Chapter 11 Sadie
Sadie
Iwatch Axel's truck pull away, my palm still pressed to the cold window glass. My stomach clenches hard, panic rising in my throat.
What did I just do? Three words, and I've shattered the careful wall I've built around my life.
I turn away from the window, nearly colliding with Rowan. She's standing there with a stack of clean mugs, her eyes narrowed.
"What was that about?" she asks, nodding toward the parking lot where Axel's truck just disappeared.
"Nothing," I mutter, brushing past her to grab a rag. "Just finalizing the catering order."
"Right." Rowan sets the mugs down with deliberate care. "That explains why you're white as a sheet and shaking."
"I'm not shaking." But my hands betray me, trembling as I wipe down an already-clean counter. "I'm fine."
"Sadie." She steps closer, her voice dropping. "What's going on? And don't say 'nothing' again or I swear I'll—"
My phone buzzes in my pocket, cutting her off. I freeze, my fingers suddenly numb as I pull it out. Not Oregon. It's him.
Axel: I'm coming back tonight. After close. We'll talk.
Something shifts in my chest, a tangle of dread and relief so intense it makes me dizzy. I stare at the screen, unable to look away from those words. He's coming back. Tonight.
"Sadie?" Rowan's voice sounds far away.
I slide the phone back into my pocket before she can see it. "It's fine," I say automatically. "Just… work stuff."
She doesn't believe me, I can tell by the way her mouth tightens at the corners, but a customer approaches the register, saving me from further interrogation.
"I'll handle this," Rowan says, giving me one last searching look. "But we're not done."
I nod and retreat to the back, where the kitchen's fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Leaning against the cool metal prep table, I pull out my phone again and stare at his message.
After close. We'll talk.
My fingers go slack on the phone, and I have to set it on the counter before I drop it.
I haven't told anyone about the court papers. About Elliot. About what's waiting for me in that envelope. I've barely admitted it to myself.
And now I've cracked open the door to someone who might actually walk through it.
The afternoon passes in a blur of orders and customers. I move on autopilot, my mind elsewhere. As closing time approaches, the café empties out until only a few stragglers remain, hunched over laptops in the corners. The sky outside darkens, streetlights casting long shadows across the floor.
Finn leaves at seven, followed by Saul. Rowan lingers, watching me with concern.
"I can stay," she offers, untying her apron. "Help you close up."
"No need," I say, keeping my voice steady. "I've got it. Go home."
She hesitates. "You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine," I lie. "Just tired. It's been a long day."
After another moment of hesitation, she nods. "Okay. But call if you need anything. Anything at all."
"I will," I promise, knowing I won't.
The door closes behind her with a soft jingle.
I lock it, one, two, three clicks, and lean my forehead against the cool glass.
The café is silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional tick of the heating system.
Outside, the street is empty, pools of yellow light illuminating vacant sidewalks.
I move through my closing routine mechanically. Wipe down tables. Count the register. Check the stock for tomorrow. My hands won't stop trembling, no matter how tightly I clench them.
At 8:15, my phone buzzes again.
Axel: Outside when you're ready.
I look up sharply. Through the window, I can see his truck parked across the street, headlights off. He's waiting, patient and still, giving me space to decide.
I stand frozen behind the counter, my fingers locked so tight around the dish towel that the worn cotton bites into my skin.
I could text back, tell him I've changed my mind. Tell him I'm fine after all. Tell him to go away and never come back.
Instead, I find myself moving toward the door, keys in hand. I can't avoid this anymore. Whatever happens next, I have to face it, face him.
My fingers close around the deadbolt. It's time.
I unlock the door with trembling hands. Axel steps in, a brown paper bag tucked under one arm. In the dim café light, his face is all shadows and gentle angles. He doesn't rush toward me or demand answers; he just waits as I relock the door behind him.
"Hey," he says softly.
"Hey." My voice sounds strange, thin and fragile in the quiet space.
He lifts the paper bag. "Brought some food. Nothing fancy. Just sandwiches from The Place. You need to eat. Sit down and let me take care of it."
The simple thoughtfulness of it catches me off guard. I haven't eaten, actually. Haven't even thought about it.
"Thanks." I gesture toward a corner table, the only one I haven't put up yet. "We can sit there."
He follows me, keeping a careful distance as I finish my closing routine, chairs up, coffee machines unplugged, counters wiped one last time. The familiar checklist steadies me.
"You know," he says, pulling out a sandwich wrapped in wax paper, "I worked at The Place through high school. Used to close every night. Had a whole system too."
I glance at him, unwrapping my own sandwich. "Let me guess, you'd skip steps to get out early."
"Actually, no." He smiles, the warmth of it reaching his eyes. "I was weirdly meticulous. Had to be done right or I'd lose sleep."
Something in my chest loosens slightly. I take a bite of the sandwich to avoid responding. Turkey and Swiss, simple, good.
"So." He doesn't push, just leaves the word hanging between us.
I swallow hard. "I don't know where to start."
"Talk to me. You don’t have to give me every detail, but I want the truth."
His calm steadiness makes my eyes burn. I stare at the table, at my half-eaten sandwich, at anywhere but him.
"I'm dealing with some legal issues," I finally say, my voice barely audible. "From Oregon."
Axel nods, waiting.
"Court papers," I continue, each word feeling like it's being dragged from me. "That I haven't opened. They keep calling, Oregon numbers—and I keep ignoring them."
"Are you safe?" he asks, and the simplicity of the question nearly breaks me.
"I don't know," I whisper, finally looking up at him. "That's what terrifies me. I don't know if we're safe anymore."
He shifts forward, careful not to crowd me. "Sadie—"
"I can't tell you everything," I cut in, panic rising. "I can't. There's too much at stake. Poppy…"
"Hey." His hand slides across the table, not quite touching mine. "I'm not asking for everything. Just what you want to share."
His fingers are so close to mine, the faint brush of air between us carrying his cologne across the inches that remain.
I stare at our almost-touching hands.
"There's someone looking for us," I manage. "Someone I left behind in Oregon. Someone dangerous."
Axel's jaw tightens, but his voice stays calm. "The sedan outside that day?"
I nod, throat tight. "Maybe. I don't know. But I'm scared it's starting again."
"Again?"
"He found us once before." The words tumble out before I can stop them.
"When Poppy was born. He showed up at the hospital. I had to leave in the middle of the night. Rowan helped me get here, start over."
I watch his hand move, slow and certain, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
His fingertips tease mine, and the heat that sparks between us is no accident.
His eyes don’t leave my face, daring me to look away, daring me to admit what I feel.
I can’t breathe with him this close, can’t think with so much want curling low inside me.
"Tell me what you need. I’ll handle it. Or I’ll make sure no one gets near you unless you want them to."
I look up and find his eyes locked on mine, intent and unguarded.
"I don't know," I admit. "I don't know what anyone can do."
He covers my hand, the strength of his grip sending a shiver through me.
There’s nothing gentle in the way he holds me—just possession, the silent promise that he won’t let go unless I beg.
The world narrows to that point of contact.
I want him to take more. I want to give in. "You don't have to face it alone."
Something in me fractures. Tears well up, hot and sudden. I try to blink them away, but they spill over.
"Sorry," I mumble, pulling my hand back to wipe my face. "I don't usually…"
"Don't apologize." He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Not for this. Not with me."
He’s close enough that I can feel the air shift when he breathes.
His jaw ticks, fingers white on the table, like he’s holding himself back from hauling me into his lap and showing me exactly what I do to him.
There’s hunger in his stare, a raw edge that makes my pulse tap out a frantic rhythm. If I move, he’ll take. I want him to.
"Sadie," he whispers, a question in my name.
I don't answer with words. I lean forward, closing the distance between us. When our mouths finally crash together, it’s anything but tentative.
He takes, his hand rough in my hair, angling my head so I can’t escape, not that I want to.
His lips steal my breath, tongue sweeping in, demanding more.
I hang on to his shirt, needing him closer, needing him everywhere.
His body presses against mine and I give in to the desire, the want to be devoured.
He tastes like sweet coffee. My stomach tightens in a sharp, hungry knot as his fingers thread through my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss. For one blazing moment, there's nothing but this, his lips, his touch, the soft sound he makes in the back of his throat.
Then reality crashes back. I pull away abruptly, pressing my fingers to my lips.
Axel immediately draws back, eyes wide. "I'm sorry," he says, voice rough. "I shouldn't have—"
"Don't," I whisper, my fingers still gripping his shirt. I can't tell if I'm asking him not to apologize or not to kiss me again. Maybe both.