Chapter Eleven
Hope
He walked away.
I stood there behind the garage, my back still pressed against the rough wood where Angel had kissed me moments before, and I watched the man who had made love to me while calling me another woman’s name turn his back on me and walk away without looking back.
Not once. Not even a glance over his shoulder. Just the broad expanse of his leather cut disappearing into the crowd of Diamondback brothers, swallowed whole by the noise and chaos of the barbecue, like he’d never been there at all. Like I had never been there at all.
My chest felt hollow. Carved out. Like someone had reached inside and scooped out everything vital, leaving only the empty shell of a woman who had been foolish enough to believe that maybe, just maybe, he had felt something real that night at the pond.
But he hadn’t. He only felt her. Julie. His ghost. And now that he knew the truth.
Now that he knew I wasn’t her, could never be her, he was gone, and I didn’t know what hurt worse.
Him whispering Julie against my skin while he moved inside me, his hands reverent and desperate as he touched me like I was something sacred he had lost and found again.
Or this.
Watching him leave now that he knew what really happened.
Now that the illusion had shattered and all that remained was me, Hope Owens, the homeopathic retailer who couldn’t bake to save her life, the waitress who served coffee and smiled at strangers, the woman who was so unremarkable that even when a man made love to her, he saw someone else entirely.
I was invisible. I had always been invisible. And God, it hurt so much I couldn’t breathe.
“Hope.”
Angel’s voice was soft, careful, as if he were approaching a wounded animal that might bolt at any sudden movement.
I turned my head slowly, meeting his eyes. He looked... sad. Not angry. Not betrayed. Just sad, like he had known all along that this moment was coming and had been bracing himself for it.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, the words scraping out of my throat like broken glass.
“I know.” He reached out, his hand hovering near my shoulder before he thought better of it and let it drop. “I told you that you were waiting for something. Guess now we both know what it was.”
A sob caught in my throat, sharp and painful.
“Hope!” My brother’s voice cut through the air like a whip, sharp and furious, and I turned to see him glaring at me, Kansas beside him, both of them wearing expressions that promised hell was about to rain down if someone didn’t explain soon.
Probably me.
Zeke stepped forward, his chest heaving, his eyes wild as they scanned me from head to toe, checking for injuries, for signs of harm, for anything that would justify the violence I could see simmering just beneath his skin.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “What the fuck just happened?”
I looked at him. At Kansas. At Angel, who was watching me with that same sad, knowing expression. At the other Diamondback brothers who were starting to gather, drawn by the commotion like moths to a flame.
All of them were waiting for an explanation. All of them expecting me to say something, anything that would make sense of the chaos. But there was nothing to say. Nothing that wouldn’t make me sound pathetic and foolish and so desperately, achingly alone.
I shook my head slowly, feeling the weight of their stares pressing down on me like a physical thing. “Nothing,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my own heart. “There is nothing to say.”
And then I walked away.
I didn’t run. Didn’t rush. Just put one foot in front of the other and moved through the crowd with my head down and my arms wrapped around myself like I could hold all the broken pieces together through sheer force of will.
“Hope! Hope, wait.” Zeke’s voice followed me, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. If I stopped, I would shatter completely, and I couldn’t do that here. Not in front of all these people. Not where everyone could see just how thoroughly I had been destroyed.
The family farm truck sat at the edge of the lot, dusty and familiar and blessedly empty.
I climbed inside, my hands shaking so badly I could barely get the key in the ignition.
The engine turned over with a rough cough, and I pulled out of the lot without looking back.
Without checking to see if Zeke was following.
Without caring about anything except getting away from that place, from those people, from the memory of his face when he realized the truth.
The drive home felt endless.
The road stretched out before me, familiar and unchanging, but it might as well have been a foreign country for all the comfort it provided.
My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles went white, and I focused on the simple act of breathing, in and out, in and out, because if I let myself think about anything else, I would drive this truck straight into a ditch.
The smell of jasmine clung to my skin. It was everywhere.
In my hair. On my clothes. Embedded so deeply in my pores that I wondered if I would ever be able to wash it away.
It used to be my favorite scent. The one I chose for all my lotions and soaps because it made me feel clean and fresh and somehow more myself.
Now it just smelled like heartbreak. Like a ghost I could never become. Like the reason a man had touched me with reverence and then left me with nothing.
A sob broke free, raw and ugly, as I pressed my hand against my mouth to muffle the sound. Tears blurred my vision, hot and relentless, streaming down my cheeks faster than I could wipe them away.
I didn’t know what I had expected. Maybe that he would look at me and see me. That he’d realize I was the one who had been there that night, who had given him everything I had to give, who had let him call me by another woman’s name because I wanted so desperately to ease his pain.
Maybe I thought he might be grateful. Or angry.
Or something, anything other than the blank, devastated shock that had crossed his face before he turned and walked away.
But he hadn’t seen me. He saw the truth of what he had done, and it had broken him all over again.
And I was left standing there, invisible and aching, wondering if I had ever been anything more than a convenient substitute for the woman he really loved.
The farm appeared through the windshield like a mirage. Familiar fields, the old barn, the greenhouse with its glass panels catching the late afternoon sun.
Home.
I parked the truck and sat there for a long moment, my hands still gripping the wheel, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps. I couldn’t go inside yet. I needed... Faith.
I needed Faith.
I climbed out of the truck on shaking legs and walked toward the greenhouse, my vision still blurred with tears, my chest so tight I thought my ribs might crack from the pressure.
The greenhouse door opened with a soft creak, and the smell of earth and growing things washed over me.
All familiar, comforting, and safe. Faith stood near the back, a watering can in her hand, her attention focused on a row of seedlings that were just beginning to sprout.
She looked up when I entered, her expression shifting from peaceful concentration to immediate concern.
“Hope? I thought you were at the barbecue. How did it—”
She stopped. Her eyes widened as she took in my tear-stained face, my shaking hands, the way I was barely holding myself together.
The watering can hit the ground with a dull thud.
“Oh, honey,” she breathed, crossing the distance between us in three quick strides. “What happened?”
And that was all it took.
The dam broke as I collapsed into her arms, my body shaking with sobs so violent they felt like they might tear me apart from the inside out.
Faith caught me, held me, her arms strong and steady as she lowered us both to the ground, cradling me against her chest like I was something precious and fragile.
“He knows,” I choked out between sobs, my voice raw and broken. “Faith, he knows. He came to the barbecue, and he saw me, and he knows.”
“Knows what, sweetheart? What does he know?”
“That it was me. At the pond. That I wasn’t—” Another sob cut off my words, and I pressed my face against her shoulder, breathing in the scent of lavender and soil and home.
“He thought—and when he realized, when he saw me today—he walked away. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look back. He just left.”
Faith’s arms tightened around me, and I felt her press a kiss to the top of my head.
“Tell me everything,” she whispered. “From the beginning. Tell me what happened.”
So I did.
I told her about Angel kissing me behind the garage.
About the flash of movement I’d seen from the corner of my eye.
About him appearing like something out of a dream, his face twisted with rage and confusion as he ripped Angel away from me.
I told her about the way he looked at me, really looked at me, and how I watched the realization dawn in his eyes.
The horror. The devastation. The understanding that the woman he made love to under the stars wasn’t his Julie, but me. Just me. Hope Owens.
Nobody special. Nobody worth remembering.
“And then he left,” I whispered, my voice hoarse from crying. “He just turned around and walked away like I was nothing. Like what happened between us meant nothing.”
Faith was quiet for a long moment, her hand stroking my hair in slow, soothing motions.
“You’re not nothing,” she said finally, her voice fierce and certain.
“Do you hear me, Hope? You are not nothing. You are kind and generous and so full of love that it spills out of you like sunlight. And if he can’t see that, if he’s so lost that he can’t recognize what’s right in front of him, then that’s his loss. Not yours.”
“But I let him,” I sobbed, the shame burning hot in my chest. “I let him touch me and kiss me, and make love to me. What does that make me, Faith? What kind of person does that?”
“A person who loves with her whole heart,” Faith said simply. “A person who saw someone in pain and wanted to help, even if it meant breaking your own heart in the process.”
I shook my head as fresh tears spilled down my cheeks. “It wasn’t enough.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Faith pulled back just enough to cup my face in her hands, forcing me to meet her eyes.
“You are more than enough. You always have been. And someday, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday, he’s going to realize what he lost when he walked away from you.
And when that day comes, you will get to decide if he deserves a second chance. ”
I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe her so badly it hurt.
But all I could see was his face. The shock, the horror, the devastation, and the way he turned his back on me without a single word.
Like I was a mistake he needed to forget.
Like I was nothing more than a painful reminder of his own grief.
Faith held me as I cried, her presence steady and unwavering, and I let myself fall apart in the safety of her arms. Let myself grieve for the man who had touched me like I was something sacred, then left me like I was disposable.
I let myself mourn the love I had given so freely to someone who couldn’t, wouldn’t love me back.
Outside, the sun began to set, painting the greenhouse in shades of gold and amber, and I sat there on the floor, surrounded by growing things and the scent of earth, and wondered if I would ever feel whole again.