Chapter 8
EIGHT
TORI
Past
Chase is in his element here, working the room like he owns it, greeting colleagues with loud handshakes and bro hugs. Nobody will call this place what it really is—a poser bar for small-town suits wishing they could step foot into the actual Union Lodge in Denver. Ha. As if.
I linger near Chase, trailing behind like a shadow, gripping the small clutch purse that doesn’t quite match the black dress I put on just because he said he liked it.
My heels click softly on the wooden floor, but the sound is swallowed by the dull roar of conversation and the clink of glasses.
The air is thick with the tang of spilled beer and the faint musk of stale cigar smoke, making me feel even more out of place.
Despite the effort I put into my hair and makeup, I feel like a prop, an accessory to Chase’s overwhelming need for attention.
Sometimes I wonder why he wasn’t named Chad. He really is such a Chad.
As we approach the bar, the lighting changes—a soft glow from Edison bulbs strung overhead casts long shadows, giving the illusion of sophistication.
Chase introduces me to a few of his newer colleagues, their suits slightly ill-fitting and ties just a little too bold for the occasion.
One of them, a younger guy named Matt, turns to me with a genuine smile, his blue tie a little crooked.
“So, Tori, what do you do?” he asks, his tone polite and warm, a stark contrast to the superficial energy around us.
I barely part my lips to respond before Chase waves a dismissive hand, cutting me off. “Oh, she just plays with numbers all day,” he says, smirking like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever said. “She’s an accountant. You know, spreadsheets and boring stuff like that. Nothing too exciting.”
It’s not the first time he’s diminished me like this. Hell, it’s not even the first time this week. I keep thinking I’m overreacting—that I’m being too sensitive—but that sinking feeling in my gut? It’s becoming a permanent resident. The kind that moves in with a suitcase and changes the locks.
Heat creeps up my neck, and I feel my shoulders tense.
The words hang in the air, mocking me. Chase’s tone, his words, his very presence—all of it presses down on me like the oppressive weight of the too-warm room.
Matt’s smile falters, his gaze flicking to me with a mix of sympathy and awkwardness.
I manage a tight smile, brushing the moment off. “I’m an accountant at a small firm,” I say, trying to salvage the conversation. “I handle a lot of different accounts, so it can actually be pretty interesting. Every day’s a little different.”
Matt nods politely. “That sounds great. I bet it keeps you busy.”
“Yeah, it does,” I reply, but my voice feels thin, barely audible over the clamor around us. I glance at Chase, who’s already turned away, his focus locked on someone else. My stomach churns, and I swallow hard, fighting the lump rising in my throat.
“What about you? Are you an associate?”
“Junior associate,” he says, his voice softening as if sensing my discomfort. “I just transferred to the Moraine office from Denver. I prefer a smaller town to the city.”
“I get that,” I reply, trying to ease the tension. “We went to UC Denver but moved back here as soon as we graduated. The city isn’t for everyone.”
The conversation dwindles as I turn to Chase, desperate for a distraction. “Babe,” I call softly, placing a hand on his back. His body jerks, and foam spills over the top of his pilsner like a mini waterfall.
“What the fuck, Tor?” he snaps, spinning to face me with fire in his eyes. “Are you trying to spill this drink all over me?” The room suddenly feels smaller, the noise quieter, and I feel every eye in the vicinity shift toward us.
I force a laugh, though it feels like swallowing glass. “Sorry,” I say lightly, trying to defuse his anger.
His scowl twists into a cocky grin, the one that makes me want to shrink into myself. “Always so eager to get your hands on me,” he says, his voice loud enough to carry. “Spilling my beer so you can lick it off later? Aim lower next time.”
My cheeks flush hotter than the bourbon Chase drinks on poker nights. Aim lower? Did he really just say that? Out loud? In front of his colleagues?
I’m about to respond, to do something—anything—when a voice cuts through the tension like a blade.
“Aim lower, Martin? Come on now. The only reason any woman would aim lower on you is to knee you in the crotch for being a fucktwat.”
I turn, startled, to find Skye standing there in all her fiery glory, her arms crossed and an eyebrow arched.
I see it in her eyes—years of biting her tongue at family dinners, of pretending not to notice the way Chase talks over me, interrupts me, belittles me.
She’s warned me, gently and then not-so-gently, and I’ve always brushed her off. But tonight? She’s had enough.
Chase glares at her, his ego visibly wounded. “The only place your knees belong is on the floor, Kennedy. Be a good girl and show Matty boy here how you got your nickname, Jizzebel.”
The room seems to hold its breath. Even the faint jazz music playing in the background can’t cut through the suffocating tension. My mortification is complete.
Taking my queue to leave, I turn back to the bar to retrieve my clutch.
“Matt, it was wonderful to meet you. I apologize for my husband’s lack of decorum and my friend’s equally inappropriate response.
” I cast death glares at each of them before continuing, “Skye just got back into town so I’m going to head out with her. ”
Turning to fully face my husband, I say, “I’ll see you at home.” Chase waves me off, saying, “Yeah, whatever,” before downing the rest of his beer in one go.
“Was that absolutely necessary?” I hiss, grabbing Skye’s wrist and dragging her toward the door.
“Necessary? No. Paramount to my villain arc? Absofuckinglutely,” she replies, her voice dripping with defiance. “I hate when he says shit like that about you, especially in front of other people.”
The cool night air outside feels like a slap to my overheated face as we step onto the sidewalk. I can still feel the weight of the bar’s atmosphere clinging to me, like a second skin I can’t shed.
“You caused a scene.”
“I caused a scene?” she scoffs, “Please, Tori. He caused a scene, embarrassed the hell out of himself and everyone around him. All I did was knock him down a peg. He deserves worse.”
Skye crosses her arms, her expression a mix of frustration and concern as we walk down the sidewalk.
The heels of my shoes click unevenly on the pavement, and I can’t bring myself to look at her.
She’s waiting for me to say something—anything—but my mind is stuck replaying Chase’s words over and over again, each one hitting like a gut punch.
“You know,” Skye says finally, her voice sharp but not unkind, “you’re allowed to be mad. You don’t always have to make excuses for him.”
I stop walking, my breath hitching. “I’m not making excuses. He’s just… stressed. Work’s been a lot for him lately, and—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Tori,” she cuts me off, spinning to face me.
Her eyes are fierce, burning with the kind of indignation I can never seem to muster for myself.
“You’re always so quick to defend him. Do you even hear yourself?
You just let him humiliate you in front of his colleagues, and you’re out here blaming it on stress? ”
I flinch at her words, not because they’re harsh, but because they’re true. “It’s not that simple, Skye.”
“It’s exactly that simple,” she counters, stepping closer.
Her voice softens, but the fire in her eyes doesn’t.
“You’re married to a man who treats you like shit.
Like you’re just… a convenience? Not even that.
He treats you like you’re an inconvenience to him.
A tagalong punching bag, there to take hits for his pleasure.
It’s humiliating, and it’s not okay. And you just take it.
Over and over and over again. You’re so busy trying to keep the peace that you’re letting him crush you in the process. ”
Her words hit like a hammer, cracking something deep inside me that I’ve been holding together with duct tape and denial.
“It’s not like that,” I mumble, even though I know it is.
Skye takes a step back, running a hand through her hair as she exhales sharply.
“Tori, do you even hear yourself? You’re miserable.
You’re always walking on eggshells around him, bending over backward to make him happy, and for what?
So he can call you boring in front of strangers?
So he can make you feel small every chance he gets?
That’s not you. The Tori I know is strong and fierce and takes up space, dammit! ”
“I don’t…” My voice falters, and I feel the tears welling up. I don’t want to cry—not here, not now—but the weight of everything Skye is saying is too much to hold back.
“I know you love him,” she continues, her tone softening. “But love isn’t supposed to feel like this. It’s not supposed to make you feel invisible or worthless. It’s supposed to lift you up, not tear you down.”
The tears spill over, hot and unrelenting, and I swipe at them angrily. “You don’t understand,” I say, my voice breaking. “It’s not that easy to just… to just walk away. We’ve been together for so long, and he’s been through so much. His parents—”
“Tori,” Skye interrupts gently, placing her hands on my shoulders.
Her gaze locks with mine, unwavering. “I’m not telling you to leave him.
Not yet. I’m telling you to fight for yourself.
Stop letting him treat you like you don’t matter.
Stop shrinking yourself to fit into his version of what you should be.
You deserve so much more—so much better—than this. ”
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and undeniable. I want to argue, to defend Chase, to defend myself—but I can’t. Because deep down, I know she’s right.
“You don’t have to make any decisions right now,” Skye says, her voice softer now, almost tender. “But you need to start asking yourself some hard questions, Tori. What do you want? What do you deserve? And how long are you willing to wait for things to change?”
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. “I don’t know,” I whisper, the words barely audible.
She squeezes my shoulders gently before letting her hands drop. “Then start there. Figure out what you want. And when you’re ready, I’ll be here—whatever you need, whenever you need it.”
The weight of her words settles over me as we continue walking, the silence between us thick but not uncomfortable.
For the first time in a long time, I feel seen—really, truly seen.
And while I’m not sure what comes next, I know one thing for certain: I can’t keep living like this. Something has to change.
We arrive at her car, a beat-up Subaru she refuses to trade in because “it’s got character,” when suddenly it hits me—I wasn’t expecting her tonight. I pause, frowning slightly as she unlocks the doors.
“Wait a minute. You’re supposed to be visiting your brother. Why are you home early? And how the hell did you know we were at Union?”
Skye glances at me over the top of the car, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Bitch, please. I always know where you are. Location sharing, remember?”
“Stalker,” I shoot back, but there’s no heat in my voice. Just gratitude.
She laughs, the sound light and unapologetic as she slides into the driver’s seat. “Call it what you want, but I knew you’d need backup tonight. That douche canoe doesn’t know how to treat you, and I wasn’t about to let him get away with being an even bigger asshole than usual.”
I climb into the passenger seat, the familiarity of her car wrapping around me like a warm blanket. It smells like the coffee she always forgets to throw out of the cup holder.
“You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you already back in town?”
Skye shrugs, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the main road. “Dad thing. Told him I’d help him with some stuff tomorrow morning, so I figured I’d come home a day early and see my favorite girl. Lucky me, I walked into Union just in time to see your boy showing his ass. Again.”
I shake my head, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the lingering ache in my chest. “You’ve got impeccable timing, as always.”
“Damn right I do.” She glances at me briefly before turning her attention back to the road.
“Seriously, Tori. You deserve better. And I’m not saying that as your best friend—I’m saying it as someone who’s watched you bend over backward for a guy who doesn’t even notice how much you do for him.
You’re not a goddamn doormat. Stop letting him treat you like one. ”
I don’t respond, staring out the window at the streetlights blurring past. Her words echo in my mind, bouncing off the walls of my carefully constructed defenses. I know she’s right, but admitting that feels like stepping off a ledge I’m not ready to leave.
“Like I said, you don’t have to make decisions now or figure it all out tonight,” Skye continues, her voice softer now. “But you’ve got to start thinking about what you want. Not what he wants, or what you think you’re supposed to want. Just… you.”
The weight of her words sinks deeper, settling into the corners of my mind like seeds waiting to take root. I don’t know what I want yet. But for the first time, I’m starting to think it’s okay to ask the question.
Skye reaches over, giving my knee a quick squeeze. “And when you’re ready to raise some hell, you know where to find me.”
I glance at her, a small, genuine smile breaking through the fog of my thoughts. “Wouldn’t dream of raising hell without you.”
I roll down the window. The scent of cold air chases out the last trace of Union Lodge—cheap cologne and something darker I can’t name. I breathe deep. I don’t know what comes next.
But I know I’m not walking back into that bar.