Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
I want to wake up with you every morning
SOPHIE
The bell above the cafe door jingles, as it does hundreds of times every shift.
So I don’t look up at first—I’m wiping down the espresso machine, hoping to pass the next few hours of my shift.
Then I hear a voice I’ve heard countless times in my nightmares.
“It’s been too long.”
My heart stutters. That voice—too calm, too familiar—pulls the air straight from my lungs. When I look up, he’s already staring at me, standing just on the other side of the counter with a smirk that chills me to my core.
He hasn’t changed much. Still tall. Still has those pale, flat green eyes—eyes that, for the first time, aren’t bloodshot from alcohol.
His hair is darker now, more dirty blond than I remember, streaked with silver at the temples.
There’s something quieter about him. He seems controlled and calculated, and that makes it so much worse.
“I thought we could have a chat,” he says, like we’re old friends.
“I’m working,” I say, barely above a whisper. My fingers curl tightly around the towel in my hand. “I don’t have time.”
“Don’t be like that,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough. “Unless you want me to make a scene at your little job?”
I glance at Liam, my coworker, who’s restocking the pastries. Then I point to an empty table near the front of the cafe. “I’ll take my break.”
Liam nods, unsuspecting.
I walk stiffly, hyper-aware of his gaze crawling over me. As soon as we sit, he slides a small, wrapped box across the table.
“Got special permission from my parole officer to come up here,” he says, tone casual. “You know, for my daughter’s birthday. Didn’t forget about you.”
I don’t reach for it.
“Go on,” he says, smiling. “Open it.”
I stay frozen.
His voice drops, quieter. “Before I make a scene.”
My fingers move before I can stop them. I try to hide the tremble as I pull the ribbon loose. Inside the box is a single hotel keycard. Silver Pine Inn.
My stomach turns.
“I thought we could spend some time together,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Don’t have to wait ‘til your mom’s asleep this time. It’ll just be us.”
I don’t touch it.
He lets out a low chuckle, amused. “Still playing hard to get? You don’t have to play with me, baby girl.”
His voice softens—mocking and possessive.
And just like that, he’s not pretending anymore.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he says. “Even when I was inside. That little detour. Just a bump in the road. But now we’ve got time. No more interruptions. We can finally be together. I was on my best behavior just for you.”
My throat tightens. I want to scream. Run. Anything. But I can’t move.
“We were always meant to be together, baby girl. You know that.”
The pet name hits me like a slap. My limbs go numb.
I whisper, “Did you see my mom?”
His smile fades for a second, then comes back sharper. “Yeah. Bitch has been waiting like a dog. Pathetic, really. Clingy.”
I feel sick.
“Sophie?”
I’ve never been more relieved to hear a voice—any voice.
I look up and of course it's Grant—because that's what he does, somehow always shows up exactly at the right time.
“Hey Grant.” My voice comes out warmer than usual, maybe too warm, but I need Mark to know I was never sitting around waiting for him.
Grant looks at me for a half second too long, clearly thrown off by my tone. “You okay?” His eyes drift to Mark, narrowing just slightly. “Who's this?”
The smugness on Mark’s face disappears in an instant. Maybe it’s Grant—his size, his presence. Maybe Mark assumes he’s my boyfriend. Good. I hope he gets the message loud and clear: I’m not waiting for him. I never was and I never will.
It helps that Grant is everything Mark isn’t—towering, muscular, model-handsome with sandy blond hair and sharp brown eyes. A guy like Mark would never be able to compete, and I hope the sight of Grant coming to me knocks the ego right out of him.
“This is my step—” I start, but Mark gets up and walks away. “—father.”
Grant watches him go, then turns back to me. For once there's no trace of humor on his face. “What the hell was that?” His voice is quiet. “Should I be concerned? You look like you've just seen a ghost.”
I can't think straight. Can’t process what just happened.
“Grant, can you…not tell Micah about this?” I ask quickly. “I want to be the one to tell him.”
He looks confused, but nods. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you need.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I mean it. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't shown up.”
He offers a small smile. “You're family now, Soph.”
The words catch me off guard. Family. That word never used to mean warmth. It meant chaos, pain, survival. But the people I've met this year are slowly giving it a new meaning.
I know this is not the last time I’ll see my stepfather. But at least I don’t have to be struggling and anxious alone.
And just like that, I pull out my phone and text Micah.
Me
Hey. Are you home?
Can you stay with me until the end of my shift.
Exactly three minutes later, Micah’s sitting at an empty table, silently watching me work. No questions, no pressure—just being there for me like he always is.
MICAH
I hate that I wasn’t there when that asshole showed up. I should’ve been. I should’ve made it clear—loud and brutal—that he’s never allowed near her again. But I wasn’t.
How did Nico miss this?
Thank fuck Grant was there, though. I owe him more than I can put into words.
I glance over at Sophie, still curled up on my couch in my sweatshirt, eyes tired and distant.
“Sophie,” I say quietly. “Move in with me.”
It’s not just about today—though every part of me wants to keep her close, where I know she’s safe. I want to drive her to campus. Pick her up. Come home to her. Or be here waiting when she comes home from work. I want to wake up with her beside me. Fall asleep knowing she’s here.
I just want to be with her. As much as I can.
“What? I got the lock fixed on my door.” She answers. She probably thinks she’s intruding. “I’ll just keep reminding Poppy to lock it when she goes out.”
“I don’t want you to be alone in that part of town if he shows up again,” I say, my voice rough. “But it’s not just that. I want you to move in with me.”
She looks at me, eyes wide, like she’s searching for the catch. Like this is too much. Like she doesn’t deserve any of it.
“I know you’re worried after what happened today,” she says. “But I’ll be fine. Really.”
God. She still thinks she has to prove she can survive on her own. That asking for help is a weakness. That she’s a burden. She doesn’t see it—how easy it is to love her.
“Sophie.” I shift closer, my hand curling around hers. “You and I—we’re it. Can’t you see that?”
She doesn't answer. She just stares at me.
“I’m not saying this because of what happened today.
I’m saying this because I love you,” I say, my chest tightening.
“I want to wake up with you every morning. I want to drive you to class, make you coffee, and kiss you before you walk out the door. I want to come home and find you here. I want to fall asleep knowing you’re safe—right here with me. ”
I can tell she’s about to argue or put on her tough act.
“I live here,” I say gently. “I own this building. Wyatt lives here. If you’re not ready to live with me yet, I’ll get you and Poppy your own place here.
We have security. You’ll never have to feel unsafe again.
Just—” I pause, my voice breaking a little.
“Please let me do this for you. Let me take care of you. Let me have some peace of mind.”
She still doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just stares down at our hands.
Then, finally, she nods. “I’ll talk to Poppy,” she murmurs. “Maybe she’d want to move in with Wyatt.”
Relief crashes through me, so strong it makes my chest ache.
“Thank you,” I breathe. “You have no idea what it means to me to just know you’ll be safe.”
And when she leans into me, tucking her face against my chest, I hold her like she’s everything. Because she is. And I swear to God, I’ll spend every day proving it.
Driving to campus with Sophie in my car, her hand in mine, is even better than I imagined it’d be.
I love the way her scent clings to the passenger seat. It’s like she’s marking the space with something only I get to know. I love how it lingers on my hoodie, on the collar of her coat, in the air long after she’s gone.
I love making her coffee in the morning. And watching her pad barefoot out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, looking like she belongs there.
I just love her.
And I love this—being with her. Like this.
“Micah, are you sure I don’t look weird?” she asks, tugging at the sleeves of my red sweater peeking out beneath her coat. Her fingers barely reach past the cuffs.
She spent the night again. She didn’t have anything clean, and her hoodie had too many coffee stains to pass. I gave her one of my sweaters to wear. It swallows her whole, but I’m not complaining.
“You look perfect,” I say, glancing over at her. “Just roll the sleeves up. You look so good in red, baby.”
I don’t have to look twice to know she’s blushing. Her cheeks are probably the same shade as the fabric.
“I can’t wait for you to move in,” I add. “To do this every day. This is domestic as hell, and I love it.”
“Me too,” she says, tucking her hands into her sleeves. “Your mattress is amazing.”
“And what else is amazing?”
“Your coffee?” she says, smirking. “Sooo good.”
I glance at her, raising a brow. “Mmm. And?”
“I think that’s it,” she says, laughing.
I shake my head and bring her hand to my lips, brushing a kiss to it.
“Trying to keep my ego in check?”
“Someone has to.”
“Well, it’s too late for that, babe,” I say, brushing my lips against her hand again. “I got the best girl in the whole damn world. Nothing can boost my ego more.”
I’m sitting next to my girl—my favorite person in the world—in my favorite class. And yeah, it’s only my favorite because it’s where I met her.