17. Chapter 17
seventeen
Sadie
“Ican’t tell you the story, because I don’t even know the whole thing,” Amy said gently. “Only what Beck’s shared with me. And it’s not my place to tell you.”
I nodded, jaw tight, chest heavy. I hated feeling like this—fragile and pathetic, curled in on myself like some lovesick teenager.
“Look,” Amy continued, squeezing my hand, “I don’t know her, but I don’t like that she showed up here and threatened you. You’re staying in our spare room tonight.”
“I don’t want to be a bother,” I murmured, even though my body ached for rest and my heart ached for kindness.
“You’re not a bother. You’re my friend, Sadie.” Her voice was firm now. “And I’m not going to let that bitch make your life hell just because she’s pissed she lost a good man.”
I snorted, but it came out shaky. “Is he, though?”
Amy’s expression softened. “Misguided, maybe. Messed up? Yeah, a little. But yeah, he is.”
I looked away, swallowing hard. “I don’t want him to be. I want him to be an asshole. I want to hate him for making me feel this small.”
She didn’t say anything right away. Just squeezed my hand a little tighter.
“I’m gonna grab you something to sleep in,” Amy said, patting my leg before heading down the hall. “That way you don’t have to go back home tonight.”
She returned a minute later, holding a worn, soft black tee that was clearly one of Beck’s. It looked like it had been washed a thousand times, stretched out, and nearly see-through in spots, along with a pair of Winnie-the-Pooh PJ shorts.
“I’d offer something cuter, but I don’t own a lot of pajamas. I usually just… don’t wear them,” she said with a shrug and a wink.
“This is perfect.” I took the clothes, pressing the tee to my chest like it might stop my heart from cracking in two. “Thanks. Really. For all of this.”
Amy sat beside me again, bumping my shoulder gently. “Of course. That’s what friends are for. And also—she can’t scare you off. We like you too much.”
I gave a watery laugh. “You’re really bad at letting people wallow.”
“Exactly. Now go change, eat a cookie, and let’s watch trash TV until we pass out.”
Diesel
It was almost two in the morning, and I was still in the damn garage—elbows deep in Noah’s bike, pretending like the work needed my full attention while I kept glancing toward the bakery window like she might magically appear.
But I knew she wouldn’t.
My phone had gone off hours ago.
Beck told me Sadie was at Amy’s, curled up on their couch, watching trash TV, and staying the night so she wouldn’t have to be alone after the run-in with Jessie.
Jessie.
Goddamn Jessie.
I was going to have to come clean.
Tell Sadie everything.
Rip open a wound that should’ve healed by now but somehow still festered under my skin.
Because Jessie lived in me like a fucking scar.
And when Sadie hears it—when she sees how broken I’ve been, how stupid I was to let Jessie in again—she’s going to push me away.
She’ll see exactly what I am.
Damaged goods.
But at least I’ll know I didn’t lie to her.
At least I can say I tried.
And then?
Then I can go back to being the lonely, grumpy asshole across the street.
And she’ll be free.
Free to smile at someone who deserves her.
Someone who didn’t fuck it up before it even started.
I’d move on.
I’d have to.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I’d sit in this garage and try to scrape rust off chrome like it mattered. Like it could scrub the ache out of my chest.
Like it could keep me from dreaming of pink curls and that goddamn smile.