Chapter Sixteen
Desperate Truths
Jace
One Month Later
It’s been four weeks since the divorce was finalized. Four weeks of staying away on purpose. And somehow the drive to Sarah’s still feels longer than it actually is. Every red light is a reminder of how much time I’ve wasted stopping for things I never really wanted.
I’m still wearing my coaching gear. The whistle is a heavy weight against my chest, a reminder of a game I’m not sure I know how to play anymore. For years, I’ve been the man with the plan. The stable one. The one who does the right thing even when it feels like a slow-motion car crash.
But as I pull onto her street, the silence in my truck is deafening. There’s no Sierra waiting at home with dinner and polite questions about my day. There’s just me and the terrifying realization that for the first time in my life, I don’t have a script. The weight of it sits on my conscience.
I tug at the collar of my dry-fit shirt and realize I should’ve changed before coming here.
It feels tight, like I can’t breathe right in it anymore.
This gear, the team colors and the embroidered logo on my chest, represents the man who knew how to call the plays, how to manage the clock, and how to keep everyone happy.
But out here, in the dim streetlights of Sarah’s neighborhood, I’m not a coach.
I’m just a guy with a crumpled heart and no idea how to explain anything.
I think about the locker room talk, the cliches about ‘giving it your all’ and ‘leaving it on the field.’ I’ve been leaving my soul on the field for years, and I’m finally realizing there’s nothing left to play for if I don’t have her.
I kill the engine, but I don’t get out. I just sit there, staring at the warm glow coming from her window.
‘She deserves better than a man who walked out on a life he spent years building with someone else.’
I remember the way Sarah looked at me in college, before the pregnancy, before the marriage, before the ‘responsibilities.’ She looked at me like I was the only person in the room, not because of what I did or where I was headed, but because of who I was when no one was watching.
I reach into the glove box and pull out the note Sierra found, the one Sarah wrote me so long ago. The paper is soft now, the edges worn from the hundreds of times I’ve touched it when I thought I was alone.
I can't do this... Be this. The other woman.
The words are a punch to the gut every time.
I’ve spent so long trying to be a hero for Sierra that I didn’t see how much Sarah was the one paying for it.
I turned her into collateral damage. I didn’t mean to hurt her.
But intention doesn’t erase impact. I’ve kept her in the shadows, a secret I only allowed myself to touch when the ‘perfect’ life felt like it was suffocating me.
I step out of the truck, the night air sharp and cold. I don’t have a plan. I don’t have a speech. I just have the truth, and I’m not even sure what that looks like anymore.
I reach the door and hesitate. My hand hovers over the wood.
‘What if she doesn’t want the version of me that isn't the hero?’ I wonder. ‘What if she’s moved on from the ghost I’ve been chasing?’
I knock before I can talk myself out of it. Three sharp, rhythmic hits that sound like a heartbeat in the quiet of the porch.
The door opens, and there she is.
“Jace?” she asks, as she stands there with a confused look on her face.
Running my hand through my hair, “Hi, uhh…” then all words cease to exist in my brain. I can’t think of anything to say. Why am I here? She’s standing there looking at me wondering what the hell I’m up to, looking at me expectantly. I clear my throat, “I just needed to see you. Can we talk?”
She opens the door wider, “Sure, come in.”
I step through the threshold past her and get a wave of her scent. She always smells like her favorite caramel and vanilla latte and God, I miss that smell. We walk through her house to the living room, and she motions for me to have a seat on the sofa.
I don’t sit immediately. I scan the room, my eyes landing on a stack of books on the coffee table, a half-finished knitting project in a basket, a framed photo of her and Emma laughing at the beach.
It’s a life. A real, breathing life that I haven’t been a part of.
Every detail feels like a sharp jab to my ribs, a reminder that while I was on a downhill spiral with Sierra, Sarah was out here living.
She was building a world that didn’t require me, and the fear that I might be too late to fit into it nearly chokes me.
The air in here is warmer than my truck, filled with the hum of her refrigerator and the distant ticking of a clock, but I feel like I’m standing on thin ice.
”I’m sure you heard that Sierra and I finalized our divorce. Or I’m not even sure you knew we were getting one.” I say as I stare at the floor. I’m afraid that if I look up at her it’ll undo me, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that just yet.
”Yeah, Emma told me. I’m so sorry, Jace.”
”It was a long time coming. I wasn’t the man she deserved.” I take a deep breath and swallow hard so I can get the next words out. “I wasn’t the man she deserved because I’ve always been in love with someone else.” There, it’s out there and I can’t take it back.
I look up now and her face is wary, guarded almost with a little confusion mixed in. “Jace…” she starts but stops, looking down at her hands wringing in her lap. “I… why are you here?” She asks as she looks back up at me and the devastation in her eyes guts me.
”Please tell me you didn’t come here because you thought I would just jump into your arms? Because I can’t.” She says those last words as what sounds like a sob escapes her.
And again, I’m gutted. Does she think I left Sierra for her or that I broke my marriage up to be with her. Fuck! What the hell am I doing?
”Sarah, I’m…” I want to say sorry but I’m not. I need her to know that I love her. That the end of my marriage to Sierra had nothing to do with her but at the same time, it had everything to do with her.
“I should go,” I say as I stand up and walk towards the door.
She doesn’t follow me, she just stays on the couch, motionless but I can feel the confusion and guilt radiating off of her from here.
Reaching for the door handle, I look back over at her.
“For what it's worth, I’ve always loved you and what happened between Sierra and I isn’t your fault. ”
I get to my car, opening the door but before I can get in I hear Sarah’s voice. “Jace, wait.”
I stop and turn to her. “Don’t go.”
That’s it. That’s the sound of the final wall crumbling.
I don't think about it, the neighbors watching, or the fact that I’m essentially a walking red flag right now.
All I hear is the break in her voice, the same break I’ve heard in my own head every night for as long as she’s been out of my life.
I don’t just walk back; I run. My boots are heavy on the pavement, my heart hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to beat its way out of my chest and into her arms.
As soon as I reach her, our arms wrap around each other. “Don’t go, please.”
That’s all I need to hear. I lift her off her feet and carry her inside. My mouth crashes into hers, it’s all teeth and tongue and desperation. “Bedroom?” I question, pulling my mouth off of hers.
“Yes.” She says with no hesitation, then her mouth is back on mine.
I lead us down the hall and into the room, I kick the door shut as we make it inside. I see the bed and everything in me surges forward at once.
My mouth finds hers, hungry, reckless, and she pulls my shirt over my head like she’s wanted to do it for years.
Her whisper hits my ear, breathless. “I need you Jace."
I pull the hem of her shirt up and over her head as she reaches for the waistband of my jeans, attempting to undo them.
I assist, then start with her leggings, slipping my hands into the waistband and pulling them down her legs until they are off.
I toss them on the floor where our shirts are now laying.
I drag my mouth down her throat, across her chest, relearning every inch of her but it’s like muscle memory and not something I've ever forgotten.
She goes still under me, her breath catching like she’s trying to hold it together. Her fingers curl tight into the sheets, knuckles white, and a broken sound slips out like she’s swallowing a sob.
I freeze and it hits me then.
And the brutal understanding lands: whatever this is for me… it isn’t the same thing for her
This is about love.
But it isn’t in the same place for both of us yet, and she deserves the space to get there without feeling like she owes me anything. She deserves more than being pulled forward before she’s ready. Especially by me.
I still my hands. Pull back just enough to look at her face.
“Hey,” I murmur. “Talk to me.”
She doesn’t answer right away. Her chest rises too fast, like she’s trying to get control of her breathing before it gives her away.
“Sarah,” I say again, softer. “Are you okay?”
She swallows, her gaze fixed somewhere past my shoulder. “I—” Her voice catches, and she presses her lips together, shaking her head once. “I didn’t think it would feel like this.”
My chest tightens. “Like what?”
She lets out a breath that sounds more like a release than a sob. “Like I’m doing something wrong. Even though I know I’m not.”
That lands harder than anything else in my head.
I shift back, giving her space without leaving. “You’re not,” I say immediately. “And I won’t let you feel like you are.”
Her eyes finally lift to mine, glossy but steady. “Then don’t disappear,” she says quietly. “And don’t pretend this is just… nothing.”
“I won’t,” I promise. “And it’s not.”
I rest my forehead against hers, breathing her in, grounding myself in the reality of her instead of the urge to cling.