Chapter 13 #2
The knot behind my breastbone is sharp enough to make me feel restless in my own skin. My knee bounces under the table. My fingers tap the mug.
I take another sip, just to have something to do, when my phone rings.
A number I don’t recognize flashes on the screen. Probably the taxi.
I swipe to answer. “Hello?”
“Where the fuck are you?”
The voice is like ice and gravel all at once, low and cold and unmistakable. My breath snags in my throat.
Scott.
My fingers tighten around the phone until it creaks. “How did you—”
“Why are you screening my calls?” His tone sharpens, each word clipped.
Heat rushes up the back of my neck. My heartbeat thuds against my ribs in a way that feels too loud for this little back room. I glance at the doorway, half-expecting Cora to appear.
No. No. Not here. Not now.
The air feels thinner suddenly, my mind clawing through the fact that his voice is here, in my ear, in this small safe space that doesn’t feel safe anymore.
His voice is the same as it always was—low, gravel-thick, and coiled with a kind of ownership that makes my skin crawl.
“Why are you screening my calls?” Scott repeats, slower this time, like I’m too stupid to understand the first time around.
I swallow, my mouth gone dry. “I—” My throat feels scraped raw. Don’t stammer. Don’t give him the satisfaction. “I’ve been busy.”
“Busy?” The word drips with mockery. “Too busy to answer me? Too busy to let me know where the hell you’ve run off to?”
A deep, old ache starts in my chest, radiating outward. It’s the same one I used to get in the pit of my stomach whenever he’d come into a room back in the old pack house. That slow, suffocating dread.
My fingers tighten around the phone until my knuckles ache. “I’m not—”
“You’re not what? Mine anymore?” A short, humorless laugh rattles through the line. “You and I both know it doesn’t work like that, Sadie. You think you can just disappear and I’ll… what? Forget about you?”
God, I hate how my pulse spikes when he says my name.
“You don’t get to—” I start, but the words die when his voice drops, low enough to make my gut clench.
“I passed by your place. You weren’t there.”
A prickling wave crawls up my neck. My breath stutters. No, no, no.
“You need to be careful, sweetheart.” The pet name is a blade disguised as a caress. “There are people out there who don’t have your best interests at heart.”
He’s not talking about people. He’s talking about himself.
The pressure in my chest feels like it’s caving inward, and for a moment I can’t pull in enough air.
I’m so focused on keeping my breathing steady that the sound of the bakery’s back door opening makes me flinch hard.
When I look up, Gabe’s standing there, filling the doorway.
Concern shadows his face instantly, his brows pulling together. “What’s wrong?”
I blink at him, my phone still pressed to my ear.
“Why are you here?” My voice comes out sharper than I mean, brittle with panic.
He steps closer, tilting his head just slightly, and that’s when I feel the wetness on my cheeks.
“Baby, you’re crying.”
The sound of that word—baby—hits wrong, tangling with the memory of Scott’s voice using it like a chain. My pulse spikes, and I push at Gabe’s chest when he comes to wrap me in a hug.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap, my voice cracking on the last syllable.
Gabe stops, but he doesn’t step away completely. Instead, he reaches up, brushing the loose strands of hair from my face. His hand is warm, steady, as he rests it lightly against the side of my head, thumb brushing in slow arcs just behind my ear.
“You’re okay,” he says, low and even. “You’re okay, Sadie.”
The phone is still in my hand, the line dead now—either he hung up or I somehow disconnected without realizing—but my fingers are cramped around it.
I focus on Gabe’s voice, on the faint scent of rain and smoke clinging to his shirt.
“You’re okay,” he repeats, softer this time, his palm rubbing gentle circles against my upper back.
It takes a few long breaths before my lungs feel like they’re actually working again.
When I can finally pull in a steady breath without my chest seizing, I nod. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he steps back just enough for me to feel like I can move again.
We leave the back room together. Cora is behind the counter, her expression a mix of worry and quiet relief when she sees me upright.
“Thanks for calling,” Gabe says to her.
Her eyes flick to me before she nods, murmuring something about being glad I’m okay.
Outside, the air is cool, smelling faintly of wet pavement.
“I can’t believe you were the one she called,” I say, still feeling unsteady.
Gabe shakes his head. “Actually, she called her husband, but he wasn’t available. I was already in town.”
“Oh.” My voice is small, but I nod, trying to process that.
And then I see it.
My truck.
Parked along the curb, all my supplies stacked neatly in the bed. The sight knocks something loose in my chest—relief mixed with disbelief.
“You brought it back.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I was with Elias when Cora called. We’d just finished loading it up anyway.”
I grip the strap of my bag tighter. “Thank you. Tell me what it cost and I’ll settle it.”
He shakes his head. “How about I get you home first?”
I want to argue, but the fight feels like it’s been wrung out of me.
“Okay,” I say instead.
We climb into the truck. The engine hums steady under us, and as we pull away from the curb, I keep my gaze fixed on the wet street ahead, because if I think too much about the phone call—or the fact that Gabe saw me crying—it’ll all come rushing back, and I don’t know if I can take that again today.
One thing at a time, Sadie. One thing at a time.