46. Shelby
46
SHELBY
I barely have the door cracked open before I see her.
Mia. Mason’s daughter.
She stands on the threshold like she owns the world and dares it to argue. Arms folded, chin tipped forward, her eyes scan me like she’s assessing damage.
She’s dressed in black—of course she is—but there’s a softness in her blouse, a lacy thing that makes her look strong and beautiful at once. She’s wearing heels. Her blond hair looks like a careful mess that’s had fingers running through it all night long. But her presence?
Undeniable.
Unavoidable.
“I get it,” Mia says, her voice low, edged with just enough steel to make me flinch. She lifts one perfectly arched brow, a slow, deliberate move that balances somewhere between patient saint and full-blown storm. Her eyes—icy, unblinking, the kind of blue that belongs in cracked glass—lock onto mine and don’t let go. They don’t just look at me; they cut through me, like she already knows every excuse I’ve rehearsed and she’s not interested in hearing a single one.
Then, she tilts her head, a smirk twitching at the corner of her mouth—mocking, maybe, or just disappointed.
“You gonna invite me in,” she says, voice sharp enough to draw blood, “or do I need to kick this damn door down?”
I tighten my grip on the edge of the door. She’s certainly worn the correct shoes to do the kicking. My fingers tremble. The wood feels cold under my skin, or maybe I’m just that numb again.
I don’t want this.
Not her pity, nor her fire. Not the way her eyes shine like she’s already seen the ghost of me I’ve been pretending not to be.
I don’t want to hear Mason’s name.
Don’t want to imagine what I left behind.
But this is Mia.
And I have no doubt that she will kick the door in if I shut her out, because Mia is not the sort of person you say no to. Not even when your heart’s bleeding through the floorboards.
With a quiet sigh, I step back.
She walks in like a storm in heels. Controlled chaos.
I barely have time to close the door before her voice cuts through the silence like a blade.
“He’s tearing himself apart, Shelby.”
I flinch.
I turn away. The hallway feels too narrow. My apartment too small for this conversation. I wrap my arms around myself and stare at the worn-out floorboards like they’ll tell me what to say.
“So am I, Mia,” I whisper.
Mia’s behind me now. I feel her frustration before I hear it—tight, sharp, born of love and fury.
“Then why did you leave?” she snaps. “Why did you destroy him this way?”
My throat closes up. My chest tightens. The truth is acid, burning its way to the surface.
“Because I’m not the same,” I say. “Because I’m… not whole anymore.”
She doesn’t answer right away.
When she speaks again, her voice is softer, more understanding.
“None of us are ever whole, Shelby. Not really.”
I shake my head, my nails digging into my arms.
“You don’t get it,” I say. “Every time I close my eyes, I’m back there. Under that bridge. On the ground. Cold. Bleeding. And Mason—he deserves someone who’s not stuck in that moment. Someone who doesn’t wake up screaming. Someone who can love him without flinching at every shadow.”
Mia doesn’t move, but she doesn’t let me hide, either.
Instead, she steps in front of me, into my space, and forces me to meet her eyes.
“You’re not broken, Shelby,” she says, calm but relentless. “You’re hurt. You’re traumatized. But that doesn’t mean you’re beyond repair.”
Tears sting behind my eyes. I blink them back, hard. My voice splinters.
“And what if I never heal?”
Mia doesn’t flinch. “Then you never heal.”
The simplicity of it stuns me.
“But you still get to live,” she says, firm. “You still get to have people who love you. You still get to be more than what happened to you.”
My breath hitches.
I want to believe her. I want to believe there’s a version of me that exists beyond the bruises and assault and fear.
But the doubt is louder.
“I don’t know if I can be with him like this,” I whisper. “I don’t know if I can face what we were. It’s too painful.”
Mia’s expression softens. She reaches out, her fingers wrapping around mine with warmth I forgot existed.
“Then don’t,” she says. “Not yet. Come stay with me and Brando for a while. Just be close. No pressure. No expectations. Just a safe space. You shouldn’t be alone, Shelby.”
I stare at her.
It’s tempting. Too tempting. It feels like oxygen after drowning. But it terrifies me.
“And if I never go back to him?” I ask.
Mia’s smile is sad and solid, the kind you give someone when you know they’re on the edge but not ready to fall.
“Then I’ll tell him to let you go,” she says. “But at least he’ll know you’re okay. And that?” She squeezes my hand. “That might just save him.”
I let out a shaky breath.
And for the first time in weeks, I feel the walls inside me crack—not collapse. But shift.
Maybe I haven’t been running from Mason.
Maybe I’ve been running from the version of me that thought I had to heal alone.
I stare at the small suitcase sitting by the door like it might bite me. Like if I get too close, it’ll snap shut and seal me into a life I’m not ready to live.
It’s barely full—just a few changes of clothes, my toothbrush, and the hoodie I stole from Mason’s house the night I left, like some part of me couldn’t leave empty-handed. It still smells like him… sandalwood, cedar, and the kind of trouble you ache for even when it’s the reason you’re bleeding.
I sleep with it every night, curled around it like a lifeline, like if I hold it tight enough, maybe it’ll hold me back. Maybe it’ll remind me how it felt to be protected, even if that protection came with sharp edges and unfinished promises. His scent clings to the fabric, to my skin, to my memory—soothing and devastating all at once.
It’s pathetic, probably. Sleeping with a hoodie like some lost teenager. But I can’t let it go.
Because if I do… it’s admitting he’s no longer mine. And I’m not sure I can survive that.
Mia’s pacing my tiny living room like she’s about to drag me out by the ankles. She hasn’t said anything in five minutes, but every breath she takes screams don’t back out on me now.
“I’m not sure about this,” I murmur.
She stops pacing. Her look is immediate. Unforgiving. “We’re not doing this again.”
I fold my arms. “I’m just saying, maybe it’s too soon.”
Mia raises one brow. “You’ve been holed up in this cave for weeks. I’ve given you time. Now I’m giving you options. ”
“I’m not going to him.”
“You’re not,” she agrees. “You’re coming to me. To Maxine. To a whole support network if you need it, and peace and quiet when required. I just want to reassure him that you’re close and you’re safe.”
I think I give in to her too easily.
But the truth is—I’m exhausted. Not just physically, not just emotionally, but in that deep, marrow-soaked way that makes everything feel heavier than it should. I’ve been carrying too much for too long. And maybe I just want someone else to take the weight for a little while, even if I pretend I’m not letting them.
Clay’s gone underground. Vanished like smoke after everything that happened. I told him not to go after them. Begged him, really. Told him revenge wouldn’t make it better. But guilt carves people up in strange ways, and I think he needs this mission—needs to punish someone for what I went through, even if it won’t change a damn thing.
He’s chasing shadows.
And me? I’m stuck here, in this borrowed Airbnb, in a city that feels like it’s holding its breath.
The lease is paid through the end of the week. I tell myself that as I grab the suitcase and prepare to leave with her. That if things go badly at Mia’s, I can be back here by tomorrow night. I can sleep in this too-soft bed again, wrap myself in Mason’s hoodie, and pretend like none of this ever happened.
But maybe… if things don’t go badly—if there’s laughter and warmth and a sliver of peace—I’ll let this place go. Pack it up for good and start looking for something permanent. Something mine.
Something new.
I take one last look at the little studio—the bed I barely slept in, the window I stared out of night after night, waiting for clarity that never came.
I follow Mia—step by step, heart pounding—into a life I’m not sure I belong in.
But I tell myself that maybe healing doesn’t wait for readiness.
Maybe it just demands courage.