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.
