Chapter Twelve #2
Jace is still staring at me. His jaw tight. His hands fisted at his sides. Eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them. Ethan says something to him, low, but he doesn’t react.
He’s locked in place, watching me like the room is on fire.
Brian reaches across the table and touches my arm lightly to get my attention.
I jump.
His brows pinch. “Seriously, are you okay?”
Before I can answer, Jace steps forward like he might come over. Ethan grabs his sleeve subtly, a quiet “Don’t” on his lips.
The jealousy on Jace’s face is unmistakable. Sharp. Raw. Like it’s carved into him.
My skin prickles. My chest hurts. I swallow hard and try to listen to Brian, who is now telling me about his marathon training.
“Sarah. Hey.” He chuckles softly. “Did I lose you?”
“Sorry,” I murmur. “I’m just… distracted.”
He laughs, easygoing. “Long week?”
“Something like that.”
I can feel Jace’s stare burning into the side of my face. Every time Brian leans in to say something, every laugh, every casual touch to my elbow when he makes a point… I feel Jace’s reaction without even looking.
I finally look over again and he’s gripping the edge of the bar so tightly his knuckles are white. One of the guys says something and he barely flicks his gaze their way before settling back on me.
My heart breaks a little.
Because I shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t care. We shouldn’t be here, in this stupid bar, ripping ourselves open over nothing and everything.
But we are.
Brian keeps talking. I try to follow along, nodding at the right moments, but my attention keeps snagging on little details.
The way Jace’s throat works like he’s swallowing something hard.
The way Ethan shifts closer, blocking part of his view, and Jace angles just enough to see around him.
The way one of the guys nudges him and smirks, clearly putting the pieces together.
Brian excuses himself to grab another drink. “You want another?” he asks.
I look at my half-full glass and shake my head. “I’m good, thanks.”
He heads to the bar.
I sit alone, staring at the condensation slipping down my glass, trying to breathe through the ache in my chest.
I can feel him without looking. Feel the weight of his attention like a hand between my shoulder blades.
My phone buzzes in my bag. I pull it out with shaky fingers.
Emma: How’s it going? Do I need to fake a kitchen fire?
A humorless laugh escapes me.
Me: It’s… complicated.
Emma: That bad?
Me: He’s here. With Ethan.
Emma: …
Emma: HE WHO?
Me: Who do you think?
Three dots appear. Disappear. Then:
Emma: Do you need me?
Me: No. I just needed to say it out loud.
Emma: Okay. Breathe. You can leave if you want. No medal for staying.
I stare at that last line.
She’s right. There’s no prize for pretending this doesn’t hurt.
There’s no prize for sitting here, trying to act like I don’t feel his gaze like a physical touch.
I tuck my phone away and stand before I can talk myself out of it.
When Brian returns, I give him a tight smile. “Hey, I’m really sorry, but I think I need to call it a night. Early work meeting tomorrow.”
He looks disappointed but kind. “Ah. No worries. Rain check?”
I hesitate. It’s not his fault I’m an emotional disaster. He’s nice. He showed up. He tried.
“Maybe,” I say, because I can’t give him more than that and not lie.
He gives a friendly nod. “Let me walk you out.”
“No, really, I’m good.” I step back, heart pounding. “Thank you, though. I had a good time.”
He seems to accept that, even if he doesn’t fully believe me. “Okay. Get home safe, yeah?”
“I will.”
I feel Jace watching every step I take toward the exit. It feels like standing in the center of a storm, silent, heavy, and impossible to ignore.
Right before I push the door open, I glance back.
Our eyes meet one more time. His are a mess of things I can’t unpack from across the room, hurt, anger, fear, and want. Like he’s silently asking me not to go, even though he doesn’t move.
Ethan says something to him again, hand on his shoulder. Jace tears his gaze away like it physically hurts.
I step outside before I can read anything else into it.
The cool air hits me like a slap.
I inhale hard, lungs burning, and lean against the brick wall for a second. The noise from inside dulls to a muffled hum behind me. Cars pass. Someone laughs down the block. The world keeps moving like my ribs aren’t trying to cave in.
I wrap my arms around myself and start walking slowly toward my car, heels clicking on the sidewalk. My phone buzzes again.
Emma: Home?
Me: Leaving now.
Emma: Do you want company?
Me: Not yet. I’ll text you when I’m back.
I shove my phone in my pocket and tilt my head back, staring up at the night sky. You can’t see stars here. Just a hazy glow and the faint outline of clouds.
For a second, I imagine an alternate version of tonight. One where I walked in and saw him alone. One where he crossed the room instead of freezing. One where we didn’t have wrong timing sitting between us like a wall.
I unlock my car and slip inside, shutting the door like I’m sealing myself away from the rest of the world.
The engine hums to life, but my pulse is louder.
I pull out of the lot on autopilot, headlights washing over empty streets while my mind stays stuck in that bar—stuck on a man who was perfectly fine and the one my heart couldn’t stop looking for.
By the time I reach my house, my chest feels bruised from holding it together.
I park in my driveway and shut the door a little harder than I should. The walk up to the porch feels longer than usual, like the air itself is heavier.
Inside the house, everything is too familiar. The couch. The throw blanket. The half-finished book on the coffee table. The silence.
I kick off my shoes and drop my bag by the door.
My reflection in the dark TV screen looks wrecked. Eyes shiny. Shoulders tense. Mouth pressed in a thin line.
I cross the room and brace my hands on the back of the couch, dropping my head.
I hoped that going on a date would prove something.
That I could feel something for someone else. That I could move on. Or that maybe all of this was just habit and history and comfort.
Instead, all it did was prove the opposite.
Because the second he walked in, the second his eyes met mine, the entire room disappeared. The date. The drinks. The safe, nice guy talking about his sock-eating dog.
None of it mattered.
I straighten slowly and press my fingers to my sternum like I can push the ache back in.
“I can’t keep pretending I don’t still want him.”
The words aren’t loud. But they’re true and they gut me anyway..
I make my way to the bathroom, the mirror doesn’t lie.
I look like someone who tried to pretend she was okay and failed halfway through.
I turn on the shower just to fill the space with noise, then brace both hands on the sink and bow my head. A single breath shudders out of me, shaky and uneven. The kind of breath that comes right before the break.
Not crying over him, or the pointless date, or the look he gave me from across that bar that knocked the air out of my lungs.
I peel off my clothes and step under the water. The second the heat hits my skin everything inside me comes undone.
Not in sobs or loud gasps, just a slow, quiet unraveling I can’t fight off anymore.
It’s this slow, aching unraveling that feels like something slipping through my fingers I was never meant to hold in the first place.
I press my forehead to the tile and let the water run down my back. It doesn’t wash away the image of him frozen, staring, and jealous in a way he had no right to be. It doesn’t erase Brian’s hand on my arm or the way Jace looked ready to incinerate him for touching me at all.
It definitely doesn’t erase the truth I whispered into the night.
I turn off the water and wrap myself in a towel, moving on autopilot through the house. I heat leftovers I don’t eat. I wipe down a counter that’s already clean. I fold a blanket on the couch just to keep my hands busy.
Anything so I don’t have to sit still with the truth.
But eventually the exhaustion catches up, and I crawl into bed. The sheets are cool. The room is dark. And I lie there staring at the ceiling like it might have answers tucked between the plaster.
I grab my phone.
Open my messages.
His name is right there.
I shouldn’t.
I won’t.
I can’t.
But my thumb hovers anyway and before I can anything my phone buzzes once against the mattress.
Emma: Woman, are you alive? You said you’d text me and didn’t. Do I need to come over?
A breath leaves me that’s half-laugh, half-ache.
Me: I’m okay. Just tired. No need to come over. I’ll call you tomorrow.
She replies instantly.
Emma: Fine. But if you die of emotional stupidity, I’m haunting you.
Despite everything, a small smile tugs at my mouth. It fades quickly, leaving the room quiet again.
The kind of silence that sees everything. And somewhere in that stillness, the truth settles again.
I still want him because I never stopped. And pretending otherwise is tearing me apart.
I roll onto my side, blink at the darkness, and breathe out the words again softer this time, but just as true.
“I can’t keep pretending I don’t still want him.”
This time, it doesn’t gut me. It frees me.
Even if it hurts like hell.