Chapter Twenty-Seven
Melanie
The morning had started fine—too fine, really. The kind of fine that felt suspicious, like the calm before a cosmic punchline.
I’d been up early, coffee brewed, luggage neatly packed in the trunk, playlist queued for the drive. The sky was cold and bright, that pale-blue Seattle kind of day that made you believe maybe, just maybe, things were going to go right.
And then I’d turned the key.
Click. Nothing.
I frowned, tried again. The same hollow click echoed through the car like a laugh track from the universe.
“No,” I said flatly. “No, no, no, don’t you dare.”
But the car didn’t care.
I tried again—harder this time, as if willpower alone could jumpstart a dying engine. Click. Silence.
My head fell against the steering wheel with a groan. “You have got to be kidding me.”
For a minute, I just sat there in the driver’s seat, staring at the dashboard like it had personally betrayed me. The coffee in the cupholder was still steaming. My gloves sat neatly beside it. My phone was plugged in, already charged for the trip. Everything was ready.
Except me. And apparently, my car.
I twisted the key again, praying for a miracle. The engine coughed, sputtered, then gave up with the finality of a toddler midtantrum.
“This can’t be happening,” I muttered. “You’ve been fine all week!”
Fine, of course, being relative. The battery light had been flickering for months, and I’d ignored it because that’s what functional adults do. They pretend small problems don’t exist until they evolve into existential crises.
“Please,” I whispered, as if pleading would help. “I’ll take you to the good car wash. I’ll get you premium gas. I’ll stop yelling at traffic.”
Nothing.
I smacked the steering wheel once for emphasis. “Useless piece of—”
The car stayed dead, unimpressed by my tantrum.
Somewhere in the back seat, my packed duffel bag sat perched like an accusation.
The t-shirt Drew had left last time was tucked inside it.
I’d kept it there, folded carefully, because I’d been planning to give it back this weekend like a normal, organized, emotionally stable person who kept her promises.
Except now I couldn’t even leave the garage.
And Drew? He was going to think I’d made the whole thing up.
He’d laugh it off at first—teasing, easy. But underneath, I knew he’d be disappointed. That was the part that made my stomach twist. Because he wouldn’t yell or accuse. He’d just sound quiet. And that was always worse.
I exhaled hard, slumped back against the seat, and stared up at the ceiling.
“Of course, this happens now,” I said to no one. “The one weekend I actually need to go.”
The parking garage was dim and echoey, a symphony of other people’s cars starting just fine. I sat there a few minutes longer, the silence pressing in, before I finally popped the hood. Not that it helped. The engine looked like a foreign language.
I prodded at a few things just to feel productive, then gave up and let the hood slam shut. The sound echoed up into the concrete rafters, startling a pigeon that took off in a flurry of wings.
“Fantastic,” I muttered. “Even the wildlife thinks I’m pathetic.”
I climbed back into the car and tried one more time out of sheer spite. Click. Nothing.
I swore softly, then pressed my forehead to the steering wheel. I was supposed to be halfway up the highway by now, coffee thermos empty, Drew probably texting some smug Are you lost yet?
Instead, I was a grown woman trapped in a parking garage, talking to her car like it owed her an explanation.
Finally, I grabbed my phone. I couldn’t call him yet. Not like this. Not with my voice shaking and my eyes threatening to sting.
I’d have to tell him soon, but first, I needed to—what? Prepare? Practice? Invent a version of this disaster that didn’t make me sound like I was bailing?
I unlocked my phone and opened a new message to Lydia instead. If anyone could help me think straight, it was her.
I texted her.
Car won’t start. I’m stuck in the garage.
It took her less than thirty seconds to reply.
You’ve got to be kidding. Can you get a jump?
I wrote back.
I don’t think so. I’ve tried everything but CPR.
She responded.
So call roadside. Or Drew.
I texted back.
I can’t call Drew yet.
She wrote back.
Why?
I stared at the blinking cursor, thumbs hovering. Because he’ll think I’m lying? Because he’ll think I’m scared to come back? Because maybe he wouldn’t be wrong?
I texted back.
I just can’t, okay?
A pause. Then three dots appeared again.
Mel, he’s going to be devastated.
I blinked at the screen, my stomach dropping.
The word devastated hit harder than I expected.
Drew, with his stupid smirk and his terrible puns and his habit of making me laugh when I didn’t want to—devastated? Over me? It didn’t seem possible. But Lydia didn’t exaggerate about things like that.
I leaned my head back against the seat, staring at the message until my eyes blurred.
Devastated.
The worst part was, I believed it. Not because he’d said anything dramatic or made big promises. He wasn’t that guy, but because I’d seen it in his eyes when I told him I’d come. That quiet kind of hope that only shows up when you’ve already been disappointed too many times.
And now I was about to crush it.
I thumbed back a reply, erased it twice before sending anything.
Don’t say that. It’s not my fault.
She replied.
I know. But it’s going to feel like it to him.
The truth sat like a stone in my stomach. Because she was right.
To him, this wouldn’t just be bad luck. It would look like hesitation. Like I’d stood in my apartment this morning and decided it was easier not to show up.
If I hadn’t had a horrible history of ghosting him before, this would be more believable.
And the part that scared me most was that maybe, deep down, a small part of me had wanted exactly that—an excuse. Something outside my control that could take the choice away from me.
Because showing up meant risk. It meant admitting how much he mattered.
And that was so much scarier than any dead battery.
I stared at Lydia’s last message for another long minute, feeling the weight of it settle in. Then I finally shoved my phone into my coat pocket, grabbed my bag, and climbed out of the car.
The elevator doors opened with their usual cheery ding, which felt borderline offensive given the situation. The ride back up to the lobby was slow, filled with the hum of fluorescent lights and the faint buzz of my own nerves.
By the time I reached my floor, I’d made peace with one truth: I couldn’t hide from this.
Not forever.
He deserved to hear it from me, even if it broke something between us.
I let myself back into my apartment, dropped my keys in the bowl by the door, and stood there for a long moment staring at my phone on the counter. The note I’d left for myself earlier still sat by the coffee maker, Go have fun!.
It felt cruel now.
I picked up the cell, scrolled to Drew’s name, and hovered my thumb over call.
The screen reflected in the window, my own uncertain face looking back at me in double. My heart thudded too fast, my chest too tight.
He was going to be devastated. Lydia was right. And it would all sound like an excuse, no matter how true it was.
I exhaled, steadying myself.
But before I could change my mind again, I pressed call.
The line rang twice, long enough for me to consider hanging up and pretending my phone had died too. Then his voice came through, warm and rough around the edges.
“Hey, stranger,” he said, that lazy humor coating every word. “Don’t tell me you’re already halfway here. I was just about to brag to Callum that you can’t resist me.”
My mouth opened, but no sound came out. For a second, I almost went along with it—almost said I was already on the highway, music blaring, snow melting on the windshield.
But lying to him, even for a second, felt worse than the truth.
“About that,” I said, wincing.
His tone shifted immediately, cautious. “What about it?”
“My car,” I started, then stopped, because suddenly my throat didn’t want to work. “It, uh… decided today wasn’t its day.”
There was a pause…long enough for me to picture him leaning against the bar, brow furrowed, that half-skeptical smile tugging at his mouth.
“You’re kidding,” he said finally.
“I wish.”
“Let me guess.” His voice turned teasing again. “The old dead battery trick. Classic move. You’re really committing to the bit.”
“Drew.”
He chuckled. “You could’ve just told me you didn’t want to come. Less paperwork.”
“I’m serious.”
Something in my tone must’ve landed, because the laughter drained from his voice. “Wait. You’re not joking?”
“Nope.”
Silence stretched between us, thin and fragile.
“So you’re really not coming.”
The hurt in his voice cut straight through me. There was no accusation, no anger, just quiet disappointment that felt worse than anything else.
“I was coming,” I said quickly. “I swear. I packed, I woke up early, I even made coffee to go. The car just… didn’t start.”
“Right.”
“Right? That’s all you have to say?”
He sighed, and I could hear the rustle of movement on his end, probably pacing behind the bar. “Mel, come on. You’ve got to admit the timing’s a little convenient.”
My chest tightened. “You think I’m lying?”
“I think you get scared,” he said gently, which somehow hurt more. “And sometimes scared looks a lot like stuck.”
I pressed my hand to my forehead, pacing the length of my apartment. “This isn’t about fear. This is about an engine that sounds like a dying animal.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, and when he finally did, his voice was softer. “Okay. Then let me come down there.”
“What? No. Absolutely not.”
“Why not? I can be there by—”
“Because it’s stupid,” I snapped, and then instantly regretted it. “I mean—it’s far. You’ve got the bar, Callum, the whole town depending on you to host their weekend festival.”
He gave a quiet huff of laughter, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “You make it sound like I run a kingdom.”
“You kind of do,” I said, forcing a smile he couldn’t see.
He didn’t laugh this time. “Mel, if you wanted to back out, you could’ve just said so.”
“I didn’t back out.”
“Then what’s stopping you from renting a car?”
I froze. “Renting a car?”
“Yeah. You live in the city, don’t you? There’s, like, a rental place on every corner.”
“I didn’t—” I floundered, heat crawling up my neck. “I didn’t think of that.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
“Right,” he said finally, voice quieter now. “Because you weren’t really planning to.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I’m not trying to be,” he said. “I just… I thought we were past this.”
My pulse kicked, uneven. “Past what?”
“The excuses. The almosts. The half-truths.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?” he asked, his voice breaking just slightly on the question. “Because I drove hours down to your city just to prove I wanted this, and I’m standing here trying to believe you want it too. But every time you get close, you pull away.”
The words hit hard, mostly because they weren’t wrong.
I swallowed, gripping the phone tighter. “You think I want to be stuck here? You think I planned for this?”
He exhaled, long and quiet. “No. I just think… maybe it’s easier this way.”
That did it. The guilt burned straight into frustration.
“You don’t get to decide what’s easy for me,” I snapped. “You don’t know what’s happening on my end.”
“You’re right,” he said, still calm, which made it worse. “I don’t.”
“Exactly,” I said, voice trembling. “So stop assuming.”
“Then tell me what’s true, Mel. Because I’m trying real hard to keep up.”
I closed my eyes. The truth was that he was right. I was scared. Scared that this thing between us would fall apart as soon as it became real. Scared that leaving Seattle, even for a few days, would remind me how much I wanted something I couldn’t keep.
But none of that was fair to him. Not after everything he’d done to show up for me.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll get it fixed. I’ll come tomorrow.”
He didn’t answer right away. When he finally did, his voice was tired in a way that made my chest ache. “Don’t promise something you can’t keep.”
“I’m not—”
“It’s fine,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “Really. We’ll figure it out. You take care of the car, I’ll take care of the bar. We’ll talk later.”
“Drew—”
“Mel,” he said, voice soft now, like he was pulling away before I could stop him. “Don’t say anything you’ll regret.”
And before I could explain, before I could make him understand that I was being honest, the line went dead. Because he was right. Why didn’t I think of renting a car or…anything?
I stood there, the silence ringing in my ears.
For a long moment, I couldn’t move. The phone felt heavy in my hand, the weight of everything unsaid pressing harder than I wanted to admit.
He didn’t believe me. Not really. And maybe he shouldn’t have.
Because if our positions were reversed, I’d probably doubt me too.
I sank onto the edge of the couch, staring at the phone until my reflection blurred on the black screen. My pulse was still racing, my stomach a tight, restless knot. Lydia’s text from earlier flashed across my mind—He’s going to be devastated.
Yeah.
He was.
And somehow, knowing that hurt worse than if he’d yelled.
I set the phone down, pressing both hands to my face. The air in my apartment felt too still, too thick. The coffee I’d poured earlier had gone cold on the counter. My suitcase sat by the door, the zipper still half-open.
I stared at it for a long time.
He thought I didn’t want to come. That this was just another almost. Another false start.
And maybe I didn’t blame him for thinking that, but the thought of him standing there in that bar—waiting, doubting, disappointed—lit something stubborn and sharp inside me.
I’d made a promise.
And I wasn’t going to break it.
I snatched my phone off the couch and opened a new message to Lydia.
You still have that guy who knows everyone and is always broke?
Her reply came almost instantly.
You mean my cousin Ryan? Why?
I wrote back.
I need a favor.
The bubbles appeared, followed by her text.
Oh gosh.
I wrote back.
I need a ride to Reckless River.
There was a long pause and then.
You’re serious?
I replied.
Dead serious.
She wrote.
Mel, it’s hours, and then he’d have to drive back.
I typed back.
Tell him I’ll pay big.
I sent the text before I could second-guess it. The phone buzzed again, but I didn’t check it right away. Instead, I stood and grabbed my suitcase from beside the door.
Drew might not believe me yet.
But by tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest, he would.