Chapter Thirteen #2
My mouth is suddenly dry. “Hey.”
Brian smiles politely. “Morning.”
Jace looks at him like he’s one wrong word away from becoming a problem, sizing him up without even meaning to. He’s trying and completely failing to hide how much it bothers him.
Ethan, still by the counter, pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s preparing for impact.
“So,” Jace says, voice even but not relaxed. “What brings you two here?”
“Coffee.” Brian says, tipping his cup towards Jace as if to say, prove a point.
Then he smiles politely, unaware of the tension crackling through the air. “Sarah invited me. I’m Brian, by the way, don’t think we’ve officially met.”
He extends his hand.
Jace looks at it like it’s something he has to identify before touching. His jaw ticks. I shoot him a warning look, and only then does he take Brian’s hand in a quick, clipped shake that’s barely more than contact.
“Jace,” he says, like Brian should’ve known.
Brian chuckles, still oblivious. “We were just catching up after last night.”
Jace’s eyes snap to mine so fast my breath stumbles.
I clear my throat. “He means the date I bailed on.”
Brian nods, easygoing. “I told her she gets a free redo for that.”
Jace’s expression does something sharp and unguarded, something that looks like he’d prefer it if Brian stopped talking completely.
Jace stares at Brian with that tight, unreadable look he gets right before he says something he probably shouldn’t. I can feel the tension rolling off him in slow, restrained waves.
“Practice soon?” I ask, trying to sound normal.
“Yeah,” Jace says. “Just grabbing coffee.”
His tone is flat, but his eyes flick down to where Brian’s hand rests casually near mine on the table. Not touching, but close.
Too close, apparently.
Brian’s phone vibrates against the table, the loud buzz cutting through the air between us. He glances down, winces.
“Sorry, I should take this. Won’t be long.” He pushes back his chair and stands, angling around the small table. The space is too tight, so when he steps past Jace, their shoulders brush. It’s a light accidental contact.
“Sorry, man,” Brian says automatically, already lifting the phone to his ear.
Jace doesn’t say anything. His jaw hardens, and his fingers flex just once, like the contact hit a nerve.
He looks back at me. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I live ten minutes away,” I say, keeping my voice even. “It’s a coffee shop, Jace.”
His eyes darken, and for a second, one single, dangerous second he forgets we’re not alone.
“I know,” he murmurs.
Brian returns, cheerful and unaware. “So… football today? You’re a coach, right? Thought I recognized you.”
Jace blinks at him like he didn’t realize Brian had rejoined the conversation.
“Practice, yes, and I’m the Offensive Coordinator,” he says.
“Cool,” Brian replies.
It is not cool. Not even remotely. The air is a pressure cooker.
I shift slightly, fiddling with my napkin, trying to look anywhere but at him. When I do, something slips from my coat pocket. From the sound of the dull clatter on the floor, it was my keys.
Jace bends down at the same moment I reach down to grab them.
Our hands collide.
Our fingers brush.
Barely.
A whisper of skin against skin.
But Jace freezes like electricity shot through him. His breathing stops and his lashes lower for a brief second. And then his hand flexes.
Slow.
Controlled.
Devastating.
Every inch of my spine lights up.
He pulls back quickly, like the contact burned him.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
The word sounds strangled.
Ethan, now walking toward us with two cups of coffee, and mutters, “Jesus Christ,” under his breath.
Jace clears his throat. Straightens and forces his expression into something neutral.
“Well,” he says stiffly. “I won’t continue to interrupt,” he motions between us, “your date.”
“It’s not a…,” I start to say.
But Brian waves it off. “No worries, you’re good.”
Jace looks at him like he absolutely, one hundred percent wants to keep interrupting.
Then his gaze shifts back to me.
It softens for half a second, just enough for me to see the crack under all that restraint.
Then he steps back.
“Have a good morning,” he says, but the words scrape like he hates them.
“You too,” I whisper.
He turns away too quickly. Ethan gives me a sympathetic look mixed with exasperation, then follows him out the door.
The bell chimes again, and they’re gone.
The silence that follows is crushing.
Brian takes a sip of his coffee. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Did I… do something? Because I feel like I did something.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale. “No. You didn’t do anything.”
He nods once. “Right. Because that man looked at me like I offended him. Or maybe I was somewhere I didn’t belong.”
A weak laugh escapes me. “It’s… complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
I look down at my cup. “The kind of complicated I can’t explain.”
Brian considers this, then nods. “Fair enough. Thanks for being honest.”
I meet his eyes. “I don’t want to waste your time.”
“You’re not,” he says gently. “But you’re also not available. Are you?”
The honesty punches straight through my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“Don’t be.” He smiles, it’s kind, patient, and not bitter at all. “I like you, Sarah. But not enough to compete with whatever that was.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “Oh my god, I’m… embarrassed.”
“You shouldn’t be. That man looked at you like you hung the moon.”
My breath stumbles. I look toward the door Jace just walked through.
Brian chuckles softly. “Go easy on yourself, okay?”
I nod, slow and unsure. But inside me, something shakes loose.
Something raw.
Something unavoidably, painfully true.
Brian stands when I do. “Really… take care of yourself, okay?”
“I will,” I say, even though I don’t fully believe it.
He gives me a small nod, then adds lightly, “See you in the building.”
“Yeah,” I say, managing a small smile. “Of course.”
He walks out, his silhouette disappearing into the Saturday foot traffic, calm and uncomplicated in a way my life has never been.
The moment the door closes behind him, the weight of it sits in my chest in a way that feels too heavy, too sharp to ignore.
I grab my bag and head for my car before I can fall apart inside the coffee shop.
Once I slide into the driver’s seat and shut the door, the quiet hits fast, giving me a second to actually register what just happened inside that coffee shop. Brian and Jace… the entire situation really.
I drop my forehead to the steering wheel and let out a breath.
God… I still want him.
Even when it hurts and it shouldn’t, even when walking away would make far more sense than whatever this is, I still want him.
My fingers curl against the steering wheel. My pulse won’t settle.
Because Brian was good in all the ways that should matter. Steady, uncomplicated, the kind of man who won’t pull you into the kind of storm you swore you’d never fall into again.
But Jace walked in and looked at me like he was barely holding himself together, and my whole world rearranged itself without my permission.
I squeeze my eyes shut and whisper into the quiet:
“I can't be the person who helps him forget her.” My voice cracks on the final part.
“I need to know what he’s actually thinking,”
The words settle in my chest like a fault line shifting — inevitable and terrifying and final.
Because I know exactly where my heart is—it’s right here, finally starting to heal, and I won’t let him break it again just because he’s lonely. The truth of where my heart is hasn't changed since college. But for the first time, that truth isn't enough to make me run back to him.