Chapter 11
JULES
Isee an escape and I take it.
The noise of laughter and old songs fades as I slip outside. The night air is cool and damp, carrying the sweetness of lilacs gone a little wild at the garden’s edge.
I breathe deep, pretending I’m just escaping the crowd, not the minefield of my own feelings.
I drift toward the fence, moonlight spilling over the dark field beyond. My fingertips trace the weathered wood, rugged and familiar, like an old friend that’s held a thousand secrets.
I beg my pulse to settle, but my chest is still heavy with memories I thought I’d buried.
Riot’s laugh still lingers, sharp and careless, needling at the bruise I thought had healed.
Ten years gone, and he still treats it like a current event.
They all do.
At that table, it was like being shoved back into old skin, the girl they never let grow up.
Footsteps soften in the grass behind me. Faith’s silhouette joins mine, a blanket draped across her shoulders. She doesn’t speak right away, only takes in the night beside me.
She glances at me sideways, eyes soft enough I almost unravel.
“You did fine in there, Jules,” she says gently. “Riot’s always been louder than sense, but you held your own.”
I shrug, grateful the dark hides the shine in my eyes.
“Thanks, Faith. Riot’s got a way of turning the past into a circus spotlight. He doesn’t know when to quit.”
A weak laugh slips out. “All these years, and nothing’s changed. If Evan had been here, I doubt they’d have gone that far.”
She tugs the blanket closer. “Leaving takes guts. But coming back, that’s the real courage. You get to choose whose voices matter. The rest is just noise.”
She pauses, studying me for a moment.
“But Jules… it’s more than nostalgia.”
The lilacs sway in the breeze, blossoms catching in the garden lights.
“You and Calvin showing up here together after all this time?” Faith smiles faintly. “To people like Riot, it feels like a piece of their own story suddenly walked back into the room… That’s a story they can’t resist.”
I blink at her.
“You were both part of this place during a time people cling to,” she says gently. “Before marriages. Before people moved away. Before life started feeling so serious all the time.”
Her hand brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, so maternal it nearly wrecks me.
“Riot’s an idiot,” she says fondly. “But underneath all that noise, he’s always thought highly of you. He just doesn’t know how to show it clean.”
We stand there in the quiet, crickets singing and music low in the distance.
For a little while, it’s enough to just breathe.
Faith squeezes my arm once more. “I should be heading home soon. You coming back in?”
I shake my head. “In a few minutes. The fresh air feels good. Needed.”
Her eyes linger, warm and knowing. Then she smiles and slips back inside, leaving me with a strange blend of lighter and more exposed.
The music drifts through the open doors, laughter a soft echo against the night.
For the first time since coming home…
I don’t feel like I’m fighting to survive it anymore.
After a few more minutes, I step back onto the porch, catching my reflection in the glass.
My eyes are bright, my pulse echoing. The night air clings to my hair, heavy with the last of summer’s warmth.
The ghost of lilac lingers at the fence line, sweet as memory.
I drift to the railing, fingers curling around the cool wood, not ready to step back inside.
For a moment I almost believe I can relax myself out here.
Almost.
Footsteps approach.
A man.
I stiffen. I’d know that stride anywhere.
I turn.
Calvin steps into view, hands deep in his pockets. He doesn’t swagger, doesn’t speak right away.
He just claims a stretch of railing a few feet down, gazing out at the garden.
“That was… something,” he says, not quite looking at me. “You alright?”
I cross my arms, wishing the air didn’t feel colder now. “They don’t forget, do they? Ten years, and here we still are.”
My throat tightens. “I thought we’d all have moved on.”
He turns, leaning a shoulder against the post. The garden glow catches his face before shadow swallows it again.
“Loud rooms and spotlights make people perform,” he says quietly.
I shake my head, not sure if I’m grateful for the insight or angry at the assumption.
“Yeah, well, I’m not thrilled about being the punching bag for a past I had no choice in. This wedding was supposed to be simple. Show up. Smile. Go home.”
He studies me for a second too long.
“You really think that’s all this is?”
I stiffen immediately. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He rubs a hand across his jaw, gaze drifting toward the dark field beyond the fence.
“I think people only build walls around things that still matter.”
The words hit hard enough to make my pulse stumble.
My voice sharpens. “You don’t get to stand there acting like you know me.”
His eyes flick back to mine.
“Don’t I?”
“How could you?” I strike back.
He can’t assume to know me that well.
“Look, maybe I’m wrong,” he says carefully. “But you don’t exactly look unaffected either. I was hoping ten years would make this feel smaller.” A humorless laugh slips out. “Guess I was wrong.”
Blood rushes hot through me.
His jaw tightens. “Work got loud enough to distract me. Easier that way.”
“I didn’t come back for this,” I snap. “Evan was supposed to be here, Calvin. You don’t get to talk to me like this. And I’m not the girl who left. I’m not the one you remember.”
That one visibly lands.
He takes a breath, gaze dropping briefly before finding mine again. “It’s been a long time. But why do you think I’m trying to start something?” His voice lowers. “I’m just here. Same as you. At a wedding.”
I turn away, heart hammering. “Stop trying to get under my skin with your mind games. I already buried the past.”
He shifts a step closer, facing me but not closing the space. “I didn’t expect to feel anything either,” he says quietly. “And you really think I came out here trying to mess with your head?”
The silence stretches tight as wire. My grip on the railing is the only thing grounded about me.
He exhales hard, shoulders sagging. “Damn it.” His voice roughens. “I’m just tired of pretending all the time. Pretending I’m fine.”
His eyes flick toward me, then away again.
“Seeing you now…” He swallows. “Everything I built suddenly feels really damn hollow.”
I glance at him sideways.
“Then stop pretending,” I say before I can stop myself. “You’re the one who’s supposed to have life all figured out.”
The look that flickers across his face guts me.
First surprise.
Then something heavier.
His eyes glisten, wide and wet, like I cracked something he’s spent years forcing shut.
His voice drops, rough at the edges. “I’ve always held everything else together, Jules. My family, my work. All of it.”
He lets out a broken breath. “All of it but you.”
He swallows hard. “I never figured out how to stop losing you.”
I close my eyes, his words landing heavy. A tremor runs through me, longing tangled with anger, fear, and regret.
“I want to be better than I was,” he says quietly. His voice roughens further. “And maybe it kills me that you’ll probably never see that.”
“Cal!” I interrupt, my voice sharp and quick. “Just stop.”
I shake my head, arms folding tighter across myself.
“Why can’t you respect what I have with Evan? If he were standing here right now,” I gesture toward the empty space beside me. “Would you really be talking to me like this?”
His jaw snaps shut. A muscle ticks once, twice. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t defend himself.
For a second, we just stand there, two people carrying too much history and nowhere safe to put it.
I move to leave, arms still crossed tight, but my shoulder catches his by accident.
Solid. Unmovable.
The contact stops me cold. Our eyes lock. Too close. Too many emotions.
It jolts through me like static, sharp and undeniable.
“Ugh. Sorry.” The words scrape out before I can catch them.
Then I force myself past him toward the door.
He stays where he is. I glance back as I twist the knob.
His eyes are still on me.
I rub my shoulder without thinking, like I can still feel the weight of where we collided.