15. Addy
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Addy
If you told me a month ago that I’d be standing in a Chicago bar, wearing a dress I didn’t hate, drinking an overpriced fruity drink with a woman I met three weeks ago while laughing about emotionally unavailable men…
I would’ve said, respectfully, that you were delusional.
And yet…
Here I am.
“Okay,” Sophie says, leaning across the small high-top table toward me, eyes bright with mischief and probably tequila, “rule number one.”
“There are rules?” I ask, suspicious.
“There are always rules.”
“I don’t like that.”
“You’ll like this one,” she says. “We're not allowed to talk about your boss for at least… twenty minutes.”
I stare at her.
She stares back.
I take a sip of my drink. “That feels targeted.”
“It is targeted.”
“I wasn’t going to talk about him.”
Sophie rolls her eyes with the confidence of a woman who has already won. “You were literally about to. I can see it in your face.”
I take a sip of my drink to buy myself time.
Unfortunately, alcohol doesn’t make me less transparent.
“That could have been about anything,” I say.
“It wasn’t going to be about anything,” she says calmly. “It was going to be about his face.”
“I hate you,” I mutter.
She beams. “I know.”
The bar is loud but not overwhelming, the kind of place that balances music with conversation so you don’t have to scream your entire personality into existence.
I like this.
Being out. Being… normal. Not someone recovering from a public breakup in an airport. Not someone trying to prove she’s fine while quietly unraveling. Just a girl in a bar with a friend, drinking a pink and slightly dangerous liquid.
“Okay,” Sophie says, glancing over my shoulder. “Update.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“We’ve been clocked.”
I blink. “By who?”
She tilts her head subtly.
I turn just enough to follow her line of sight.
Two guys at the bar.
Cute.
Not in a life-altering way, not in a oh no, my judgment's gone kind of way. Just objectively attractive. Tall, well-dressed, the kind of men who probably know exactly how attractive they are and have structured their personalities accordingly.
One of them catches my eye and smiles.
I immediately look back at Sophie. “No.”
She laughs. “Why not?”
“Because I just got here and I refuse to immediately become a person who gets chatted up at bars like I don’t have emotional baggage.”
“Everyone here has emotional baggage,” she says. “Some of it just has better hair.”
I snort. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. They’re cute.”
“They are.”
“And?”
I panic. “And I’m not interested.”
She narrows her eyes.
“I just…” I gesture vaguely with my drink. “I don’t know. I’m not in the mood.”
“You're in a bar.”
“Yes, but emotionally I’m in pajamas.”
“That isn't how bars work.”
“I know,” I groan. “I just…”
I trail off.
Because how do I explain that every time I look at another man right now, my brain immediately goes, okay, but does he look like Ethan when he rolls his sleeves up? and then the answer is no, and then I get annoyed about it?
Deeply inconvenient.
“Addy,” Sophie says slowly, “if you say his name, I'm going to throw a lime at you.”
“I wasn’t going to say his name.”
“You were thinking it.”
I cock a brow. “I was thinking lots of things.”
“Uh huh.”
I take a long sip of my drink because, unfortunately, she’s right.
It’s not even fair.
These men are perfectly nice-looking. One of them has dimples. They’re doing that casual, respectful hovering thing where they’re clearly deciding whether to approach without being weird about it.
And I just… feel nothing.
There’s no spark, no curiosity, no pull. Just a vague, distant appreciation, like I’m looking at a well-designed chair: comfortable, attractive, and absolutely not someone I want to take home.
Which is insane.
Because I’m a single woman in a new city who should absolutely be open to distractions that aren't complicated.
And yet, here we are.
“Okay,” Sophie says, watching my face like she’s reading subtitles again. “We need to unpack that expression.”
“There's nothing to unpack.”
“There's so much to unpack.”
“I’m just not feeling it.”
“Because?”
I hesitate. “Because I think I was never actually in love with Bryce.”
She blinks.
That wasn't the answer she was expecting. It wasn’t the one I was expecting either. But now that it’s out there, it settles and feels right.
“Oh,” she says, softer.
“Yeah.”
I stare down at my drink, watching the ice shift slightly. “I think I liked the idea of him. Of what he said we were building. A life, a plan, a future that felt stable.” I huff out a quiet laugh. “Which is ironic, considering he has the emotional consistency of a weather app.”
Sophie smiles faintly.
“I kept trying to make it work,” I go on, “because I thought that’s what you do. You commit, you adjust, you overlook the parts that don’t quite fit because eventually they’re supposed to, right?”
“And they didn’t.”
“No,” I say simply. “They didn’t.”
There’s no sting when I say it, no sharp ache.
“That doesn’t mean what he did wasn’t awful,” Sophie says.
“Oh, it was spectacularly awful,” I agree. “Like, truly a masterclass in how to destroy someone’s life.”
“But you’re not broken over him.”
I shake my head slowly. “I was more hurt by how it happened than who it was with, I think.”
Sophie lifts her glass. “To realizing men aren’t worth crying over unless they’re actually worth crying over.”
I laugh and clink my glass against hers. “I’ll drink to that.”
We take a sip, and I find myself laughing lightly, as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. One I didn’t even realize I was carrying.
“Also,” she adds, eyes sparkling again, “those guys are absolutely coming over.”
I groan. “No.”
“Yes.”
“I refuse.”
She chuckles. “You don’t get to refuse. This is a social experiment.”
“I didn’t consent to be part of a study.”
“Too late.”
And sure enough, about thirty seconds later, Dimples and his friend appear at our table.
“Hey,” Dimples says, easy and confident. “Mind if we join you?”
Sophie beams. “We were just saying how much we love being interrupted.”
He laughs. “Good. That’s exactly the energy we were hoping for.”
Introductions happen.
Names I immediately forget because I'm too busy being aware of the fact that I'm, once again, completely unaffected.
We talk.
It’s fine.
They’re nice. Funny, even. One of them tells a story about getting locked out of his apartment that actually makes me laugh. Sophie is engaged, charming, and fully in her element.
I try, I really do, but there’s a disconnect. Like I’m watching myself participate instead of actually feeling anything.
And every so often, without warning, my brain flickers to a different voice.
Ethan, standing in the kitchen, saying eat like it’s both a suggestion and an order. Him watching me like he’s trying not to.
I press my lips together and take another sip of my drink.
This is ridiculous.
I'm in a bar with perfectly acceptable men, and all I can think about is the one man I absolutely should not be thinking about.
“Addy?”
I blink. “Hm?”
Dimples is looking at me. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say quickly. “Sorry. Just distracted.”
Sophie kicks my ankle under the table.
I shoot her a look.
She mouths, focus.
I try, but after another ten minutes, it becomes very clear that whatever version of me is supposed to enjoy this is currently unavailable.
So eventually, politely, gently, I excuse myself.
Sophie gives me a look that says we’ll discuss this later but doesn’t stop me.
“I’ll walk you out,” she says, grabbing her coat.
“No, stay,” I tell her. “I’m literally five minutes away.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” I smile. “I’m good.”
She studies me, then nods. “Text me when you get home.”
“I will.”
She waves my way. “And don’t get kidnapped.”
“Not on my to-do list tonight.”
“Good.”
We hug quickly, and then I step out into the night.
It’s colder now, sharper. The kind of cold that wakes you up a little, clears the fog of drinks and noise and too many thoughts.
I pull my coat tighter around me and start walking.
The streets are still alive, but quieter than before. A few people passing, the distant hum of traffic, the occasional burst of laughter from somewhere behind me.
It’s not far, I know that. I’ve walked almost this route before, and for the first minute or two, everything feels fine, normal, until…
Fear trickles down my spine like egg yolk. My gut jerks, pulling my awareness to the forefront.
I keep walking, tell myself it’s nothing. City noise. Imagination. The lingering edge of alcohol and adrenaline.
But then I hear it…
Footsteps, behind me, too close, matching mine.
I slow slightly.
They slow.
My stomach tightens.
I speed up.
So do they.
Okay, not nothing. This most definitely isn’t just my imagination.
I glance over my shoulder and find myself looking at one of the guys from the bar. Not Dimples, the other one.
He smiles when he sees me looking, but the whole thing is off.
“Hey,” he calls.
I stop walking, turn halfway, keeping distance. “Hey.”
“I thought that was you,” he says, stepping closer. “You left kinda quick.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Early night.”
“You didn’t say goodbye.”
“I thought I did.”
He shakes his head, still smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “No. You just disappeared.”
“I’m sorry if that seemed rude,” I say evenly. “I was just tired.”
He steps closer.
“You could’ve stayed,” he says. “We were having a good time.”
My pulse starts to climb. “I wasn’t.”
The smile tightens. “Well, maybe you just needed better company.”
Okay, nope. I take a step back. “I’m going to head home.”
He reaches out and grabs my wrist hard enough that everything in my body goes cold.
“Come on,” he says. “Don’t be like that.”
My heart slams against my ribs. “Let go.”
He doesn’t. “I just want to talk—”
“No,” I snap. “You don’t get to follow me and grab me and call that talking.”
My tone shifts. People across the street glance over. Good, I have witnesses.
He hesitates.
Then his grip tightens slightly.
Oh shit, this is bad… why aren’t the witnesses enough to scare him off?
“Hey,” he says. “Relax.”
“I'm relaxed,” I say, which is a blatant lie. “Let go of me.”
“Take your hand off her.”
A voice cuts through everything. It’s calm, controlled, cold in a way that isn't negotiable.
The guy freezes.
I do too, because I know that voice.
I turn.
Ethan is walking toward us, one hand loosely holding Captain’s leash, the other gripping his phone, Oliver’s monitor glowing faintly in his palm. Captain is half a step ahead of him, already keyed in, body alert in a way I’ve never seen before.
Ethan’s gaze is locked on the man holding my wrist.
“Now,” Ethan says.
Captain lets out a low, warning huff, and the guy lets go immediately, as if his hand burned.
I step back instantly, putting distance between us. My heart's still racing, adrenaline flooding my system so fast it makes me slightly dizzy.
Captain moves without being told, placing himself slightly in front of me, tail still, body angled like he’s very seriously considering all his life choices that led to this moment.
Ethan doesn’t look at me.
He stops a few feet away, attention still fixed on the guy.
“You’re done here,” he says.
The guy lifts his hands slightly, defensive. “I was just—”
“I don’t care what you were just doing,” Ethan cuts in. “You followed her. You put your hands on her. That ends now.”
There’s no room for argument in his voice.
The guy hesitates, then, clearly deciding this isn't a situation he wants to escalate, he backs off.
“Whatever, man,” he mutters, already turning away.
Ethan watches him go. Doesn’t move until he’s far enough down the street to be irrelevant. Then turns to lock eyes with me. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head, still trying to catch my breath. “No. I’m… I’m okay.”
Captain immediately takes that as his cue to check me himself, nudging my leg, then my hand, like he’s conducting a full assessment.
“Hi,” I whisper to him, because that’s the most coherent thing I can manage right now. “Yes. Hello. Thank you for your service.”
He wags once.
Ethan’s gaze flicks briefly to my wrist, checking. Then back to my face. “Did he—”
“No,” I say quickly. “He just grabbed me. I told him to stop.”
A muscle in his jaw tightens. “I’m sorry,”
That surprises me. “You didn’t do anything.”
“I wasn’t here sooner.”
My heart does a strange skip at that. “You were here. That’s what matters.”
“Luckily, Captain insisted he needed a bathroom break.”
I force a smile. “Seems he has good instincts.”
We stand there, the night settling back around us, the adrenaline slowly ebbing, and suddenly I’m very aware of how close he is. How solid he feels, how safe, which is a problem for sure.
“Come on,” he says finally. “Let’s get you inside.”
I nod, and as we walk back toward the building, side by side, I can’t help thinking…
This right here is exactly why I’m in trouble.