I’m a little thrown off when I see Lane in the chair next to my dad. He looks…good. Healthy. Happy.
We haven’t really talked since that night outside the bathroom at Lucky’s. He’s in a program, going to meetings, and trying. I know he’s making an effort to be better, and my dad hasn’t given up on him yet. I’m trying to give him a chance and make amends.
“Hello, son of mine. Glad you finally made an appearance.” My dad’s tone is cold and reserved. Hurt.
“Sorry I missed dinner. I got carried away and lost track of time.”
“Sure, kid.” He shakes his head stiffly. “There’s a plate for you in the microwave if you’re hungry.”
“Thanks.” Lane tips his head at me as I pass. I nod back. Baby steps.
As I head up the stairs, I have to fight the urge to go straight for Sadie’s door. My fists tighten at my sides. I want to knock. To tell her how sorry I am. To confess out loud that I love her—that I’min lovewith her, and have been since long before she ever said it to me.
I would do it all over again—all the stupid, reckless rule-breaking—if it meant I could spend this last night with her.
I’d give anything for that.
I’m about to give in. My knuckles are raised, ready to rap our secret knock against her door. Ready to tell her everything. To speak the words I’ve been choking back for weeks.
And then…I hear it.Her.
A soft, tipsy giggle, light and carefree, spills out into the hallway. I only catch a word or two before Lydia’s snort drowns it out.
The sound rips the air from my lungs.
She sounds happy.Without me.
My hand drops to my side, flexing over and over until my knuckles ache.
I can’t steal this from her. A moment of peace. I’ve already taken too much.
So instead of giving in, I turn down the hall and walk to my room, shutting the door behind me.
And then, I let her go.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
SADIE
Ididn’tsleep.
I just stared up endlessly at the wood-planked ceiling, tracing the grooves as if they were constellations.
When the first pale streaks of sunlight bled through the curtains, I quit pretending I was getting any rest and started quietly packing.
My movements are automatic—fold, tuck, repeat—until my fingers brush against something soft in the bottom of the dresser drawer.
Wesley’s hoodie. The gray one I borrowed. The catalyst of heartache.
I lift it to my nose, inhaling deeply, the soft fabric still heavy with his scent—cedar, fresh rain, and a hint of smoke from sitting by the campfire. My throat tightens as I clutch it tighter to my chest. I should leave it. It doesn’t belong to me.He doesn’t belong to me.
But I can’t seem to make myself let go.
This doesn’t feel real. In a few hours, I’ll be leaving—on a plane headed back to a house that doesn’t feel like home, to a life where I’m hardly tolerated, let alone loved.
At least it’s only for a few weeks. Mia said I can come stay with her in her new apartment.As long as you need,she promised. It was an immediate relief to know I wouldn’t have to stay in that house with Warren.
My suitcase is unzipped, wide open on the bed, staring back at me. For one fleeting moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like if I didn’t go. If I didn’t get on the plane. If I unpacked my suitcase and started my morning chores like it was any other day.
