15. Chapter 15
fifteen
Diesel
Let’s throw one more mistake into this night from Hell.
Answering the door when she knocked.
“Jessie, I don’t have anything for you. You need to go.”
I stood with my arms crossed, blocking the doorway so she couldn’t pull one of her old tricks and slip inside.
She tilted her head, batting those puppy dog eyes—the ones that used to get her anything she wanted from me. The sight used to twist something in my chest. Now? It just made my stomach turn.
“I just need a couch to sleep on—one night. I’m heading home tomorrow,” she said, soft and sugary like that would make me forget the last time I saw her.
My jaw clenched.
I should’ve closed the door.
Should have.
Instead, I stepped back like a fucking idiot.
“One night,” I muttered. “You leave at sunrise. Don’t touch anything but that damn futon.”
She smiled like she’d already won.
And I hated how familiar that felt.
She didn’t say much after she got inside.
Dropped her bag like she belonged here, then curled up on the futon like we weren’t standing in the wreckage of everything she broke.
I cracked open another beer and took it to the kitchen, leaned against the counter, and stared at the wall like it might punch me in the face and knock some sense into me.
The sound of her soft breathing from the other room made my skin crawl. I’d memorized that sound once. Used to think it was the most peaceful thing in the damn world. Now it just sounded like a lie I used to believe.
I should’ve made her leave.
Hell, I should’ve never answered the damn phone.
I finished the beer and tossed the bottle in the sink with a sharp clatter. My hands braced on the edge of the counter as I took a few deep breaths. My head was a mess, full of static and old ghosts, and the only thing cutting through was one stubborn thought I didn’t want to deal with.
Sadie.
Fuck. I could still smell her sugar and sunshine every time I closed my eyes. Still heard her little laugh when she’d teased me. Still tasted the damn cinnamon roll she shoved into my hand like it was a peace offering I didn’t deserve.
And now?
Now she probably thought I left that bar with someone else. I scrubbed a hand over my face and let out a low, angry noise.
Goddamn it.
Letting Jessie in wasn’t about her. Not really. It was me, punishing myself in the only way I knew how. Reminding myself what I deserved.
Because it sure as hell wasn’t someone like Sadie Winslow.
Not when all I seemed to do was make the wrong choice every time.
Sadie
I woke up Sunday morning bleary-eyed, cotton-mouthed, and with a headache that could take down a full-grown rhino.
It wasn’t just the drinks I lost count of; it was everything.
The week. The nerves. The late-night bath turned into an emotional spiral. The karaoke. Maybe makeout with Parker that I wasn’t even sure I liked.
I groaned, flopped back on the bed for a full sixty seconds, then forced myself up. I wasn’t about to let a bad week or a brooding man ruin my productive Sunday.
Step one: coffee.
Step two: groceries.
I dug around in my clean laundry pile—okay, cleanish—and grabbed my super soft “I Love Pi” t-shirt, the one with the graphic of a happy slice of pie doing math.
It made me smile every time, even if I was the only one who found it funny.
I paired it with some stretchy navy capris and my favorite beat-up white sneakers.
Comfort over fashion. Always.
I tossed my hair into a messy bun and swiped on a little concealer to look half-alive. There. Good enough for produce aisle flirtations or possibly running into one of Amy’s friends again.
The thought made my stomach twist, and not in a cute way.
What if I ran into him?
I swallowed that thought like bitter medicine and grabbed my keys instead.
Let’s get this over with.
I had a fridge full of baking supplies and absolutely nothing else.
I hit the grocery aisles with a pep in my step and my coffee in hand. Reusable tote slung over one arm, I’d already grabbed strawberries, butter, and a fresh jar of cinnamon. A productive Sunday if ever there was one.
Three aisles in, I was practically humming to myself.
Until I heard a voice I recognized.
Beck.
“He told me she showed up at his place last night.”
I froze mid-reach for the maple syrup.
Amy’s voice came next—soft but sharp.
“And he let her in again, didn’t he?”
My stomach dropped.
I knew I shouldn’t have paused.
I knew I shouldn’t have listened.
But my feet wouldn’t move. My ears tuned in, as if I were suddenly made of satellite dishes and heartbreak.
“He said she had nowhere to go, that it was just for the night,” Beck said. “But you and I both know how she operates.”
“She’s always had that hold on him,” Amy muttered. “And he’s always been too damn loyal.”
I felt the burn rise behind my eyes and blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the label in front of me like I wasn’t absolutely crumbling inside.
“Sadie doesn’t deserve that. She’s too—”
I couldn’t hear the rest. My heart was pounding in my ears, and the coffee in my cup suddenly tasted bitter.
So that was it.
There was another woman. Apparently, one he couldn't shake.
And he let her back in.
I turned down a random aisle, nearly knocking over a display of bagels, and tried to suck in a breath that didn’t feel like it had glass in it.
I should’ve known better.
Men like Diesel don’t fall for girls like me.