Aubrey
Ithink the lack of sleep has finally caught up with me, because sitting here with Kade, Trent, and Brandon feels like slipping back into the past. Back before Trent and I crossed that line.
Back when I loved him quietly, from the shadows—just a naive teenage girl trailing after her brother’s best friend, hoping he’d notice her, hoping one day he might love her back.
Well, guess what, girl—he noticed. And he broke our heart.
Yet here I am, sitting beside him as if I hadn’t been avoiding him less than forty-eight hours ago.
I’m not delusional; I know things won’t magically rewind to the way they were.
But as I laugh and joke with the three of them, I can’t help clinging to the fragile hope that maybe—someday—Trent and I will find our way back to something that feels normal.
The kind of normal that existed before I knew the taste of his mouth or the heat of his body on mine, before I knew how it felt when he slid inside me and fucked me in a way that left me shaking and desperate for more.
My phone buzzing against my thigh snaps me back to reality. I shake away the last traces of Trent from my thoughts and pull my phone from my pocket, the screen lighting up with a text from Justin.
Justin: Hey. Just checking in. Hope everything is okay at the hospital.
My fingers hover over the keys. For a second I debate sliding the phone back into my pocket, but Justin’s a good guy. We’ve only been on a few dates, and he doesn’t deserve to be ignored.
Me: Hey. Everything’s okay. Just waiting for the doctor to come by with some updates.
Almost immediately, the screen flashes again.
Justin: Hope you guys aren’t waiting too long. Let me know if you need anything.
I can’t help but smile at his text — it’s exactly the kind of thing you’d expect from someone like Justin.
“Oooh, what’s Justin saying that’s got you smiling?” Kade’s voice cuts in. I jerk my head up to find him leaning over my shoulder, his grin wide as his eyes dart to my screen.
“You ever heard of a thing called privacy?” I snap, quickly locking my phone and shoving it back into my pocket.
Kade just smirks. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it. But my baby sister is texting a guy and smiling, which means I have every right as her older brother to tease her for it.”
“Well, it’s none of your business,” I shoot back, narrowing my eyes.
Kade chuckles, leaning over to whisper something to Brandon.
I roll my eyes and lift my head, meeting Trent’s gaze.
His eyes lock on mine, a mix of pain and anger flashing across his face, and for a moment my chest tightens.
But before I can dwell on it, the door to Trent’s room swings open.
The doctor I spoke to in the middle of the night—when they wheeled Trent back in from surgery—steps inside, clipboard in hand.
“Trent,” he says, glancing between him and the rest of us, “I’m Dr. Lawson, the orthopedic surgeon who operated on your leg last night. Everything went as well as we hoped.”
Relief washes through me, though I can still see the tension tight across Trent’s face.
“You had a tibia shaft fracture,” Dr. Lawson continues, his tone steady and clear “That’s the middle part of your shinbone.
The bone was broken and slightly displaced, but we were able to realign it and stabilize it with an internal rod and screws.
The alignment looks good, which gives it the best chance to heal properly. ”
Trent swallows hard. “So... what does that mean?”
“It means the surgery was a success,” the doctor says gently.
“Because your leg is fixed surgically, you won’t be able to put full weight on that leg for at least two weeks, after that we’d want you partially weight-bearing and would look at a boot to help with support.
You’ll gradually progress to full weight-bearing by the six to eight week mark, guided by follow-up X-rays and how your leg feels.
The key is to let your bone heal without overloading it too early. ”
I catch Trent’s jaw tightening, the flicker of frustration in his eyes.
“You’ll also start physical therapy early.
It’s going to be a big part of your recovery,” Dr. Lawson adds.
“Your leg is stable, but we want to make sure the muscles around it don’t weaken.
You’ll begin with gentle range-of-motion exercises, and as the weeks go by, the physical therapy will adapt.
Pain and swelling are normal, but if you follow the plan, your chances of regaining full function are very good. ”
Trent lets out a shaky breath. “And when can I get out of here?”
“If there are no complications, we can have you out as early as tomorrow,” Dr. Lawson replies. “We’ll send you home with detailed instructions, medication, and a follow-up appointment in about two weeks for your stitches to be removed.”
His gaze sweeps over all of us, lingering on Trent. “It’s not an easy road, but you’re young, strong, and otherwise healthy. Just have to make sure you listen to the instructions we give you and allow your leg to heal.”
After a few more minutes of going through everything with Trent, the doctor shakes his hand along with all of ours and steps back out of the room.
“Six to eight weeks... for fuck’s sake,” he mutters, throwing his head back against the pillow.
Without thinking I’m up and out of my seat and moving towards his bed, reaching for his hand with a desperate need to reassure him.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say softly, brushing my thumb over his knuckles.
Trent lets out a humorless laugh. “I’m not going to be able to walk, Bree.”
“That’s not what the doctor said, you just have to be careful.” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, “follow the doctor’s advice and you’ll be back to normal before you know it.”
He stares at the ceiling. “He said it’s not going to be easy.”
“Nothing worth having ever is,” I reply quickly.
“Can you not be so fucking positive right now, Bree?” Trent snaps, turning his head away from me.
“I’m trying to help,”
“Well, you’re not. You’re making it worse,” Trent snaps, avoiding my eyes.
His words strike like a slap—sudden and sharp. I pull my hand back before I even realize I’ve moved, the sting settling in his silence.
Kade steps in, his voice calm but firm. “Trent, ease up. She’s not the enemy—she’s on your side. We all are.”
I shrink back, swallowing hard against the tears pressing at the edges. Trent’s never spoken to me like that before, and it cuts deeper than I want to admit. All I can think about is getting out of there.
“Maybe I should go,” I whisper, taking another step back, away from him.
He still won’t look at me.
And just like that, the weight of the moment crashes down.
Coming here was a mistake. This isn’t my place anymore. I’d finally been doing okay—managing to live a life where my heart didn’t feel like it was constantly breaking open in my chest.
None of this is fair. Falling in love with someone who will never love me back. Giving parts of myself I don’t think I’ll ever be able to offer anyone else. And still, the moment I heard he’d been in an accident, all I could think was that I needed to be by his side.
But Trent made it clear months ago that he didn’t want me. And I was stupid enough to give him another chance to prove it.
Kade wraps an arm around my shoulder and gently moves me away from Trent’s bedside. He doesn’t need to say it—I can feel how aware he is of how much this hurts.
“You don’t have to leave. Why don’t we grab a coffee? Give him a bit of space.”
I glance at Trent, hoping—just for a second—that he’ll look at me. That maybe I’ll catch a flicker of guilt, some acknowledgment after sitting here all night with him. But he doesn’t even open his eyes.
I look back at Kade and shake my head.
“I’m good. You go. I think it’s better if I just head out.”
Desperate to get away, I turn toward the door. I barely register Brandon offering to walk me to my car—his voice just background noise now. Without looking back, I slip out into the hallway, the weight of everything pressing harder with each step.
Before I know it, I’m pushing through the doors of my bakery—the same doors that have stayed shut for the last two days while I sat at Trent’s bedside.
Now, staring at the quiet emptiness of the space, I feel a wave of embarrassment. I can’t believe I went to that much effort for someone who couldn’t even look at me.
Still, when the day feels heavy, I do what I’ve always done: I bake.
There’s something about it—the rhythm, the smell, the focus—that helps me breathe again. Creating something sweet, something warm, brings a kind of peace I can’t find anywhere else.
I pull my worn apron over my head, hook up my phone to the Bluetooth speaker, and scroll through my music library. I never overthink it—I just pick whatever feels good, whatever steadies my mood or gives me something to move to while I work.
Music’s always been that for me. A reset button. A way to quiet the noise in my head when everything else feels too loud.
So when DNCE – Cake by the Ocean blasts through the speaker, I can’t help but smile and let the beat pull me into an easy rhythm as I start mixing and measuring.
This—right here—is my happy place. The smell of sugar and vanilla in the air, the hum of the mixer, the music filling the room. And you can bet your ass that not even Trent can ruin this for me.
He may have broken my heart.
But this?
This is where I remember how to put myself back together.