Chapter 4 #2
For half a second, I think about ducking out—just slipping down the hall and pretending I forgot something upstairs.
But there’s no time. She’s already stepping inside with the kind of ease that says she’s been here before, more than once.
It’s irrational, but something sharp and hot twists in my chest. Jealousy.
Ugly and uninvited. I squash it down fast, burying it beneath practiced indifference and the quiet shame of knowing exactly why it’s there.
“Hey! I got your message that you wanted to meet here instead of in your office.” Kendall’s voice floats in, bright and casual as always, until she spots me.
She stops short. Her eyes flick over me—my clothes, my damp hair, the fact that I’m standing in Sawyer Gallo’s kitchen.
“Charli?” she says, blinking like she’s not sure if I’m a hallucination. “What are you doing here?”
I school my features into something neutral, but my voice betrays me before I can get a handle on it.
"I—I’m just... helping out," I stammer, the words tripping over each other like they forgot how to behave.
I can feel the heat crawling up my neck as I avoid her eyes, trying to sell a lie neither of us is buying.
Kendall narrows her eyes. “Helping out. Right.”
Sawyer walks around the corner right then, like he timed it.
"Morning, Kendall," he says with a casual ease that somehow makes everything worse. Then he grins—broad, warm, completely oblivious. "That breakfast Charli made? Incredible. You should’ve been here earlier. She cooked enough for a small army, and I didn’t leave a crumb behind. "
My heart sinks as Kendall’s head jerks toward me again, her brows rising with renewed curiosity, suspicion blooming right behind them.
I try to send Sawyer a look that says please shut up, but he’s already turning to grab a forgotten mug off the counter like we’re all just roommates hanging out on a lazy Sunday morning.
Kendall’s gaze swings between us like she’s watching a tennis match, and then her eyes land squarely on me, sharp and unblinking. “You’re seeing each other?”
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. Heat crawls up my neck.
“I—we’re not—he’s just—” My voice trips over itself, stammering like a broken record.
I feel the words clawing for a way out, but none of them sound right.
Kendall’s brows rise higher, her mouth already twitching like she knows the answer, and I’m caught in the middle of the world’s worst improv scene.
Sawyer, thank God, jumps in before I self-destruct completely.
“She’s staying here temporarily,” he says, with the calm of someone dropping a truth bomb wrapped in politeness.
Then he glances at Kendall and adds, like he’s reading aloud from a case file, “I found her sleeping in her van behind the country club last night.”
It lands like a slap. He doesn’t mean it to hurt—I know he doesn’t—but it feels like he just peeled the curtain back and held my secret up to the light.
Like he’s telling on me, even though I know he thinks he’s just explaining.
My breath catches and I force myself to hold still, to not flinch.
But I swear, for a split second, the floor tilts.
Kendall’s jaw drops. “WHAT!?! You were sleeping in your van?”
The shame rises so fast it scorches. It grabs hold of my throat and tightens until I can barely get the words out.
My eyes sting and I drop my gaze, staring at a spot on the floor like maybe it'll open up and swallow me.
My voice cracks when I finally speak, so quiet it's almost a whisper. "I didn’t want anyone to know."
Her voice is tight now, but there’s a shimmer of hurt behind the steel.
“Charli. You’re my best friend. You think I wouldn’t help you?
” She blinks fast, like she’s fighting tears of her own, voice trembling just enough to crack through my defenses.
"You really thought I wouldn’t want to know you were living like that?
That I wouldn’t do something—anything—to help? "
I whisper. “I didn’t want to feel like a burden.”
She doesn’t yell. She doesn’t cry. But her voice goes firm, full of the steel that comes from love. “I’m paying your kickball fees for the season. Don’t argue. Don’t fight me on this. You’re playing. The Bad News Babes need you. I need you.”
My throat tightens, and for a second, I can’t get the words out.
They stick, like they don’t want to be spoken—like admitting it makes the shame real all over again.
I bite my lip, willing myself not to cry, not here, not in front of Sawyer and Kendall.
But Kendall’s eyes are so full of fierce, protective love it cracks something wide open in me.
“Okay,” I whisper, voice barely steady. “Deal.” I take a breath, shaky and shallow, and force the rest out, voice thick with emotion. “And Kendall… I’m sorry I lied.”
“I get it,” she says, her voice firm, but not unkind.
Then she steps forward and wraps her arms around me in a fierce hug, the kind that says she’s not just angry—she is scared for me.
It knocks the breath out of me in the best way.
I hug her back just as hard, burying my face against her shoulder as the last bit of tension drains from my spine.
Then, softer, close to my ear, she says, “But don’t lie to me again. ”
“I won’t,” I whisper.
Then she turns to Sawyer, already shifting into business mode. “Now let’s talk about that housing project.”
I watch them walk toward the back office, my chest still tight, but just a little lighter. The weight of secrets didn’t vanish—it shifted, settled into something softer. Not quite comfort, not yet. But trust, maybe. A place to land, even if it’s temporary.