Chapter 50 Love Language
Love Language
Savannah spent days rereading the letter.
Over and over, dissecting every word, as if somewhere between the ink and the paper, she could find an answer she didn’t already know. As if, by some miracle, a hidden message would reveal itself, something—anything—that would change what she knew to be true.
But no matter how many times she read it, the conclusion was always the same.
She had never let him go.
She had ran.
That was the truth she had been hiding from for an entire year.
The truth she had twisted and reshaped until it resembled something else, something easier to swallow.
She had told herself that leaving was the right thing to do, that she had been saving herself from the inevitable heartbreak.
That if she walked away first, if she severed the ties before they could tighten around her, she would be free.
But all she had done was bring the heartbreak forward. She had detonated the bomb before it even had the chance to go off.
And now? Now, she was the one left in the wreckage.
While Chase had moved forward.
She barely slept. She barely ate. Her apartment had become a maze she wandered endlessly, drifting from room to room like a ghost, haunted by memories she couldn’t turn off.
The way he used to look at her—like she was the only person in the world, like nothing else existed outside of her.
The way his voice softened when he said her name, that slight rasp that always made her stomach tighten.
The way he always tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, small and effortless but impossibly intimate, like touching her was second nature.
Like she belonged to him.
She had spent a year convincing herself she made the right choice. That she was healing. That time had dulled the edges of what they had.
But the truth?
She wasn’t living. She wasn’t healing. She was just—existing.
And then, just when she thought she had suffered enough, Mallory shattered the last fragile piece of her resolve.
“He has a meeting tomorrow,” Mallory had said carefully, too carefully, like she knew exactly what she was doing. “But he’s free after. He asked if I wanted to grab a drink and catch up.”
Savannah’s stomach twisted, nausea climbing up her throat so fast she had to grip the counter to steady herself. She had been debating ever since.
Should she go? Should she ask Mallory to trade places with her? Should she reach out? Should she—for once in her damn life—fight?
Or was it too late?
Was this letter just a farewell? One last piece of him before he finally, finally, closed the door for good?
Her mind was a battlefield of hope and fear, of what-ifs and should-haves, of maybes and never-agains.
Mallory hadn’t invited her. Not because she didn’t want her there. But because she knew. She knew Savannah would crumble.
She knew that seeing Chase—really seeing him, standing in front of her after all this time—would wreck her.
And now, as Savannah leaned against the fridge, arms crossed tightly over her chest, trying to keep herself together while the storm raged inside her, Mallory scrolled on her phone like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on her best friend’s entire world.
Savannah exhaled sharply, trying not to spiral. Trying to breathe past the suffocating pressure in her chest—Say something. Her fingers curled around the fridge handle, nails biting into the cool metal.
“So,” she forced out, her voice too even, too controlled, “where are you guys going?”
Mallory hummed, still scrolling, too casual. “Not sure yet. Maybe The Hollow. Maybe some place near his hotel.”
The Hollow.
Savannah’s stomach twisted violently.
The Hollow wasn’t just any bar. It was the bar.
The one in downtown Asheville that felt like a second home to some and a world away to others.
It was weird, but in the best way—the kind of weird that made it feel alive.
The warm glow of the lights softened the edges of the night, and the music—just right—filled the space without drowning out conversation.
It was the kind of place where time slowed down, where the clink of glasses and the low hum of chatter wove together like an unspoken rhythm.
A place where artists, wanderers, and nine-to-fivers all coexisted in the same dimly lit booths, their lives momentarily overlapping.
The décor was an eclectic mix of old and new, a little too mismatched to be intentional but somehow perfect.
The drinks were strong, the stories stronger, and the regulars?
Well, they were the kind of characters you couldn’t make up.
The Hollow wasn’t just in Asheville—it was Asheville. Strange, inviting, unforgettable.
And Chase was going there—With Mallory.
Savannah’s grip tightened around the fridge handle, white-knuckled, her breath coming faster now.
She was about to say something—anything—to change the subject, to push this unbearable weight off her chest, when Mallory suddenly sucked in a sharp breath.
Savannah’s heart stopped.
Mallory’s eyes widened as she stared at her phone, something flickering across her face—something unreadable, something new.
Something that changed everything.