Chapter 9
I’m doom-scrolling again.
I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s the digital equivalent of picking at a scab. It’s painful, counterproductive, and guaranteed to make things worse. But I can’t stop refreshing the Sierra Rose Ridge Community Facebook group page.
It’s been three days since the vandalism. Three days of Mateo showing up at the shop every morning before going to work at the forge, Isabel stopping by with coffee, and Macy aggressively recommending romance novels to every customer like she’s on a personal mission to prove smut is literature.
Three okay-ish days where the comments died down to something slightly more than a trickle. It was enough that I started to believe maybe—just maybe—the worst was over.
Except now there’s a new thread. My stomach knots.
I should stop reading. Put the laptop away. Go to bed like a reasonable person.
But nope.
I can’t. I keep scrolling.
I laugh—sharp and bitter. Theft of intellectual property? That’s not even how that works.
My phone buzzes with an incoming call.
Jess.
Thank god.
“Please tell me you’re not reading the Facebook comments again,” she says the second I answer.
“I’m not reading the Facebook comments again.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m lying.” I sigh. “But in my defense, they’re getting creative with their accusations now. Apparently, I’ve committed intellectual property theft.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“I know! But Jennifer Michaels seems very convinced.”
Jess groans. “Sadie, you need to log off. You’ve had three good days. Don’t let these people drag you back down.”
“I know. You’re right. I just—“ I refresh the page one more time. Two new comments. One calls me a whore. The other says I should be thrown in jail if I don’t leave.
“I keep thinking if I read enough, I’ll find the one that makes it click.
The one that explains why they hate me so much for writing a book. ”
“They don’t hate you for writing a book. They hate you because hating things makes them feel important.” Her voice softens. “How are you doing? Really?”
“I’m okay. Tired. The shop’s been busy, which is good. Macy’s been amazing. Mateo—“ I stop.
“Mateo, what?”
“Nothing.”
“Sadie.”
“He’s just… he’s been around a lot. Helping.” I don’t mention the almost-kiss from the other night before everything imploded… or exploded… or simultaneously did both if that’s even possible. The way he looked at me like I meant something.
No. Not thinking about that.
“Good,” Jess says firmly. “You need people around you right now.”
A knock at my door makes me jump.
“Hold on,” I tell Jess. “Someone’s here.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Probably Mateo. He keeps coming by to check on things.” I head for the door, phone still pressed to my ear. “Which is sweet, but I feel guilty. I don’t want him thinking—“
I open the door without looking through the peephole.
It’s not Mateo.
My blood turns to ice.
“Why are you here?”
Owen stands in my doorway, hands in his pockets, that familiar smirk on his face.
“Hi, Sadie. Good to see you.”
“Owen.” I don’t move to let him in. “Whatever you’re trying to do, don’t. Just leave, okay?”
“I wanted to check on you.” He steps forward, and I instinctively step back. He takes it as an invitation, crossing my threshold before I can stop him. “I’ve been worried. All this harassment you’ve been dealing with is getting out of hand.”
“I didn’t invite you in.”
“We need to talk.” He closes the door behind him. Not slamming it, just... closing it. Like he has every right to be here. “This whole situation is spiraling, Sadie. You need help managing it.”
“I don’t need or want your help, Owen. I need you to leave.”
“Sadie—“ Jess’s voice comes through the phone, sharp with alarm. “Is that Owen? Is he there?”
Owen’s eyes flick to my phone. “Hang up, Sadie. This is between us.”
“You need to go. Now.” I move toward the door to open it, but he steps in front of me.
“I’m trying to help you.” His voice is so reasonable.
So calm. Like I’m the one being irrational.
It’s a tactic he used throughout our relationship.
He rarely yelled, but he always made sure I felt like I was wrong, like I was crazy for my feelings.
At least I can recognize it now. “The Facebook posts, the vandalism… this is only going to get worse if you don’t control the narrative.
Let me help you draft a statement. Something that acknowledges your mistake and apologizes—“
“My mistake?” Heat floods through me. “Writing a book isn’t a mistake.”
“Writing smut that exploited this town without permission is.” He’s still using that calm, patronizing tone. “You know I’m right. Deep down, you know you crossed a line. Who’s going to buy books from the woman who wrote porn about their town?”
“Sadie, tell him to leave.” Jess’s voice is tight. “Right now.”
“You heard her,” I say to Owen. “Leave.”
“You’re not thinking clearly.” He takes another step toward me.
“What are you doing?” I put my hand up instinctively.
“You never do when you’re emotional. That’s why you need someone who can—“
“I said leave!” My voice cracks.
Owen’s expression shifts. The fake concern drops, replaced by something colder. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be. I’m offering to help because I care about you, Sadie. Despite how you ended things and you making a fool of yourself with this book, I still care.”
“Get out.”
“You’re so stupid, Sadie.” Owen’s laugh is sharp. “Everyone is using you. Everyone. Mateo, Isabel, Macy… they see a scandal, and they’re circling like vultures. But I know you. I know how you spiral. You need someone to pull you back from the edge.”
“That’s not…”
“You’re on the edge, aren’t you, Sadie? You always make mistakes when you get to this point.” His jaw tightens. “I’m trying to protect you. Can’t you see that?”
“That’s not what you’re doing.”
“Why else would I be here?”
“I don’t know, but you’re doing that thing again where you make me small.” My hands are shaking, but my voice is steady.
His eyes wander up and down my body. “Nobody can make you small, Sadie.”
“Fuck you. You spent two years doing it, and I’m not letting you do it anymore. Get. Out.”
He doesn’t move.
“Owen—“ I start toward the door myself, but he catches my wrist.
Not hard. Not enough to bruise. Just enough to stop me. Enough to make my phone fall to the floor.
“Let go of me.” My voice is ice. “And get the fuck out of my home.”
“You don’t want that.”
“There is nothing I want more. Now. Let. Go.”
“Why do you always make everything harder than it needs to be?” Owen leans closer.
Something shifts inside me. Not anger exactly. Something quieter. The kind of clarity that comes when you’ve been pushed past the point of fear and land somewhere on the other side of it.
I stop pulling away. Instead, I step into him, forcing him to lean back.
“Let go of my wrist,” I say. My voice doesn’t shake. “Walk out that door. And don’t come back. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Not ever.”
“Sadie—“
“I’m not asking.” I hold his gaze. “I spent two years letting you convince me I was too incapable, too stupid, too damn emotional to make my own decisions. I’m done.
You don’t get to touch me. You don’t get to show up at my home.
You don’t get to pretend you’re helping when all you’ve ever done is make me feel like I don’t deserve love. ”
His grip loosens.
“You’re making a mistake,” he says, but the smirk is gone. For the first time since I’ve known him, Owen looks unsure.
“The only mistake I made was opening the door.” I walk past him, pull it wide open, and stand beside it. “Get out.”
He stares at me for a long moment. Then he straightens his jacket, walks through the doorway, and disappears down the stairs without another word.
I close the door. Lock it. Press my back against it.
My hands are shaking. My whole body is shaking. But he’s gone, and I’m still standing.
Until I’m not.
I slide down the door so I’m sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest. The adrenaline hits all at once, and I can’t tell if I’m about to laugh or cry, so I do both—a weird hiccupping sound that echoes through my empty apartment.
“Sadie?” Jess’s voice, tinny and far away. My phone. I forgot about my phone.
I crawl to where it landed near the couch and pick it up. “I’m here.”
“What happened? Is he gone? I texted Mateo—“
“He’s gone. I got him out.”
Silence takes over until she fully processes my words. “Wait, you did?”
“Yeah.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “I did.”
“Holy shit, Sadie.” Her voice is thick. “I’m proud of you.”
A knock at my door makes me flinch for a sporadic moment, but this knock is different—steady, not demanding. And I know exactly who it is before he speaks.
“Sadie? It’s Mateo. Jess texted me. Are you okay?”
I stand, unlock the door, and open it.
His eyes sweep over me, checking for damage, for tears, for whatever he expected to find.
“I handled it,” I say.
Something shifts in his expression, something like awe.
“Yeah?” His voice is rough.
“Yeah.” I almost smile. “He’s gone.”
He pulls me against his chest, arms wrapping around me tight. I melt into him, the adrenaline finally crashing. I’m shaking, and I can’t stop.
“I’m proud of you, tesoro,“ he murmurs into my hair.
We stand there for a long moment. His heart pounds against my ear. His hands are warm and steady on my back. Safe. I feel safe. I pull back just enough to look up at him.
We’re so close.
He tucks some loose hair behind my ear, and his eyes drop to my mouth. One of his hands cups my face, thumb brushing across my cheek. His other hand is still at my back, holding me steady.
“Mateo—“ My voice is barely a whisper.
He leans in. Just barely. He’s close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his dark eyes. Close enough that if I moved an inch, less, we’d be—
“Sadie, are you still there?”
Right. Jess. She’s on the phone.
I pick it up.
“Jess?” I say into it. “Are you still there?”
“Of course, I’m still here.” She pauses. Her voice softens. “Are you really okay?”
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Do you want me to come down there?”
“No. I’m okay. Really.”I look at Mateo, still standing in my apartment, hands shoved in his pockets now, giving me space but clearly not planning to leave. “I’ve got people here.”
“Okay. And Sadie? I love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up. Mateo and I look at each other across the small space. The almost-kiss hangs between us, unacknowledged but impossible to ignore.
“I’m staying tonight,” he says finally.
I should argue, tell him I’m fine, that Owen’s gone, and that I don’t need a bodyguard. But I’m tired of pretending I don’t need help. And even more tired of pretending I don’t want him here.
“Okay,” I whisper, sinking onto the couch and wrapping my arms around myself. “I’m glad you’re here, Mateo.”
Something flickers across his face. Like hearing his name after “I’m glad you’re here” means more than I fully realize.
The apartment is quiet. Safe. For a few minutes, I almost believe the worst is over.
Owen’s words echo in my head. You’re making a fool of yourself with this book. You need someone to pull you back from the edge.
Except I don’t feel like I’m on the edge. Not anymore.
I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Mateo settles on the other end of the couch, and I curl into his side without thinking about it. His arm comes around my shoulders like it belongs there.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For coming. For—everything.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do, though.” I meet his eyes.
We sit in silence for a while. Neither of us mentions what happened at the door. We don’t have to. It’s there in every breath.
Finally, Mateo stands, pulling me up with him. “You should get some rest. It’s late.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be right here.” He gestures to the couch. “Not going anywhere.”
That same electric awareness from earlier jolts through me.
He doesn’t step back this time. Instead, he pulls me into a hug.
It’s slow and deliberate. His arms wrap around me like he’s making sure I know this isn’t accidental.
I press my face against his chest and breathe him in. Smoke and metal and warmth.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. Lingering. Like a promise he’s not ready to say out loud.
“Goodnight, tesoro,“ he murmurs into my hair.
“Goodnight, Mateo.”
I head to my bedroom and close the door behind me. And as I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, all I can think about is how he held me like I was something worth holding.
And how much I wanted to stay in his arms.