“You need to leave,” I said, not waiting for niceties.
His eyes flicked up. “I figured you’d find me.”
“I’m not here for a scene. I’m here to tell you this ends now.”
He exhaled through his nose, almost amused. “You always were dramatic.”
“No,” I said, louder now. “You were just used to me being quiet.”
A few people glanced our way, but I didn’t care. Let them look. Let them see me choosing myself. “I don’t care what brought you back here,” I continued. “You hurt me. You changed my life. And now you’re trying to walk around this town like that never happened?”
He didn’t respond.
“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” I said. “And you’re not going to haunt this place, not for me or Greyson. I will expose you to the world and show them the monster you truly are.”
He looked at me then, something like guilt flickering behind his indifferent stare. “Wasn’t planning on staying,” he muttered. The place is too small. Too many ghosts.”
“Then go,” I said. “And don’t come back.”
He nodded once. “Guess we agree on something.”
He turned and walked away. No threats. No smug parting words.
Just silence.
And with every step he took, I felt the weight of him lifting from my chest.
Greyson found me a minute later, worry etched in his brow. “Are you okay?” I looked at him, at the man who stood by me and fought for me. “I am now.”
Chapter 32
Greyson
The thing about Blair Cunningham is, she doesn’t tiptoe around anything. Not love, not pain, and definitely not my life. She just moved in with all her notebooks and questions with that fire in her eyes.
Still, I didn’t expect it to happen on a random Tuesday morning with a box of mugs and a baby crying in the background.
We pulled into Madison’s driveway just before ten. Blair hopped out before I could cut the engine, tugging her cardigan tighter around her shoulders like armor.
“You nervous?” I asked, grabbing the box from the backseat.
She glanced back at me. “To tell Madison I’m moving in with you?”
“Yeah.”
She grinned. “No. She’s going to act like she’s surprised, then pretend she always knew.”
“She probably did.”
Inside, the house smelled like lavender and chamomile, and the faint hum of a lullaby played from a monitor on the table. Madison was in the kitchen, hair in a bun, wearing a T-shirt that readCool Moms Cry Too.
“You’re late,” she called. “I made banana muffins and emotional judgments.”
Blair walked in first, holding a small box. “I brought you back your baking dish.”
“And?” Madison asked, arching a brow.
“And… I’m moving in with Greyson.”
