19. Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
Phoebe
Leaving work early on Fridays pained me…except when it was to take a class. I thought of myself as a perpetual student, always eager to learn more about my profession, so months ago, I’d booked an afternoon off work to attend a class on bread baking at the cutest bakery in Rawlins.
I spent a few hours in baking heaven, exchanging ideas and techniques with others in the profession and adding a few new skills under my belt. We didn’t offer bread at Sugar Rush, but I’d been toying with the idea of selling loaves once or twice a week.
As if I needed to add something else to my plate.
As the class neared the end, everyone made plans to head to a bar for dinner and drinks. I decided to check in with Deacon first to see what he was up to. We’d been spending most of our free time together, and it surprised me how much I could miss him after twenty-four hours apart. Being with him was so sweet and cozy, with all the excitement of something brand new and sparkly.
I sent him a text, hoping he was free.
Me: Hey. Class is almost done. We’re going to grab dinner. Would you care to join us?
Deacon: Thanks for asking. I’m going to work in the shed tonight. Hope you have fun.
Me: You too. Don’t work too hard!
Deacon: Will do. Drive safely.
I put my phone down and looked out a nearby window. A prickly feeling crawled along my neck at his short and curt responses. Not that we texted often, but something seemed off. It could have been that he hadn’t asked how my class had gone or when I’d be home. Hadn’t tried to make plans for later or even called me “sugar.” It might not have been any of those things but something else I couldn’t pinpoint.
Or maybe I was imagining things.
That was probably it.
“All right, you guys. I should hit the road.” I pushed back from the table amid groans from my classmates. I’d tried to be present but hadn’t been in a social mood. I wasn’t too certain I’d be missed, but at least they were putting on a good show of being sorry to see me go.
We were in the back of an Old West–style tavern. The crowd seemed to lean older and a little on the rough side, but despite basically being a dive, the food had been good, and the half a beer I’d drunk had been icy cold.
I’d have to come back another time when I could really enjoy it.
Once I’d said goodbye to everyone and grabbed my bag, I stopped to use the restroom then wandered toward the exit. I took a different route, checking out the rest of the rustic tavern. The wood floors were beaten up and creaky, and the animal heads mounted on the walls looked like they had a thick layer of dust on them.
Distracted by the decor, I didn’t notice the people sitting at the table near the door until I was almost upon them. I stopped in my tracks, his hair catching my attention first. The overhead lights glinted off the fine strawberry-blond highlights, making them brighter. Then I caught his smile, rare and lovely as it was, tugging the corners of the lips I’d come to know so well.
What was Deacon doing here?
My heart lifted like it always did when I saw him. Without a second thought, I raised my hand to wave. His gaze met mine, but just as quickly, it was as if he were looking right through me, lodging my breath in my throat. It was like I was a stranger. For a split second, I might have convinced myself he hadn’t recognized me in the crowded bar, but then his eyes flicked back, a glimmer of something unreadable crossing his face before he shook his head.
It was subtle, but there was no denying he had just told me no.
No, I don’t want to see you.
No, do not come over here.
No, we’re in public, which means I don’t know you.
No. Just…no.
I staggered back a step as my breath blew out of me. What…?
This wasn’t happening. Deacon wasn’t at a bar when he’d explicitly told me he’d be working in his shed. He wasn’t sitting at a table with Richie Slater and two women I did not know. Smiling at them.
This really wasn’t happening.
But it was.
Fortunately, my self-preservation got me out of there and into my car. I sat there in the dark, waiting out the pounding of my heart. When I felt it was safe for me to drive, I got going, putting distance between me and whatever the hell that had been.
I was so damn disappointed, I could have screamed. Technically, I guessed he hadn’t done anything wrong by going out tonight. Except…he’d lied . I could forgive and understand a lot, but lying was my line in the sand.
I didn’t abide by liars.
The ride home had given me ample opportunity to think. By the time I flopped on my couch with a groan, I’d sorted myself out.
The sharp pain in my chest was an overreaction. Once my body caught up with my brain, it would dissipate. Deacon and I had only been seeing each other a couple weeks. Our proximity had intensified what should have still been casual, and I’d let myself get carried away from the nostalgia of it all.
When it came down to it, we were so new we were barely a blip. We hadn’t gone public with…whatever we were, so ending it would be like it had never happened. Being neighbors might be awkward for a time, but that would fade. I was sure of it.
If this pain in my chest would just get the message.
I’d allowed myself to be hidden away by a man once, and it hadn’t ended well. I should have known this time would be the same. But Deacon was so different from Jared. I’d let myself believe his reasons for not wanting to go to Grey’s or spend time at Sugar Rush.
I groaned again, wishing Hannah was still upstairs. She’d be down in an instant to stroke my hair while cussing out Deacon and every other man who’d done us wrong. Just thinking about what she might’ve said made me smile. I could almost hear her voice.
“Goddamn no-good men. What use are they anyway?”
“I know a good place to bury the body. They’d never find him.”
“No one ignores my Phoebe.”
The sound of Deacon’s truck pulling into the driveway made me stiffen. He must’ve left the bar shortly after I had.
Was he bringing one of those women home with him?
I couldn’t stop myself from going to the window even as my stomach clenched. As hard as I’d worked to convince myself none of this mattered, the wave of relief that crashed over me at seeing him alone was so immense my knees went weak.
It seemed my body was still warring with my brain. I hadn’t made the decision to open my door until it had already happened.
Deacon paused with one foot on the stairs, his head jerking up to find me standing there. Neither of us said a word. I folded my arms around my middle. He stared.
No, staring wasn’t the right word. His eyes scanned me inch by inch, like he was committing every facet to memory.
“Deacon,” I whispered.
The sound of my voice snapped him out of his momentary pause. His boots hit the stairs hard. When he reached my landing, he stopped but didn’t face me, giving me the rigid lines of his profile.
“You always knew I was a piece of shit.”
His eyes slid sideways toward me then darted away just as quickly before he continued up to his apartment. The door closing behind him sounded like finality—the ending of some of the sweetest weeks I’d ever experienced.
“You always knew I was a piece of shit.”
I hadn’t thought that. Not once. Even now, with my chest cracked down the middle, I didn’t think it.
But it didn’t really matter what I thought. Whatever Deacon and I could have had was over before it had really begun.