Chapter 14
BETH
Boston felt off-kilter that week.
Not bad. Just… disconnected.
It had been a little over a week since the Hamptons. Ethan had been working nonstop. I’d been slammed too. We talked every night, checked in like adults, but there hadn’t been dates. No time. No intimacy. Just long calls and tired voices that ended with tomorrow.
Then Sage sent me an email.
It’s girls’ night. You’re coming.
She was already irritated when she picked me up.
“Ethan’s with the boys,” she said immediately, pulling away from the curb. “Rain-check poker night at Tony’s.”
She scoffed. “I don’t get it. Why do men need to get drunk together to eat gross food and act like frat boys? Then he’ll feel disgusting and go to the gym twice tomorrow to punish himself.”
I stayed quiet.
In my head: My boyfriend plays poker sometimes too.
Then: I’ve never cared.
Then: Maybe that means I don’t have standards.
I didn’t say any of it.
We ended up at a new upscale bar near Faneuil Hall—brick walls, a live band, people dressed like they wanted to be noticed. Once Sage’s friends arrived, her mood flipped instantly. Laughing. Hugging. Reconnecting like no time had passed.
They were cool. Stylish. Confident.
They talked about summers past. Old apartments. Old versions of themselves.
“Remember Newport?” one of them said, laughing. “The beach house?”
“And the SEALs,” another added.
I blinked. “The seals?”
Sage grinned. “Oh, Beth. You don’t know?”
They leaned in, conspiratorial.
“Every June,” Sage said casually, “the Navy SEALs train down there. First week of June. You can always spot them.”
Her friend nodded eagerly. “Tight Henleys. Buzz cuts. Those ridiculous five-thousand-dollar dive watches.”
“They think they’re undercover,” Sage added, rolling her eyes. “Like no one can tell. Please.”
The table laughed.
“They’re built different,” someone said. “Strong. Confident. Intense.”
Stories spilled out—flings, brief romances, weekends told like trophies.
“It’s the confidence,” one said. “They just take up space.”
“And they’re never boring,” another added.
Sage took a shot and said, lightly, “I actually dated one seriously.”
The table quieted.
“He was amazing,” she continued. “But it didn’t work. He was always gone. Top-secret stuff. Other countries. I could never reach him.”
She shook her head. “Drove me insane. I need connection.”
Then she smiled again, like flipping a switch.
“But when I’m single?” She shrugged. “I don’t mind revisiting.”
Laughter. Glasses clinking.
Someone pointed at me. “When you’re single next year, Beth, we’re taking you to Newport.”
“We’ll make sure you bag a SEAL.”
I smiled, because it felt expected.
Inside, something didn’t quite settle.
Not jealousy.
Not judgment.
Just the realization that they talked about love like conquest—and control like safety.
Sage checked her watch.
“Sorry,” she said, already sliding off her stool. “Work thing. I’ll be right back.”
She was gone longer than necessary.
When she came back, she slipped into her seat like nothing had happened. Took a sip of her drink. Picked up mid-sentence.
A few minutes later, she checked her watch again.
“Seriously,” she muttered. “Lawyers.”
She leaned in, kissed my cheek, and disappeared out the front door.
This time, when she didn’t come back right away, I followed.
She was half a block down, standing by a payphone wedged between a closed dry cleaner and a pizza place. A handful of quarters rested in her palm.
She didn’t see me.
She dropped one into the slot, lifted the receiver, and dialed quickly—no hesitation, no checking the number. Her body angled slightly away, shoulder shielding the keypad.
I couldn’t hear what she said. Only the rhythm of it.
A pause.
A few more buttons.
Another pause.
She exhaled through her nose, impatient.
Then she hung up and stood there for a beat, staring at the dark glass of the booth like she was listening for something else.
When she turned and saw me, she laughed easily.
“Oh my God,” she said. “I didn’t even realize how far I wandered. You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Everything alright?”
“Fine,” she said. Same word. Same tone. “Just checking work messages.”
Back inside, the bar was louder. More crowded. She ordered another round.
Once I’d noticed it, I couldn’t un-notice it.
An hour later, she did it again.
Different payphone. Same routine.
Quarters. Receiver. Fast dialing. Her back turned just enough.
When she came back, she was brighter than before—laughing harder, talking faster, her knee bouncing under the table.
“You good?” I asked.
“Perfect,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
I smiled, because that’s what you do when someone smiles at you like that.
But somewhere between the second bar and the third handful of quarters, a small thought settled in my chest.
Not fear.
Just… curiosity.
The kind that lingers.
“Ready to go?” she said, grabbing her bag. “Let’s meet the girls.”
“Yeah,” I said, standing.
By the time we left the bar, the night had gone electric—loud, sweaty, stupid-happy.
“I need a diner,” someone slurred. “Greasy burger. Fries. Right now.”
We whooped like it was genius.
The diner was chaos—neon buzzing, coffee sloshing, people hunched over plates like grease was the only thing keeping them alive. We crammed into a booth, laughing, shouting orders.
I was reaching for my water when I saw him.
Sean.
My brain tried to glitch, to rewrite the scene into something that made sense. But it didn’t.
He wasn’t alone.
He was holding her hand, leaning in, kissing her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Everything inside me turned to ice.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t look away.
“What?” Sage snapped, voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Beth—what the fuck?”
She followed my stare.
“Sean. He’s here with his superior’s nineteen year old daughter. They kissed. Didn’t even see me.”
I was shaking by now. Sick. Nauseous.
Her whole body locked up.
Then she exploded.
“The fuck?” she hissed. Then louder, “The FUCK?”
She was out of the booth before anyone could stop her, marching straight for them.
“What the fuck are you doing, you cheating piece of shit?” she shouted, loud enough to kill every conversation in the diner.
The place went dead silent.
Sean froze, mid-kiss. The girl’s face went scarlet.
“Hey—hey!” the owner yelled from behind the counter. “You can’t do this in here!”
Sage spun on him. “This fucking coward is cheating on my best friend. Don’t you dare tell me to shut up.”
She whipped back to Sean. “You spineless little pussy. You’re banging the captain’s daughter? Really? You’re such a fucking coward you couldn’t even end it clean—you had to go stick your dick in the boss’s kid? Barley legal? You sick pedo.”
Sean’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Sage wasn’t done.
She stepped closer, voice dropping to a venomous snarl.
“You think you’re untouchable? You think this stays quiet?
One call, asshole. One call to the firehouse and your entire career goes up in flames.
I’ll make sure every single guy in the station knows what a pathetic, disloyal little bitch you are. ”
The threat landed like a blade.
Then she turned her glare on the girl.
“And you,” Sage sneered, eyes raking over her. “You think you’re cool fucking some older guy? One who’s taken? You’re not edgy, sweetheart. You’re a desperate little slut. Pathetic. Both of you.”
The girl shrank back, eyes wide.
Sage reached out, grabbed Sean’s plate, and flipped it hard. Burger, fries, coffee—everything crashed across the table in a greasy, steaming mess.
“We’re done,” she said, voice like steel.
She looked at the owner. “Put our tab on his bill. He’s paying for it all.”
Sean didn’t argue. He just nodded, pale and desperate for it to be over.
Sage grabbed my hand and yanked me out of the booth before the tears could start—before I could collapse in front of a room full of strangers.
Outside, the night air hit my lungs like a slap of cold water.
She kept her arm tight around my shoulders as we walked away, fast and sure.
I didn’t want to go home.
The thought of my apartment—my bed, my things, the space where I’d imagined him—made my chest seize. I felt hollowed out, like something essential had been scooped cleanly from my body and left behind on a sticky diner floor.
We were supposed to go skiing at Christmas. Canada. He’d talked about it like it was a thing. Like it meant something. I’d let myself imagine it—cold air, cozy lodges, maybe a ring tucked into a pocket.
“Oh my God,” I sobbed as Sage’s friends guided me toward the car. “I’m such an idiot. He was never working late, was he?”
No one argued.
Hands rubbed my back. Someone passed me tissues. Someone else murmured, “You’re not going home tonight.”
Sage was firm. “None of us are.”
We went back to Lisa’s apartment—warm, dim, safe. Shoes came off. Lights stayed low. They moved around me like they’d done this before, like they knew exactly what to do when someone shattered.
Sage pulled me into her arms. “Oh, sweetie,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”
She called Ethan quietly, filling him in while someone else made tea with honey. When she came back, she wrapped me in a blanket like I was something fragile and precious. She got a warm washcloth and makeup remover, wiped the salt from my cheeks, the mascara from my lashes.
“You don’t need this on your skin,” she said softly. “Not tonight.”
The care was overwhelming.
Someone laid out the futon. Someone tucked me in. The room smelled like clean sheets and chamomile. Sage lay down behind me, spooning me gently, her arm around my waist, fingers stroking my hair in slow, steady passes.
I cried until my body gave up.
“No one’s ever loved me like you do,” I whispered into the dark. “Not even him.”
Her arm tightened just slightly.
“Sage,” I said, my voice small. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I really love you.”
She kissed my hair. “I know,” she murmured. “It feels like we’ve known each other forever.”
I nodded, exhausted, heart aching.
“It’s just this summer,” I said. “Everything changed.”
“Shh,” she whispered. “Sleep, sweetie. I’m right here.”
Her hand kept moving through my hair until the world finally blurred and went quiet.
And as I drifted off, wrapped in an old blanket—thoughts jumbled together in my mind:
Sage is a good friend. Loyal. A bit crazy but maybe her crazy comes from caring. And I’d never had a friend care so much as she did.