Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
The sun was barely up when Brandi slipped out of bed.
Tool didn’t stir. He was sprawled on his back, one arm draped across the empty side of the mattress she’d just vacated, his breathing slow and steady. Peaceful in a way he never seemed to be when he was awake.
That made it harder.
She moved quietly, gathering her clothes from the floor, dressing in the dim light that filtered through the blinds.
Her hands trembled as she pulled her shirt over her head.
Every piece of her wanted to crawl back under the covers.
To curl against his chest. To pretend they could stay in that suspended bubble where last night had felt like something more than just a moment out of time.
But it was just a moment.
At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.
She moved into the kitchen barefoot, found the coffee tin in the same spot it had been weeks ago when she dropped by. Things hadn’t changed that much. Tool didn’t call. He didn’t stop by her place. She was the one chasing after him.
Why wouldn’t a man take a willing woman to bed. She had made herself available. That was on her. She was giving up hope he would make them official.
She brewed a pot—strong, no nonsense. The kind he liked.
She poured a mug, took a sip, then placed it gently beside the second one she’d set out.
A small piece of her wanted to write something.
Thanks for last night. I’m sorry. I needed this.
But none of those words felt right. None of them made sense.
Because how do you say goodbye to someone who never really let you say hello?
Brandi stood at the door for a moment, fingers wrapped around the knob, heart hammering. She looked back—just once. The bed was a mess of twisted sheets and silent memories. She swallowed hard, opened the door, and walked out.
The morning air hit her like a slap—cool and unforgiving. She didn’t cry. Not yet. But something heavy tugged at her ribs with every step down the stairs.
She hadn't left to punish him. She'd left to protect herself.
Because if she’d stayed…
If she’d let herself believe the last few weeks changed anything…
She knew Tool would hold on tight enough to break them both.
The walk from the garage back to her apartment felt longer than usual. Each step away from Tool’s place felt like peeling off a layer of skin—exposing, uncomfortable, but necessary.
By the time Brandi reached her building, the quiet of the early morning wrapped around her like a too-heavy blanket. No traffic yet. Just the sound of gulls down near the water and the distant hum of a delivery truck making its rounds.
She unlocked her door, stepped inside, and leaned back against it once it clicked shut behind her.
The silence wasn’t comforting. It never really had been.
She peeled off her clothes, tossed them in the hamper, and stepped into the shower without thinking. The hot water did its job—washed away the sweat, the smell of scotch, the memory of his mouth on her skin—but not the ache in her chest. That stayed.
She dressed simply: worn jeans, a loose cotton tee, hair twisted up into a messy knot. Something about the mundane act of getting ready helped her breathe again.
Downstairs, the little bell above the shop’s back door jingled as she turned the lock. The ice cream shop smelled like sugar and waffle cones—comforting, familiar. The kind of scent that usually made her smile.
Not today.
She flipped the lights on, one row at a time. Powered up the dipping cabinets. Ran her hand along the cold glass of the display counter. Everything was just as she’d left it the night before.
Brandi tied on her apron and stood behind the counter for a moment, hands planted, just breathing. Trying to shake off the lingering weight of Tool’s hands. His voice. The heat in his kiss. The way he’d whispered her name like it meant something.
Don’t break my heart, she’d told him once.
And then she’d walked away first.
“Pull it together,” she whispered to herself. “Today’s a new day.”
She flipped the sign to OPEN. Sunlight spilled in through the windows, catching on the pastel tiles and dancing across the glass jars filled with sprinkles and crushed candy.
Brandi took a long, slow breath and forced her shoulders to relax.
Whatever it had been, it was over. And if Tool wanted to talk, he knew where to find her.
The morning light was soft, creeping in slowly through the half-drawn blinds. It cut across the hardwood floor and crawled up the side of the bed, warm and golden, but it wasn’t what woke him.
The cold did.
Tool reached for her before he even opened his eyes, hand sweeping over empty sheets that had gone cool sometime in the early hours. His brow furrowed as he cracked his eyes open, rolling to his back and staring at the ceiling.
She was gone. No weight beside him. No warmth. No sound of a shower or shuffling in the other room.
He sat up slowly, the sheet slipping down his bare chest, and looked around the room like maybe she’d appear if he waited long enough.
Nothing. Only the quiet hum of the garage below and the faint scent of… coffee?
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand down his face. His body ached, not just from the drinks last night but from the weight of what he’d failed to say. What he’d failed to show her.
He pulled on a pair of sweats and padded barefoot into the kitchen area.
On the counter sat a full pot of coffee, steam still curling from the top. Two mugs sat beside it. One clean. One used. Lipstick print on the rim.
But no note.
No goodbye.
Just the coffee, fresh and quiet like a whisper she hadn’t said out loud.
Tool stared at it for a long moment, jaw ticking, throat tight. He poured a mug, black, and brought it to his lips—more out of habit than want.
It was perfect. Just how he liked it. Of course it was.
He leaned back against the counter, holding the warm ceramic between his palms, eyes fixed on nothing. She’d been here just hours ago—curled against him, whispering to him like a siren. And now… gone. Like she’d never been there at all.
He didn’t know if she left to protect herself. Or to protect him. But either way, she’d taken a piece of him with her.
And left behind just enough to make him miss her more. Maybe that was the lesson he needed to learn.