Chapter 15 Cedar Rain
He smiled softly. "Great! Let's get some ice cream."
A small laugh escaped me. "In this weather?"
He shrugged, grinning. "There's never a wrong weather for ice cream. You know that."
I rolled my eyes, but smiled anyway. "Of course. pistachio is still your favorite?"
He nodded, a warmth curling at the corners of his lips. "And yours? Vanilla lemon?"
"Yeah," I said, smiling faintly. "Still the same, huh?"
"Not quite." His tone dipped, quieter, gentler. "I've... been discovering new things on my own."
I said nothing, and he exhaled slowly. "I changed therapists. I'm seeing someone who specializes in complex trauma, codependency... people coming out of abusive relationships."
The silence between us thickened, heavy like the calm just before a storm. We walked side by side, our footsteps falling in sync, as if our bodies remembered what our hearts were still learning to forget.
"Actually," he said after a beat, voice softening, "the day after Lyra showed up, I had a session. I told him I'd let her in because I wanted to help."
A hollow laugh slipped from his throat. "He was horrified."
He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.
"He said, 'You never invite your abuser back into your environment.
' He told me I was treating her like an ex who just needed a favor, or a lost friend trying to get better.
But she wasn't that. What we had wasn't a bad breakup, it was abuse.
And when she left, she didn't just walk away; she abandoned me. "
He looked down, voice trembling slightly.
"He told me to cut contact immediately. I said I'd mentioned the motel, and she lost it.
He said I had to hold that boundary, no matter how guilty I felt, and deal with the guilt without letting it destroy me.
That's when I started looking for shelters.
It was the only way to help her without losing myself again. "
We continued walking, silence stretching between us, the night air cool against our skin, almost like a third presence hovering, quiet and watchful.
He glanced down, quieter now. "It was hard hearing all of it. Like I'm trying to rewire myself from the inside out. He told me it's okay to feel compassion but I have to separate that from action. She's still a manipulator, even if she's also a victim."
We stopped by a bench, the ice cream melting slow trails down our fingers. The air carried that familiar blend of citrus and sea salt.
"He also suggested I join a support group," he said quietly. "For partners who've been through abuse. People like me, people who confuse saving someone with loving them.
His phone buzzed twice. He glanced at the screen, then rejected the call.
He swallowed hard. "I wish I'd burned the letters the moment I woke up and realized what I was doing. Maybe then I could've spared you."
"It doesn't matter," I said softly. "She would've come anyway. And you would've thrown me away."
A long, heavy sigh escaped him. "I don't blame you for thinking that.
" His gaze dropped, then lifted again, steady but weary.
"But think about it—she's here, she's single.
She's already propositioned me. And technically.
.. I'm single too. So why wouldn't I be with her?
Why wouldn't I let that old flame spark again? "
He paused, letting the weight of his own questions settle in the space between us. "But then... how could I, if my heart still belongs to you?"
I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. But the ache inside me was worn thin, carved hollow by too many promises that had bloomed in the ashes of regret.
He must've seen it in my eyes, because his voice softened. "I know you don't believe me," he murmured. "And I get it. I've given you every reason not to. I made choices that broke something good. Nothing excuses that. But I'll do anything to mend it. Whatever it takes."
He stepped closer, the air tightening between us. "I'm not asking for a second chance—not now. I don't deserve one yet. But I will earn it. I'll wait as long as it takes. Because even if you never forgive me, I'll still love you. I'll live for that hope."
Silence fell between us again, deep and trembling.
After a long moment, I finally spoke. "I work with several shelters," I said, keeping my tone even. "I can arrange something for her, if you want."
Arlo's lips curved into a small smile. "You're amazing. I'd really appreciate that. Thank you."
I hesitated. "Are you... going with her to the baby appointments?" The question came out sharper than I meant, jealousy twisting through me before I could stop it.
He blinked, surprised. "What? No. Why would I?" His voice softened. "I won't lie, I brought her some vitamins. She said she needed them. But that's all."
Before I could respond, his phone buzzed against the table, breaking the quiet. He glanced at the screen, it was Levi.
He answered and put it on speaker. "So, what happened?"
Levi's voice came through, rough and tired. "I took her to the hospital. She was freaking out—yelling about how you abandoned her. She's furious, man. But she finally went in. Now she's just sitting there sulking."
Arlo exhaled slowly. "Okay... thanks for handling that."
"You owe me," Levi groaned. "And I'm serious—if I ever see her again, I'm charging you emotional damages."
Arlo let out a small laugh. "You're being dramatic."
"Dramatic?" Levi shot back. "She's a walking meltdown, man. Same tricks, same crocodile tears. I barely made it out alive. You owe me a vacation and a lobotomy."
Arlo laughed again, shaking his head. "I know."
Levi muttered darkly, "That woman could weaponize guilt in her sleep. I hate that bitch so much my blood pressure spiked."
I blinked at how casually he said it, but Arlo only smiled faintly, eyes lowering to the floor.
"Anyway," Levi said, "did you find a shelter for her?"
Arlo's gaze met mine. "Yeah. We're working on it."
"Good. Handle it soon, I don't want to keep seeing her." Levi muttered before hanging up.
The line went dead. Arlo set his phone down and rubbed his face. "Can you call the shelter now? The sooner, the better."
I nodded, heart tight. "Okay."
I dialed, waited through the ringing. Declan picked up right away. After a few minutes of questions and arrangements, I hung up. "They have a place for her, specifically for pregnant women. She'll be safe. I actually volunteer there twice a week. It's a really good place."
Arlo exhaled, relief flickering in his eyes. "Thank you, Berrie. You didn't have to do that."
"I do that all the time," I said softly. "It's no problem."
He shook his head softly. "No," he murmured, stepping closer. "It is. You always do things for people, even when you shouldn't have to."
His hand lifted, hesitant and trembling, before he tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Then he slipped off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. Warm, faintly scented with cedar and soap.
"Keep it," he said, voice low. "You shouldn't ride without one, and you always forget yours when it rains."
I smiled faintly, about to answer, when we rounded the corner and reached our motorcycles.
"I should go," he said with a faint chuckle. "Maybe cook something for Levi before he files an emotional labor lawsuit." He smiled, almost shy. "Drive safe, Berrie. Please."
I watched him walk away, the sound of his boots fading into the quiet. He didn't look back.
Clutching his jacket tighter, I breathed his clean, familiar, and heartbreakingly safe scent. When I slid my hands into the pockets, my fingers brushed against his wallet. I hesitated, then opened it and froze.
My picture was tucked behind his ID. The one from our first trip together, me laughing, head turned toward him. He must've taken it without me noticing. Behind it, a folded scrap of paper in my handwriting: Don't forget to rest, idiot.
There was a tiny sticker too, my favorite manga character—the same one I'd once stuck on his laptop as a joke. He must've peeled it off and kept it.
But what made my breath catch was the folded letter beneath them. My paper. My handwriting. I didn't even need to open it to know which one it was.
I shut his wallet, but the ache inside me refused to close with it. I held his jacket tighter, as if it could steady the storm inside me. Tears gathered, heavy with all the things I wished I'd never had to feel again—pain, longing, regret, and the ghost of love that still wouldn't die.