Chapter 45 #2
I froze, Lavender like ice in my arms.
"I went back three times, actually," Rosie continued, her voice stripped bare. "The first time, he begged." Her gaze went distant. "And I wasn't strong enough to say no."
"The second time, I didn't have money to live." She brushed at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I told myself I was doing it for them. That I could survive anything if it meant my boys were taken care of."
How many times had I told myself things about Garrett?
That it wasn't that bad.
That he didn't mean it.
That I could fix him if I just loved him enough.
"What about the third time?"
Rosie sucked in a breath.
"The third time, I went back because I didn't know who I was without him." Her voice cracked. "He'd spent so many years telling me I was nothing—worthless, stupid, unlovable—that I believed it. I thought being with him was better than being alone with myself."
A tear slipped down my cheek. I didn't wipe it away.
"How did you finally stay gone?"
She met my gaze. Held it.
"Damien," she said simply. "He was ten. And one night, he stepped in front of me when Lucas raised his hand." Her bottom lip trembled. "But this time… Lucas… he…" She shook her head. "Something in me just... snapped."
"What?" I breathed. "He's never mentioned anything."
"I'm not surprised. He refuses to talk about his father. I doubt Emma even knows." She leaned back, blinking away tears. "I made a mistake, the wrong call, and he's paying the price even now as an adult."
"You did everything you could," I tried.
"I should have done more. And sooner." She met my gaze. "Don't be me, Candace."
My vision swam.
"I'm not—" I started, but my voice fractured. "It's not the same. Garrett never—"
The sob tore out of me before I could swallow it back.
The time he dragged me down the hallway by my hair.
The time he drove his fist into my stomach and told me to stop crying.
Rosie was on her feet before I finished the thought. She crossed the room and pulled me into her chest.
She didn't shush me.
She didn't promise it would be okay.
She just held me.
And I broke.
Lavender crushed between us.
The bathwater still running upstairs.
"I don't know how to stop checking," I shook my head. "The texts. I can't stop reading them."
"I know."
"I keep thinking if I just know where he is, what mood he's in—"
"You can stay ahead of it." Rosie nodded. "Prepare yourself."
"Yes."
"But you can't, honey. That's the thing." Her hands rubbed circles on my back. "I won't tell you what you should do, I can only tell you what I lived through and the regrets I still live with."
My purse buzzed beside me on the couch. I reached for it, the messages coming in one by one.
Garrett: Steve saw you at the fair. Who the fuck were you with?
Garrett: You fucking whore.
A photo loaded. Me and Sebastian walking hand in hand, Lavender under my arm.
Garrett: I'll kill that motherfucker. Mark my words Candace.
Garrett: And it will be your fault.
My hands shook.
Rosie's gaze followed mine, her grip tightening.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered. "I never thought he'd—"
"Don't worry about it, sweetie," she interrupted. "Sebastian's a grown man. He can handle his own."
I looked up at her, tears still streaming down my face. "I can't let Sebastian get involved in this."
Rosie's expression softened.
"He's finally doing better," I explained. "He's healing. And if Garrett actually does something—"
"Then that's Garrett's choice. Not yours."
"You don't understand. Damien already went after him once. Beat him bloody. And Garrett's been threatening to press charges, to come back, to—" I pulled my hand back, clutching the phone against my chest. "If Sebastian gets involved, if he gets hurt because of me—"
Rosie's voice was firm now. "Sebastian can make his own choices, Candace."
"But he doesn't understand."
"You haven't let him try." Her voice had softened, the firmness yielding.
I wiped a tear from my eye as footsteps came down the stairs.
"Wh—what's going on?"
I looked up at him, my tears still streaming. "I need to tell you something."
Sebastian's eyes darted between me and his mother, his wet hair dripping onto the collar of his t-shirt.
"Mom?" His voice was tight. "What did you do?"
"Nothing." Rosie rose from the couch, smoothing her hands over her pants. "We were just talking." She crossed to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'm going to make some tea."
"Mom—"
"Chamomile or peppermint?" she asked, already halfway to the kitchen.
Sebastian watched her go, then turned back to me, concern etched in the lines of his face.
"Candace." He limped toward the couch, lowering himself beside me with a wince. "What's wrong? What happened?"
I looked down at my phone. At the screen still lit up with Garrett's threats.
"It's Garrett."
Sebastian went still. "What about him?"
"He's been texting me. A lot. Since I left." I swallowed hard. "I never blocked him because I thought—I thought if I could just keep track of him, keep tabs on his moods, I'd know when to be careful."
"Okay." Sebastian's voice was measured. Careful. "That makes sense."
"Tonight, while we were at the fair..." I turned the phone over in my hands. "Someone saw us. Took a photo and sent it to him."
"Can I see?"
I handed him the phone.
Sebastian's thumb scrolled through the messages, his expression shifting with each swipe. Confusion. Disbelief. Then something darker—his knuckles white against the phone case.
He stopped on the photo. Stared at it.
When he looked up at me, his voice was barely recognizable.
"How long?" His voice wavered. "What has he done?"
I didn't look away.
I told him how it started.
Charming. Attentive. Obsession dressed as devotion.
I told him how that devotion tightened.
How it narrowed.
How it closed.
I told him about the slap at Damien's house.
About the night Garrett showed up at my apartment and the cops had to drag him out.
I told him about the texts.
The hundreds of them.
The cycle that never stopped.
I didn't spare him anything. Not a single horrific detail.
By the time I was done, my voice was shredded. My face wet.
And for the first time since he'd woken from his coma, Sebastian didn't have a single joke.
The silence stretched.
He stared at the phone in his hands like it might detonate.
"Sebastian?" My voice came out small. "Say something."
He set the phone down on the coffee table.
"I want to kill him."
The words were quiet. Flat.
I recoiled.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I shouldn't have told you."
His eyes snapped to mine. "What?"
"I'm sorry," I repeated, my voice barely audible.
His face twisted in agony. "Why are you apologizing?"
"Because you shouldn't be involved in this. You shouldn't have to—"
"To what? Care?" He laughed—a harsh, broken sound. "Candace, I've been falling for you since you insulted my puzzle skills in a hospital room. You think I wouldn't want to know that someone's been terrorizing you?"
The words knocked the ground out from under me.
I stared at him.
He ran a shaky hand through his hair. "Sorry, I shouldn't be yelling at you. I'm just caught off guard is all. I had no idea you were dealing with this." He dropped his hand back to his lap, eyes on the phone, another message lighting up the screen.
Garrett: You stupid fucking cunt.
Sebastian sucked in a breath.
"All that time you spent with me, he was sending you things like this?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"Every day?"
Another nod.
Sebastian's chin trembled. He pressed his lips together hard, but it didn't work. A tear slipped down his cheek, then another.
"That day you showed up with coffee and your hands were shaking—I thought you'd had too much caffeine."
"He'd sent thirty-two messages before noon."
He shook his head.
"You were hurting." The words came out thick. "You were hurting and I didn't even know."
"Sebastian—"
"I should have seen it." His jaw worked, teeth grinding. "I should have—"
I tried to smile. "I'm fin—"
"No, you're not." He sniffed, wiping his nose with his free hand.
I opened my mouth to argue, but he pressed on.
"I couldn't figure it out. You spent hours holding my hand, talking to me, pulling me back. And all I could think was why does the angel sound so sad?"
A tear slipped down his cheek mirroring my own.
"I thought maybe it was because of me. Because I was dying, or because you felt sorry for me, or—" He shook his head. "But it wasn't any of that."
"Sebastian—"
"It was him. It had been him this whole time."
"I didn't want to be a burden," I admitted, clutching Lavender.
"You're an angel," he said fiercely.
The kitchen door creaked.
"Tea's ready," Rosie called softly. "Whenever you two are."
Sebastian looked at me, eyes red-rimmed and shining.
"Stay," he said. "Just for a little while. Have some tea. Let my mom fuss over you."
"Sebastian—"
He reached for my hand, interlacing my fingers in his. "Please."
I thought about my empty apartment.
The phone buzzing on the kitchen counter.
The quiet waiting for me.
Then I thought about this—
the warm light,
the faint scent of chamomile,
Sebastian's hand wrapped around mine.
Steady.
Certain.
"Okay," I whispered. "Just for a little while."
Rosie's tea was too sweet. Her cookies too buttery. She refilled my cup before I could finish it.
I ate three.
I didn't count a single calorie.
Sebastian sat beside me, his knee pressed against mine.
Rosie talked about nothing—the neighbor's new dog, the leak in the upstairs bathroom, whether Sebastian was getting enough protein—and I let it blur into the background.
No tension.
No tears.
Like everything was normal.
It was nice.
I finally stood to leave when the clock down the hall announced midnight.
"You'll text me when you get home?" Sebastian asked, walking me to the door. His limp was worse now—exhaustion and emotion taking their toll.
"I'll text you."
"And you'll call me if—" He hesitated. "If anything happens. Anything at all."
"I will."
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek.
"Goodnight, Candace."
"Goodnight, Sebastian."
I turned and walked to my car before I could do something stupid like cry again. Or kiss him. Or both.
I climbed behind the wheel, started the engine, and tucked Lavender into the passenger side.
My phone buzzed in my purse.
Then again.
I pulled it out. The screen glowed in the dark.
Garrett: You'll regret this.
Rosie.
The bag by the door.
Don't be me.
I pressed the button.
Block this caller?
Yes.
The screen went quiet.
Just silence.
I sat there, staring at the phone in my hand, waiting for the panic to set in. Waiting for the regret.
But it didn't come.
I set the phone in the cupholder, put the car in drive, and pulled away from the curb.
Lavender smiled at me from the passenger seat, lopsided and imperfect.
For the first time in months, I truly smiled back.