Chapter 3 #3
Mike flicked his gaze over me, scanning my outfit from head to toe. His expression twisted into something unmistakably disapproving.
“Ew, that’s what you’re wearing?” he said.
I instinctively tugged at my jacket in an effort to cover the bright pink pants and the glittery fringe.
He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose like my presence was unbearable. “Can you leave? I need to practice and get in the zone.”
“Oh.” My voice was smaller than I wanted it to be. I was smaller than I wanted to be. “Sure. Yeah. See you afterward.”
I stepped back, trying to salvage what was left of my dignity. As I moved toward the door, I could already hear their hushed voices behind me, their words blending into a low murmur.
I glanced back once, catching the way Trishelle leaned in slightly, her body language comfortable and familiar. Mike didn’t even look up.
Turning away, I forced myself to keep moving, my chest tightening with every step. By the time I exited the hallway, I realized I hadn’t been breathing. I exhaled shakily, clutching the strap of my bag and wondering why I’d even bothered coming back here in the first place.
I knew. Deep down, in the pit of my stomach and the ache in my chest, I knew. I didn’t need words to confirm it because the way he acted, the way he looked at me, said everything I needed to hear. Somehow, without saying it outright, he’d confirmed what I’d been avoiding.
I swallowed the lump in my throat as I leaned against the cool brick wall of the building.
The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome this evening’s entertainment, local country music star, Mike Pilsen.”
The crowd erupted in cheers as Mike burst through the doors, his energy high, his smile bright. He soaked in the adoration as he jogged toward the stage.
I pressed my back harder against the wall, my arms wrapped tightly around myself, as if holding my body together would somehow keep the cracks from showing.
He was shining under those lights, basking in the attention, while I melted into the cold, shadowed wall behind me.
With Mike, I was always melting. Always fading.
Even when I needed him the most, when I was broken, he stayed whole and untouched.
The door swung open again, and Trishelle stepped out, her lipstick smeared at the corner of her mouth. She clapped along to his music, not bothering to glance my way.
What I couldn’t understand was why he wanted me. Why live with me? Why ask me to marry him if this was the life he wanted—this stage, this crowd, this freedom I could never offer him? I wasn’t part of this world, and no amount of pretending would ever make it mine.
The only thing that brought me any solace was the reality unfolding in front of me.
Half the arena had already cleared out, their seats glaringly empty against the lights.
Those who stayed weren’t even paying attention.
Conversations hummed over his music, people milling around like his performance was background noise.
What he thought was his shining moment was crumbling.
I stayed pressed against the wall, watching it all unfold. The polite applause, the scattered cheers, the indifference of a half-empty arena. Maybe it wasn’t the kind of justice I’d imagined, but it was something.
He finished his song, and sweat dripped down his face as he came down the stairs. I smiled brightly, forcing myself to shake off the weirdness of earlier, ready to congratulate him despite the half-empty arena.
Before I could say anything, he was yelling.
“Fuck these people,” he shouted, his voice echoing through the backstage area. “Fuck this whole scene.”
I froze as he turned and locked eyes with me.
His chest was heaving, and he pointed to me. “This is your fault,” he growled. “You were the one who set this up.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He stormed back through the doors, leaving me stunned in his wake. Trishelle followed him without hesitation, not even sparing me a glance as she disappeared behind him.
My fault?
Harleigh came down the stairs moments later, her boots thudding against the metal. She stopped when she saw me, her brow furrowed in confusion.
“What the fuck?”
“I have no idea.”
Her expression softened as she crossed the backstage area, pulling me into a hug.
“I’m pissed,” I admitted quietly.
“You should be.”
“What do I do?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
She pulled back and pointed toward the hallway. “Go in there and tell him to fuck off. Seriously.”
I hesitated, staring at the door he had disappeared through. Her words made sense, but I couldn’t bring myself to move.
I wasn’t worthy of being loved. Not by him, not by anyone. Mike had reminded me of that enough times to make it sink deep into my bones. I wasn’t even a woman anymore—not the kind of woman who could stand up for herself, who could demand better. I was broken and hollow.
I looked down at my hands, and Harleigh whipped a hand sanitizer from her back pocket and sprayed them without question.
“You came here. You set this up. You gave him an opportunity of a damn lifetime, and this is how he repays you?”
“He’s hooking up with Trishelle.” I sighed as the words came out, and she nodded, as if she knew all along.
I’m sure people did know, and I was the one who was too naive to see it all. I looked down at my outfit. I used to shine so brightly. I used to be bright and wild, the kind of person who created a whole event and then celebrated herself for it.
“Look at you, Fable. You’re beautiful and strong.”
I nodded, tears forming in my eyes. I hated crying.
“He’s not helping.”
“I-I’m going to talk to him.”
Harleigh pointed to the wall. “I’ll be right here waiting.”
I put my head down as I pushed the backstage door open to that same hallway with the one fluorescent light on the wall. It led to the backstage rooms and around toward the locker rooms for the bull riders.
I didn’t need to go far. Just a few steps in, I heard it—the unmistakable sound of moaning. My feet froze mid-step, my stomach knotting as the realization hit me like a blow.
I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t stop myself.
My eyes lifted slowly, and I saw exactly what my gut had already told me I would.
Trishelle was there, her legs wrapped tightly around Mike’s waist, her hands tangled in his hair.
His palms were firmly on her breasts, their bodies pressed together against the wall like they couldn’t get close enough.
For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
“Hi,” I muttered.
They froze. Mike’s eyes snapped to mine while Trishelle barely flinched. Her lips curved into a smile as she unwound herself from him, stepping back with an infuriating air of confidence.
“Shit, Fable.” Mike stepped away from Trishelle like it could erase what I’d seen.
My jaw ached, clenched so tightly I thought it might crack. I wasn’t angry, not in the way I should’ve been. I was tired. Bone-deep, soul-weary tired.
Trishelle laughed, an ugly, mocking sound, and sauntered down the hallway without a word. Mike turned back to me, reaching out like he could fix this.
“I’m done.” My voice didn’t waver, but it felt like my chest was caving in. “We’re done.”
“I can explain,” he started, moving toward me, but I held up a hand to stop him.
“No need. I don’t care.”
His face twisted with anger. “No one will love you, Fable,” he spat. “You’re a freak. Your hand washing, your obsession with being clean, your—”
The door swung open behind me with a loud creak, and Harleigh stormed in, her boots echoing against the tiled floor.
“Let’s go, Fable.”
I shook my head, not wanting to look him in the eye again. She started to say something over my shoulder, but I tugged at her arm, hoping she’d stop.
“Harleigh,” I begged. I didn’t want to argue with him. I didn’t want to give him another ounce of my energy. He’d spent years draining it from me, leaving me hollow.
She glanced at me, her anger melting into understanding. “You’re right. Not worth it. Let’s go.”
She grabbed my hand, her grip firm and steady, and together we turned around and opened the door to the arena.
I walked away from the one person who never chose to walk toward me. From the man who abandoned me when I needed him most. From the only semblance of family I had ever known.
I kept walking, because staying meant clinging to endless pain. Walking away meant choosing something I hadn’t dared to in years—myself.