Chapter 5 #2
“I have enough shit going on in my life without worrying about your opinion of me. You look at me and see some woman who up and abandoned her husband? Great. Think that. I could not give a single fuck less.”
I step fully into his office now, tone flat, delivery razor-sharp.
“And I look at you and see a thirty-five-year-old divorcee hiding behind sarcasm, a chiseled jawline, and a rotating carousel of Tinder hookups. Super. Enjoy that. Remember to wrap it before you tap it.”
“You think my jawline is chiseled?” he smirks, turning his head like he’s modeling for a fucking cologne ad. “You like what you see?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” I deadpan, “I’ve seen sharper angles on a soggy waffle fry.”
He chuckles, low and amused. “Brutal.”
“Accurate.”
Leo leans forward, elbows resting on his desk, the smirk still playing at the corner of his mouth. “So, not a fan of sarcasm, chiseled jawlines, or Tinder hookups. Good to know.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t a fan,” I say, turning on my heel. “But I don’t have time for them. Also, go to therapy.”
I’m once again halfway out the door when I hear him mutter behind me—just loud enough to be heard.
“Waffle fry.”
I pause. Turn slowly. “What?”
He gestures vaguely toward his jaw. “You said you’ve seen sharper angles on a soggy waffle fry.”
I cross my arms. “And?”
His grin curves, maddening and smug. “You looked long enough to notice.”
I roll my eyes and walk off without giving him the satisfaction of a reply.
But I’m smiling when I sit back down.
By mid-afternoon, the department feels… abandoned.
The overhead lights hum faintly. The copy room door is open and I hear the machine kick on for no reason, then whir back into silence like it forgot it was tired.
Most of the faculty packed up after lunch, slipping out with half-hearted waves and comments about beat-the-traffic Fridays and the sweet mercy of early dismissal.
But I stayed. Leo did, too.
He’s in his office, door part way open. I catch glimpses of movement now and then—the scrape of a chair leg, the flick of his pen against a notepad, a soft muttered curse when the Wi-Fi blinks out again. Otherwise, silence.
It’s peaceful. Slightly awkward, but peaceful.
I try to focus—on reorganizing a digital file tree that was clearly built by someone with a grudge against logic, on ignoring the pit in my stomach that’s been simmering all week.
Then—
The door to the department office slams open so hard the file cabinet beside it jolts against the wall.
I flinch. Stand too fast. Adrenaline spikes.
“Tori.”
I freeze. The voice is too familiar to mistake.
Lifting my head, I see him.
Chase.
He’s standing in the middle of the room like he owns it—like he owns me. Tie loose, eyes wild, skin flushed from what I’m guessing was a four-hour, rage-fueled drive from Moraine.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I mutter. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“You left,” he says, stalking forward. “While I was in fucking Boston. I came home and you were just, gone. No call. No warning. Just an empty fucking house and a goddamn note.”
“Not here, Chase,” I say, grabbing my purse from beneath the desk and clicking my mouse to shut down the computer.
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for weeks!” he shouts, loud enough to echo through the pod.
I glance toward the hallway door—closed, thank God. No one else in the building will hear. But Leo will. Fucking dammit.
“Will you keep your voice down?” I hiss. “I will talk to you, but not like this. We need to have this conversation somewhere else.”
“No, goddammit! You’re talking to me right fucking now. If we walk out of here, how do I know you won’t just drive off somewhere I can’t follow you? Do you know how long it took me to find out where you work?”
How did he find out?
“Chase. Calm down. I know you’re angry, and that’s understandable, but this is my workplace. We cannot do this here. Please—just come with me and we can talk privately.”
“You think I give a shit if you lose this job?” he snaps. “You need to get your ass back to Moraine. You have a job. A life. A marriage to get back to. Get your shit. We’re leaving.”
Excuse me?
Setting down my purse on the chair, I step around the desk, slowly. “You need to leave. You can’t come in here and bark orders at me like—like I belong to you.”
“Oh, cut the act. You’re not some cold-hearted badass who can just pack up and erase sixteen years. You didn’t even have the decency to say it to my face. You just took your things and disappeared.”
Erase it? No. Walk away from it? Yes. “Because I knew if I said it to your face, you wouldn’t hear me. You never do. I’ve tried to talk to you. So I made my decision. I wrote it down. And I left.”
“I’m your husband!”
“And I’m not your property!”
His face twists. “This is what you want now? To be somebody’s goddamn secretary? A used up, divorced, thirty-year-old failure of a wife? What are you supposed to do, Tori? Reinvent yourself? Act like we never happened? You think you’re going to find yourself in some city?”
“Find myself?” I laugh—cold, bitter, a little unhinged. “I know who I am. I don’t need to find myself. The only thing I needed was to stop shrinking so you could feel better about yourself for two fucking seconds.”
I take a step closer. Stronger. Bolder. Angrier than I’ve been in his presence in years. My voice shakes, but it’s not from fear. It’s from release. From fury. From finally saying what should’ve been said years ago.
I’m not taking his shit any longer. And Leo’s already heard every word spewed from this man’s mouth, so at this point, I don’t care what he hears. Let him hear everything.
“But you know what, Chase?” I hiss. “It didn’t matter how small I was—you still hated yourself. And everyone around you. And I am the one who suffered for it. I’m the one who carried it. I’m the one who nearly lost my fucking soul for it.”
My voice breaks, but I don’t stop.
“So I left. Because I’m done doing everything I can to lift you up just so you can find new ways to drown me in your own goddamn misery!”
He stares at me, stunned. And for a split second, there’s nothing—no fire, no sarcasm, no venom. Just silence.
Then he lunges forward and grabs my arm.
Hard.
But before he can say another word, the silence shatters.
“Let. Her. Go.”
Leo’s voice cracks like thunder.
He’s already moving before Chase fully turns his head. Calm, precise, like he’s done this before and doesn’t need to rehearse the steps.
Chase drops my arm, but Leo’s already between us.
“No,” Leo says, low and firm, “we’re not doing that.”
Chase bristles. “She’s my—”
“She’s not your anything. And you’re not welcome here.”
Chase lifts a hand in mock surrender, but the tension in his jaw says he’s one second away from doing something stupid.
Leo takes a small step forward. Not threatening. Just a shift in presence. His hands stay down. His voice stays even.
“Walk. Out. Now.”
Chase looks at me again. One last scowl. “You will regret this.”
“I already did,” I say. “For years.”
He doesn’t answer.
He just turns and storms out, slamming the door behind him so hard it sounds like a gunshot.
The silence that follows is deafening.
I let out a slow, ragged breath. My whole body shaking now that it’s over.
Leo turns toward me. “Are you okay?”
I look at the floor and nod before I can think better of it. Then, quietly, “I don’t know.”
When I return my gaze to him, Leo’s eyes hold mine for a beat too long. I expect a joke. Some smart-ass comment. Anything to try and lift the weight of what just happened. But nothing comes. Just quiet.
He gives me a long look, then nods once. “You want me to call campus security? File a report?”
“No. He’s not stupid enough to come back here.” I pause. “Not now.”
Leo studies me another moment. And in that moment, I realize something stupid and inconvenient—I’m glad it was him. Not anyone else. Him.
Because he didn’t just defend me. He didn’t posture or yell or make a scene. He de-escalated the situation with calm. With control. With that same maddening confidence he wears like cologne. Leo made me feel safe, where Chase has always felt out of control.
And suddenly, I hate that I noticed. I hate that it matters. I hate that a small part of me wonders what he thinks of me now—after seeing me at my absolute lowest.
“Still,” he says gently, “if you change your mind—”
“I know.”
A beat of silence passes between us.
Then, with quiet finality, I add, “Thank you.”
He gives a short nod. No fanfare. No lecture. No condescension.
Just quiet steadiness.
Then he turns and walks back to his office—calm and steady—and leaves the door open.
He. Leaves. The. Door. Open. Why is that so important? Why does that make me feel more seen, understood, and cared for than I have by any other man in my entire life?
Lord only knows.
I sit down slowly, my arm still stinging where Chase grabbed me. My pulse should be erratic. My heart should beat loudly. Neither is true. My wrist may still hurt, but every other part of me feels calm. I don’t know what to do with that.