“Dee—”
“No. Shut your mouth. You don’t get to talk.”
She’s shaking, fists clenched at her sides, fury radiating off her in waves.
“She trusted you,” she says, voice lower now, deadly. “She loved you. You think I don’t know what you two were doing all those late nights in the kitchen, those soft looks across the prep line? You think I didn’t see how she glowed around you?”
I swallow hard. My throat’s on fire.
“I didn’t ask for this to happen.”
“Neither did she!” Dee explodes. “She didn’t plan to fall for some emotionally stunted ex-quarterback with more walls than the Pentagon! But she did. And when she told you about the pregnancy, she didn’t need perfect. She needed you to stay.”
I rub a hand over my face, but she’s not finished.
“And then this?” She gestures wildly toward the door, toward the noise outside, the headlines, the whispers. “You let Savannah destroy her from the sidelines while you sit here licking your wounds?”
My voice is raw when I speak. “I’m not trying to hurt her. I just?—”
“Just what?” Dee snaps. “Too scared to admit you still love her? Or too selfish to deserve her?”
That one lands like a punch to the gut.
“You don’t,” she finishes, voice cold now, cutting. “You don’t deserve her.”
And with that, she walks out.
The silence she leaves behind is worse than the yelling.
I stare at the wall, heart pounding, ears ringing. My hands are fists at my sides. That ache in my chest, tight and gnawing, rips open into rage.
And I snap.
I shove everything off my desk. Papers fly. A framed photo of the restaurant's opening crashes to the floor. My chair goes next, slamming into the wall with a sharp crack. I punch a dent into the filing cabinet so hard my knuckles split open.
It’s not enough.
It’ll never be enough.
She’s gone. I drove her away. And now the whole damn world knows it.
Nova still stands off to the side, face as tight as the knot in my chest.
She takes one look at the chaos, my bleeding hand, the wrecked office, and doesn’t even flinch.
“Feel better?” she asks, folding her arms.
I press the heel of my palm to my eyes. “No.”
“Good. Because you don’t get to wallow. Not now.”
“Nova—”
“No.” Her voice slices through the room. “You think you’re the only one hurting? You think Josie’s off in Denver sipping chai lattes and laughing about this? You broke her, Knox. And you don’t get to sit in here playing the tortured martyr while she rebuilds alone.”
I stare at her, jaw tight.
She’s in Denver?
