busy stealing hearts.”
He grins. “Only because you made it look easy.”
We sit together, laughter lingering in the air between us, and I let myself believe that maybe he can help me find my way out of this. I want to tell him what Demi said, but it’s not the time. Maybe later.
Back home, in the comfort of Beckett’s house, I settle on the couch, pulling my legs beneath me, trying to convince myself that the worst has passed.
Beckett moves through the kitchen, filling the kettle, the quiet sounds of domestic life grounding me. “Glass of wine?” he calls over his shoulder.
I open my mouth to answer, but something catches my eye through the window—a flicker of headlights, the shape of a vehicle parked just beyond the tree line out front.
“Beckett…” My voice is low, tight. “Can we close the curtains?”
He appears in the doorway, mug in hand, brow furrowed. “Why?”
“There’s a car outside. It wasn’t there earlier. ”
He sets the mug down and moves to the window, brushing the curtain aside.
“It could be someone lost,” he says after a pause. “Or waiting for someone.”
“No,” I whisper, stepping closer. “It feels wrong. It’s just sitting there.”
He turns to look at me. “You think someone is watching us?”
I nod slowly, stomach churning. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I’ve learned not to ignore this feeling.”
He pulls on a hoodie and moves toward the door.
“Wait.” I reach for him, grabbing his sleeve. “What if it’s someone who has a gun?”
“I’ll be careful,” he says. “Stay inside.”
He disappears outside.
The quiet swells around me, too loud and empty. I pace the living room, peering through the blinds, heart racing. Every shadow looks like a threat. Every creak in the floorboards winds me tighter.
Minutes crawl by. I count each one like a prayer. When the front door opens again, I practically jump out of my skin.
Beckett steps inside, face flushed. “It’s empty,” he says. “No plates. No one inside. Probably left by a hiker or a neighbor visiting someone down the road.”
I sag with relief, but my hands are shaking. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. But we’ll be cautious from now on. No going anywhere alone. No late-night errands.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “You can keep me safe?”
His gaze softens, something fierce burning in his eyes. “Absolutely.”
There’s no hesitation. No flinching.
Despite the fear still rattling in my bones, I believe him.
Then a sharp knock at the door jerks me upright. My heart leaps into my throat. Beckett’s head snaps toward the sound, and he motions for me to stay back as he crosses the room. I follow anyway, anxiety a live wire under my skin. He cracks the door and peers out.
Two uniformed police officers stand on the porch, backlit by the porch light.
“Evening,” one says. “Hi, Beckett.”
“Elijah. Jonas. What brings you here?”
“We understand Sadie Calloway is living here,” Elijah says.
Sometimes I cannot believe this small town. I went to school with both Elijah Fallwell and Jonas Goodwin.