Chapter 7
Tessa
By the time I reached the flower shop, I could barely get air into my lungs.
My hands shook so badly the keys slipped straight through my fingers the first time.
“Come on,” I whispered.
The metal scraped uselessly against the lock again.
My vision blurred.
The third try finally worked.
I shoved the door open and stumbled inside, slamming it shut hard enough to rattle the glass.
Silence crashed around me.
I pressed my back against the door and squeezed my eyes shut, dragging in one shaky breath after another.
But it didn’t help.
Because I could still hear him.
You look exactly like the girl who killed her best friend.
The words echoed louder now inside my own head.
I clamped my hands over my ears.
“Stop.”
My voice cracked.
“Just stop…”
But memory didn’t care what I wanted.
It came anyway.
Whispers in grocery stores.
People going quiet when I walked by.
Parents pulling their kids a little closer.
Like guilt could spread.
Like I was contagious.
A broken sound caught in my throat.
“No,” I whispered fiercely, pushing away from the door. “No. We’re not doing this again.”
I crossed the shop too quickly and grabbed the edge of the counter before my knees could give out.
You survived this already.
You survived worse.
The words repeated in my head over and over like something rehearsed.
Practiced.
Because they had to be.
Then Ace’s face flashed through my mind.
The way he stepped in front of me without hesitation.
The way he never looked back at me after the accusation.
Never once looked ashamed to stand beside me.
My chest tightened so hard it hurt.
“Don’t,” I whispered.
Because that part scared me most.
Not the man at the tavern.
Not the whispers.
Hope.
Hope was dangerous.
Hope made you trust things you shouldn’t.
I squeezed the counter harder.
“You know how this ends.”
The courtroom rose up in my memory before I could stop it.
The silence.
The reporters.
The hard wooden bench beneath me.
Nobody looking at me.
Not my neighbors.
Not my friends.
Not even my family.
Six years.
Six years and not one visit.
Not one letter waiting in my cell.
Not one person saying maybe they got it wrong.
My knees buckled without warning.
I hit the floor hard beside the counter, barely feeling it.
A sob tore loose before I could stop it.
“Why didn’t you believe me?” I whispered into my hands.
My mother.
My friends.
The whole town.
Anyone.
Tears slipped hot between my fingers.
“I didn’t do it,” I whispered again.
The words sounded exactly like they did back then.
Small.
Powerless.
Easy to ignore.
I sat there shaking for a long moment before finally dragging in a deeper breath.
Then another.
Slowly, I lowered my hands.
Wiped my face.
Forced myself back onto my feet.
The shop blurred for a second before settling again around me—flowers, ribbons, sunlight across the floor.
Normal.
Safe.
Controlled.
I straightened my shoulders carefully.
Built the walls back up piece by piece.
Because no one else was going to do it for me.
And because trusting Ace Mercer—
really trusting him—
felt a little too much like handing someone the weapon that could finally destroy what was left of me.