Chapter 35 #2
“What did you tell her?”
The question sits heavily between us.
I stare at the floor for a second before I get the courage to look back up at him.
For the second time … I make a decision I don’t usually make.
I let someone in.
“My uncle,” I say quietly.
Dean doesn’t interrupt, nor does he react. He just listens.
“He used to … lose it on me.” The words feel rough, coming out. “Started when I was fifteen.”
Dean’s expression tightens slightly, but he stays quiet.
So, I keep going. Because now that it’s started, I can’t really stop.
“He ran the kitchen at the restaurant,” I continue. “Dad trusted him. Everyone did.”
I let out a slow breath. “We’d stay late. Just the two of us.”
Dean shifts his weight slightly.
“He didn’t like that I didn’t want to stay and help him grow the business,” I say. “That I had other plans.”
My jaw tightens. “At first, it was just shoving. Getting in my face. Telling me I thought I was better than him.”
Dean exhales quietly.
“Then it got worse.”
I don’t look at him. I don’t need to. I can feel the shift in the room.
“He’d lose it over nothing,” I continue. “Throw me into things. Hit me.”
The words come easier now. I feel detached, like I’m talking about someone else.
“Burned me once,” I add. “Had a cigarette in his hand.”
Dean’s head snaps slightly, but he still doesn’t interrupt.
“Slashed me with a knife one time. Not deep. Just enough,” I continue. “He died before I ever told anyone,” I finish. “Heart attack. My first year of college.”
Dean finally speaks. “Jesus, Sawyer.”
I let out a humorless breath. “Yeah.”
I push off the wall and walk a few steps away, like I need distance from my own words.
“Went to the funeral,” I add. “Listened to everyone talk about what a great guy he was.”
Dean swears under his breath.
I shrug. “Didn’t matter by then.”
Another silence settles, but this one feels different, less heavy.
Dean steps closer. “Does your family know?”
“No.”
“Anyone?”
“No.”
He nods once. “And she’s the first person you told?”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to.
Dean exhales slowly. “Okay.”
I turn back toward him. “That’s why it’s not just a book,” I say, my voice tighter now. “She wrote things I would never have wanted out there.”
Dean nods. “I get that.”
The words land differently this time.
“That’s an invasion,” he adds. “At least, it feels like one.”
I exhale slowly. “Yeah.”
We stand there for a second.
Dean tilts his head slightly. “But let me ask you something.”
I brace.
“Did she write your story?”
“No.”
“Did she name you?”
“No.”
“Did she expose anything someone else could connect back to you?”
“No.”
He nods. “Okay.”
I frown slightly. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Because that matters.”
I cross my arms again. “She still crossed a line.”
“I’m not saying she didn’t,” he replies. “And you’re allowed to be pissed about that.”
The tension in my chest loosens slightly.
“But there’s a difference,” he continues, “between someone crossing a line because they didn’t think it through”—he pauses— “and someone crossing a line because they didn’t care.”
I don’t respond. I already know which one Kayla falls into, and that’s the problem.
Dean studies me. “Did she look like she didn’t care?”
The question lands harder than anything else.
I think back to her face when I confronted her. The way she tried to explain and how she decided to leave after the way I talked to her.
“No,” I admit.
“Then you need to factor that in,” Dean says.
I drag a hand through my hair. “She still wrote it.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “And you still let her see you.”
That stops me.
I look at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you don’t get to pretend this is just about the book,” he says. His voice is steady. “This is about the fact that someone finally saw the parts of you that you’d spent years hiding …” He gestures toward the couch. “And instead of walking away, she stayed.”
Dean lets it sit for a second. then adds quietly, “And that scared the hell out of you.”
I don’t respond because that feels too close to the truth.
Dean exhales. “I’m not saying you’re wrong to be upset,” he says. “You are. Anyone would be.” He pauses. “But I think you might be wrong about her.”
The room falls quiet again. I stare at the floor for a second.
I don’t know what to do with that.
Because if he’s right—if she wasn’t using me—
I shake my head once. Cut the thought off before it can finish.
“I need time,” I say finally.
Dean nods. “Yeah. That’s fair. Just don’t take so long that you lose something worth fixing.”
The words linger long after he says them.
Dean heads toward the door, pausing before he leaves. “You gonna be all right?”
I nod once. “Yeah.”
He studies me for a second, then opens the door. “Call me if you need to not make another bad decision.”
A small huff of air leaves my chest. “I will.”
The door closes behind him.
And just like that … I’m alone again. But this time, the silence doesn’t feel as certain.
I glance toward the couch and stare down at the book and at the space that she used to fill.
For the first time since she walked out that door, I’m not sure I was right to let her go.