Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kayla
By the time I get to Melissa’s, my hands are still shaking. I don’t remember most of the drive over.
I just hopped in the car and let the driver take me here while the lights and noise around me did nothing to distract me.
The sound of Sawyer’s voice played in my head over and over again.
“And you turned it into material.”
Dread settles in hard as the car pulls up to the building. I sit for a second as I try to pull myself together.
It doesn’t work. So, I grab my bag and get out of the car anyway.
Melissa buzzes me up and opens the door before I even knock. Of course she does.
She takes one look at me, and her entire expression shifts.
“Okay,” she says slowly, “what happened?”
I let out a breath that feels like it’s been stuck in my chest since I walked out of Sawyer’s apartment.
“He found the book, and now he hates me.”
Melissa winces. “Oh no.”
“Yeah.”
She steps aside to let me in. “Come in. Sit. Start talking.”
I walk past her and into the living room, dropping my bag on the floor like it suddenly weighs too much to carry.
I press both hands against my forehead briefly as I pace once across the room before finally sitting down on the couch.
“He read it,” I say. “Not all of it. Just enough. And he—” I stop. I don’t even know how to finish that sentence.
Melissa sits down across from me, watching carefully.
“He thinks I used him,” I blurt before fear can catch up to me.
Melissa exhales slowly. “Okay.”
Not agreement or anything, just like she is processing.
“Walk me through exactly what happened.”
I stare down at my hands.
“He was already upset when I walked in. He had the book in his hand.”
Emotion swells painfully in my chest. “And he just … started listing things.”
“Things?”
“I can’t say what they are. It’s not for me to share. But”—I swallow hard— “he sees himself in it.”
Melissa nods slowly. “That makes sense.”
I shake my head immediately. “But that’s not what I did.”
“I know,” she says. “But from his perspective—”
“I didn’t write his story,” I cut in.
The words come out sharper than I expected … more defensive. Because I need her to understand that. I need someone to understand that.
Melissa holds up a hand slightly. “Hey, I’m not accusing you.”
I press my lips together, trying to calm the sudden spike of emotion.
“He thinks I took the worst parts of his life and turned them into a book.” My voice cracks slightly. “And I don’t know how to convince him that’s not what this is.”
Melissa leans back, studying me. “Okay,” she says carefully, “then tell me what it is.”
I hesitate because that answer matters more than anything else right now. I let out a slow breath, my fingers twisting together in my lap.
“I didn’t write his story.” My voice is quieter now—less defensive and more certain. “I changed everything that could ever point back to him.”
Melissa tilts her head slightly. “Everything?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “The background. The family. The setting. I made it foster care instead of family. I rewrote the entire structure so there’s no way anyone could ever trace it back to him.”
She watches me carefully. “Okay.”
“But”—I hesitate because this is the part that matters— “the emotional pieces stayed.”
Melissa nods slowly. “That’s what he recognized.”
“Yeah.” My stomach twists. “That’s what I didn’t think through.”
The room is quiet for a second.
Then she asks gently, “Why did you write him like that?”
The question lands differently this time. Not accusatory, just … honest.
I look down at my hands for a moment, then back up at her. “Because I’ve never met anyone like him.”
Melissa’s brow lifts slightly. “Explain.”
I shake my head a little, trying to find the best way to explain it. “It’s not just what he went through.” My voice softens. “It’s what he did after.”
She leans forward slightly, listening.
“He didn’t let it destroy him,” I continue. “He didn’t fall apart. He didn’t become bitter or cruel or—” I stop, exhaling. “He built something.” My chest tightens again. “An entire life. A company. A future.”
Melissa nods slowly. “And?”
“And he still carries it.” My voice drops. “Every day. The control. The distance. The way he keeps everything locked down so no one can ever hurt him again.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t see that as weakness.” I meet her eyes. “I saw it as strength.”
The words land solid this time.
Melissa studies me. “Go on.”
“I wrote a man who survived something terrible,” I say. “A man who should’ve been broken … but wasn’t.”
“A man who still chose to build something instead of letting it destroy him.”
Silence fills the room.
“I didn’t want to tell his story.”
Melissa’s voice is quiet. “Then what did you want?”
I hold her gaze. “I wanted to write what I see when I look at him.”
She waits, and I finally say it. “I’ve never met anyone stronger than Sawyer.”
Melissa exhales slowly. “Yeah,” she says, “that tracks.”
I let out a weak breath. “But he doesn’t see it that way.”
“No,” she agrees, “he wouldn’t.”
I shake my head. “He thinks I exposed him.”
Melissa’s expression softens. “He thinks you saw his worst parts and put them on display?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“But that’s not what you did?” she says.
I swallow. “No.”
“What did you do then?”
I hesitate for half a second. “I saw the best parts of him.” My voice is steady now. “Even if he doesn’t.”
Melissa watches me for a long moment, like she’s weighing everything I just said, and then she leans back slightly.
“Okay,” she says, “I believe you.”
I nod but it doesn’t make the tight feeling in my chest go away. None of that changes what happened.
“He still thinks I used him,” I say quietly. “And nothing I say will change that.”
Melissa exhales slowly. “He’s not exactly thinking clearly right now.”
“I know.” I look down at my hands again. “But that doesn’t mean he’s wrong to feel the way he does.”
Her brow furrows slightly. “What do you mean?”
I swallow. “He trusted me with something he’s never told anyone.” My voice softens. “And then he saw pieces of himself on a page before he was ready.”
The weight of that settles between us.
Melissa nods slowly. “Yeah.”
“I should’ve told him,” I add. “That I was writing beyond the inspiration of the attraction and chemistry.”
“You probably should have,” she says gently.
I nod. “I know.”
Silence stretches for a moment.
Then I take a breath. “I emailed my publisher when I was waiting for my car to your place.”
Melissa straightens immediately. “You what?”
“I told them I’m pulling the manuscript.”
Her eyes widen. “Kayla.”
“I’m not publishing it.” The words come out steady.
Melissa stares at me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m serious. “You just finished that book.”
“I know.”
“You said it was your best one.”
“It is.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “But I’m not putting it out there.”
She exhales slowly. “Are you even allowed to do that?”
I shrug. “They won’t be happy.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I meet her eyes. “They’ll probably drop me.”
An uneasy silence permeated the room. “And you’re okay with that?”
I think about it for a second. About the months I spent writing and how hard this book fought me. But also, how right it finally felt when it was done.
Then I picture Sawyer and the look on his face. The way his voice sounded when he said I turned his life into something to sell.
My answer comes easily. “I wouldn’t be okay with publishing it, knowing how much it hurt him.”
Melissa studies me carefully. “You’re willing to lose your publisher over this?”
“I’m not losing my career,” I say quietly. “I’m choosing not to publish this.”
I shake my head slightly. “He trusted me.” The words come out softer now. “And I broke that.”
Melissa’s expression softens. “Kayla …”
“I didn’t mean to,” I continue. “But intent doesn’t really matter when someone feels like that.”
The room is quiet for a moment, and then Melissa lets out a breath.
“Well,” she says, leaning back, “that’s one way to prove your point.”
I huff out a small laugh. “He doesn’t even know I did it.”
“Yet.”
I glance over at her.
She gives me a look. “You really think I’m not going to make sure that information finds its way back to him?”
Despite everything, a small smile tugs at my lips. “Of course you are.”
Melissa nudges my shoulder lightly. “For the record?”
I look at her.
“You didn’t use him.”
A cold knot forms in my throat. “It doesn’t feel like that to him.”
“No,” she says. “But that’s because he’s still seeing it through the lens of what he went through.”
She pauses, then adds, “And something tells me when he realizes you are willing to walk away from everything for him”—her lips curve slightly— “he’s going to regret letting you walk out that door.”
I stare down at my hands. “I didn’t do it so he’d come back.”
“I know,” she says. “That’s why it matters.”