Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Kayla
The city feels louder than usual, or maybe I just notice it more.
Car horns cut through the air in sharp bursts. Conversations overlap as people pass me on the sidewalk. Music spills out of a bar halfway down the block, bass thumping faintly beneath everything else.
It’s constant and unrelenting. Yet somehow, it still feels quieter than the apartment did when I left it.
I pull my jacket tighter around myself as I move with the crowd, letting it carry me forward without really thinking about where I’m going because I don’t have a destination.
Not tonight. Not anymore.
A week ago, I would’ve been heading back to Sawyer’s place, to the quiet hum of his apartment, where everything somehow felt reliable.
Now I just … walk.
My shoes hit the pavement in a steady rhythm as I weave through people who all seem to know exactly where they’re going.
Someone brushes my shoulder as they pass, but I barely register it.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I don’t check it. I already know it’s not him.
That thought settles heavier than anything else.
Because a small, stubborn part of me—the part I can’t quite shut off—expected something.
A text, a call … anything. Even after the way things ended.
I swallow hard and turn down another street, the noise shifting as I move deeper into the city.
The sky is fading now, the last bit of daylight slipping behind the buildings as the streetlights flicker on one by one.
Everything glows around me, soft and warm, but I’m completely disconnected from how I feel.
I slow as I pass a storefront window, my reflection catching in the glass.
For a second, I don’t recognize myself. There’s a weight there that wasn’t there before.
A heaviness in my shoulders and in my eyes, like something important got knocked out of place and hasn’t settled yet.
I stare at my reflection a second too long before forcing myself to look away.
The crosswalk light changes. People move, so I move with them because stopping feels worse. Standing still means thinking, and thinking means replaying everything.
The book, the argument, and Sawyer’s voice.
“And you turned it into material.”
My chest tightens as the memory hits again. Because no matter how many times I go over it … no matter how many ways I try to explain it in my head … I can’t change the one thing that matters.
I hurt him.
I turn onto another block, the smell of food drifting out from a restaurant nearby. Something warm and familiar. For a second, it makes my stomach twist because I can picture it too clearly.
Sawyer leaning against the counter.
Watching me while I “evaluated” the refrigerator. The way he’d roll his eyes but still make me something anyway.
The memory hits harder than I expected.
I stop walking, just for a second, because that’s the part I didn’t prepare for. The way everything still feels like him, even when he’s not here.
I exhale slowly and force myself forward again. Standing here won’t change anything. Nothing will.
By the time my phone buzzes again, I’ve walked farther than I intended, or maybe exactly as far as I needed to.
I pull it out this time.
Melissa: Did you actually do it?
I stare at the message for a second before I type back.
Me: Yeah.
The reply comes almost immediately.
Melissa: They’re okay with that?
A quiet breath leaves my chest.
Me: Not really.
That’s putting it lightly. My publisher didn’t yell or get outwardly angry, but I could hear it in her voice.
“This is your strongest work, Kayla.”
“I know.”
“You don’t want to even revise?”
“No.”
“We can’t promise to hold your place if you walk away from this.”
“I understand.”
And I did. I still do.
My phone buzzes again.
Melissa: And you’re still sure?
I don’t hesitate.
Me: Yes.
Because that’s the one thing I don’t question, not even a little.
I slide my phone back into my pocket and keep walking, my steps slowing slightly as I reach the edge of a park. The noise of the city fades just enough to make everything feel clearer.
Which is dangerous because clarity means I can’t hide behind movement anymore.
I step onto the path and follow it without thinking, the gravel crunching softly beneath my feet.
I should be panicking about the book, my career, the fact that I might have just lost my publisher, and that I have no place to live.
But I’m not. Not really.
None of that feels as heavy as the look on Sawyer’s face when he realized what I’d done.
I swallow hard.
I stop near a bench and sit down, leaning forward slightly with my elbows on my knees.
For the first time since I left, I let myself think it all the way through.
I finished that book, the best one I’d ever written, the one that finally felt right, and I walked away from it.
No hesitation. No second-guessing.
The idea of putting it out into the world, knowing it hurt him, felt worse.
A slow breath leaves my chest.
I stare out at the path ahead, watching people pass by without really seeing them.
I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know if I’ll get another deal. Another book. Another chance like that.
And for the first time since I started writing … I don’t have a plan.
That thought should scare me, but it doesn’t. At least not the way it should.
There’s only one thing that actually matters right now.
I close my eyes briefly, then open them again. I would never trade his trust for a book.
The realization settles deep.
I push off the bench and start walking again, slower this time. No destination or anywhere to rush. Just moving forward.
Even if I don’t know what comes next, I know I made the right choice.