Chapter 12
Iwake before the alarm. No dreams. No night sweats. Just quiet.
That alone feels unfamiliar but deep down I know why. The sun hasn’t fully risen yet, but the sky is soft outside my window. There’s a pale blue stretch between buildings that feels like a breath.
I roll onto my side and stare at the wall. I could stay here all day. Wrapped in sheets that still smell like yesterday. Safe in this stillness that doesn’t demand anything from me. But I know the longer I hide from the world, the harder it gets to return to it.
I sit up and stretch. My muscles ache, but not from anything specific. Just the weight of surviving another night.
I take a shower. A long one. I wash my hair. Shave my legs. Brush my teeth for longer than I need to. I towel off and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Still tired. Still hollow around the eyes. But alive. And not hungover.
And not just technically.
I get dressed in real clothes, not all black I’ve been wearing like armor. Just jeans and a soft black sweater. Comfortable. Presentable.
I check my phone.
Knox: You made it through another night. That counts.
I don’t respond right away.
Instead, I slip on my boots and grab my keys. I arrive at the Velvet Room. The place is still dark. The cleaning crew just left. There’s a strange comfort in seeing it like this, no flashing lights, no thumping bass, no blurred faces leaning over the bar begging for attention.
Just space.
And silence.
I turn on the lamps behind the counter and start prepping. I cut lemons, refill napkin holders, wipe down the taps. My hands remember what to do, even if my mind drifts.
Jazz comes in around four. She raises an eyebrow when she sees me already working. “You okay?” she asks.
I shrug. “Define okay.”
She gives me a look but doesn’t push. Instead, she joins me behind the bar. We work side by side in silence, and for once, it doesn’t feel strained.
Around five, she asks, “You seen him lately?”
I know who she means.
“Knox?” I say.
She nods.
I rinse a glass. “He was here last night.”
“And?”
“And nothing. We talked. He walked me home.”
Jazz arches an eyebrow. “You let him?”
She means if I let him sleep with me.
I glance at her. “No Is that so hard to believe?”
She smiles faintly. “A little,” she teases.
I shake my head and focus on the drinks. But I feel her watching me. Not with judgment. With curiosity.
“Do you like him?” she asks finally.
I pause. The question hangs in the air between us.
Do I? I did. I do. I always will but I buried those feelings a long time ago.
Or do I just like what he represents? Safety. Stability. A calm I forgot existed.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“That’s fair,” Jazz says.
We leave it at that. By nine, the bar is full.
It’s a good crowd tonight. Loud, but not obnoxious. Tips are flowing. People are smiling. I keep moving. Keep pouring. Keep pretending the noise doesn’t get to me.
Knox doesn’t show up. And I hate how much I notice. I catch myself glancing toward the door more than I want to. Listening for his voice under the music. And for some reason, that stings more than it should.
By midnight, I’m wiped. The crowd starts to thin. Jazz takes the last round of tables. I start closing the register. The back door creaks open.
I look up, and there he is.
Knox.
Looking like he’s been walking for hours. Hair tousled. Jacket unzipped. His eyes find mine instantly.
“You’re late,” I say.
“Didn’t think you’d notice.”
“I always notice.”
He walks toward me. Leans against the bar. “You look different,” he says.
“Good different or bad different?”
“Real different.”
I pause, then pour us both a water.
He takes his and sips slowly. “How was your day?” he asks.
I chuckle. “What is this, are you asking me out on a date?”
“No. This is me asking how your day was.”
I rest my elbows on the counter trying to smooth off the sting of rejection. “It was quiet. No meltdowns. No cravings. Just... normal.”
Knox nods. “That’s good.”
“It’s boring.”
“Maybe boring is what you need.”
“Maybe.”
We fall into silence, and I realize something. I’m not afraid of the quiet anymore. Not with him here.
After a while, he says, “I got a job offer.”
That catches me off guard. “Doing what?”
“Consulting. Just a few months.”
I stare at him. And something sharp lodges itself in my chest. “Oh.”
“I haven’t said yes.”
“But you’re thinking about it.”
He nods.
I look away. “I don’t want to be another thing holding you back.”
“You’re not.”
“Then why are you here?”
He’s quiet for a long time. Then he says, “You’re the reason I’m offering it to you.”
The words land heavy. I blink fast. “Why?” I whisper.
He leans forward slightly. “Do you want it? If you do, then say it.”
I grip the edge of the bar. “I don’t know what you want from me?”
He nods slowly. And that’s it. He doesn’t promise anything.
Doesn’t say why he’s really here. What his motive is. But something between us shifts between us.