SABRINA
The next morning, I woke up alone. Trace had left early to open the hardware store. I’d heard his truck start before dawn, and cold space next to me felt like a preview of what was coming.
I couldn't put it off any longer.
Nico had cornered me outside the post office yesterday. His questions were more pointed, more specific. He knew something. Maybe not everything, but enough to make my palms sweat and my heart race. It was only a matter of time before he put the pieces together, and when he did, I wanted Trace to hear the truth from me first.
I got to the shop and made coffee with shaking hands, rehearsing the words I'd been practicing for days. Trace, I need to tell you something. About the Ex-List. I wrote it. I'm the one who called you The Heartbreaker.
Even in my head, they sounded pathetic.
I tried calling him around noon, but it went straight to voicemail. It was probably for the best. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep pretending, and I wasn’t going to tell him over the phone. By the time evening rolled around, I'd worn a path across the shop from pacing and had drunk enough coffee to fuel a cruise ship for an around the world voyage.
When his truck finally pulled into my driveway at eight-thirty, I felt like I might throw up. He knocked instead of using his key, which should have been the first clue that something had shifted. When I opened the door, his expression was neutral, but there was a wariness in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before.
"Hey," I said, stepping aside to let him in.
"We need to talk." He didn't move from the doorway. He didn't reach for me either. It was over. He knew. And he’d never forgive me.
My stomach dropped but I tried to stay calm. "About what?"
"About whatever you've been hiding." His voice was full of control, but I could sense the anger underneath the surface. "About why you look guilty every time that podcaster's name comes up. About why you've been acting like you're waiting for the world to end."
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly ice-cold. "Come in. Please."
He hesitated, then stepped inside, but he didn't sit down when I gestured toward the couch. Instead, he stood in the middle of my living room like he was ready to bolt at any second.
"I ran into Nico today," he said. "He seemed to think I'd find it interesting to know that Gillian admitted to adding Ridge’s name to the Ex-List.”
The blood drained from my face. "Trace?—"
“He also mentioned that according to his research, you and Gillian used to be pretty close but hadn’t really been seen together much since the Ex-List came out.” His brows knit together, but his expression didn’t change. “I haven’t been keeping tabs on your friends, but it does seem strange that you haven’t mentioned Gillian at all since we’ve been hanging out again.”
I didn’t know what to say. He was right. Gillian and I did have a falling out when the Ex-List suddenly showed up online. She thought I’d leaked it and I’d accused her of doing the same. For a split second I wondered if she had any idea that Nellie was the one who posted it. But none of that mattered. The only thing that did was telling Trace the truth.
My mouth opened, but no words came out.
“Come on, Sabrina.” His eyes never left mine. "Want to tell me why a podcaster who’s only spent a couple of weeks in this town knows more about you than I do?"
This was it. The moment I'd been dreading and putting off, even though it had always been inevitable.
"Sit down," I whispered.
"I'd rather stand."
I took a shaky breath and tried to steady my voice enough to speak. "The Ex-List... I wrote it."
The words hung in the air between us like a grenade waiting to explode. Trace went completely still, his expression shifting from that controlled anger to looking like I’d just ripped his heart right out of his chest.
"You what?"
"Gillian and I wrote it together. We were drinking wine, complaining about dating in this town, and nursing our broken hearts. We just... we made a list. It was supposed to be private. A joke between friends." My voice cracked. "We never meant for anyone to see it."
He stared at me, and I watched as understanding dawned in his eyes. Not just about the list, but about everything… why I'd been so jumpy around the podcaster, why I'd been acting strange all week, why I'd looked guilty every time the subject came up.
"You wrote it," he repeated, his voice flat. "You called me The Heartbreaker."
"Yes."
