He didn't control me. Nobody did. Not anymore.
But even as the resolve formed, solid and defiant, part of me kept glancing toward the hallway. Kept hoping he'd walk through that door. Kept waiting for him to prove me wrong.
The hours dragged. Each one heavier than the last.
I heard him before I saw him—those familiar footsteps in the hallway. Measured. Purposeful. My chest seized. I looked up from the register, pulse hammering, and caught his profile rounding the corner.
Our eyes met for half a second.
He stopped.
Then turned around and walked the other direction.
The rejection hit like a physical blow. My hands shook as I finished counting change for a customer I didn't remember taking an order from. Ben said something. I nodded without hearing it. Pressed my palms flat against the counter until my nails dug into the laminate.
He can't even look at me.
The thought burned. Humiliating. Confirmation of every fear that had crawled through my mind since waking up alone.
I was a mistake he wanted to erase.
During the team break, Coach Barrett came to the counter instead. Ordered three black coffees and a sandwich. His presence felt wrong. Too polite. Too deliberate.
I overheard him talking to Ben about coming in here to order for the coaching staff.
It shouldn't matter, but it did.
It mattered that Rhys couldn't face me. That he'd sent someone else. That he was close enough to need coffee but couldn't bring himself to walk the twenty feet to get it himself.
"You hear that?" Ben asked. "Coach Barrett's slumming it up with us today."
"Lucky him." My voice came out flat. Dead. "Anything else?"
Barrett studied me for a beat too long. Something shifted in his expression—pity, maybe. Or understanding. "That's it. Thanks, kid."
I wasn't a kid.
I was just stupid enough to sleep with a man who regretted me before morning.
His voice drifted through the open office door sometime after lunch. Low. Clipped. Giving instructions to someone about defensive positioning.
My hands fumbled the cup I was stacking. It clattered against the counter edge. Didn't fall, but close enough that Jenna shot me a look.
"You good?"
"Fine."
The lie tasted bitter.
I focused on breathing. On keeping my expression neutral. On not letting anyone see how much that voice unraveled me. How badly I wanted to walk down that hallway and demand he explain himself. Demand he say something—anything—instead of pretending I didn't exist.
But I didn't.
Because what would I even say?
You left.
You made me feel safe, and then you disappeared.
