I was done hiding.
Whatever waited for me at the clubhouse, I would face it head-on.
Even if it broke my heart all over again.
***
THE CLUBHOUSE LOOKEDthe same. Of course it did. It had only been four days.
Same gravel crunching under the tires when Briar parked. Same hum of bikes somewhere behind the building. Same scent of oil and pine that had once felt like safety and now just made my chest ache.
I sat there a second longer than necessary, my hand wrapped around the door handle, heart thudding hard enough I could feel it in my throat.
“You okay?” Briar asked softly.
I nodded even though it wasn’t true. “Let’s just find him.”
Briar went inside first. I stayed just outside the door, out of sight, not ready to answer the questions I knew would come from the women inside. The main room was loud with late-afternoon noise. Laughter. A pool game mid-argument. Someone yelling over music. I peeked around the door and scanned faces without really seeing them, my pulse ticking higher with every second Chain didn’t appear.
“Gatsby said he went out back,” Briar murmured when she came back out.
We slipped through the door, the noise dulling behind us. The air back there was cooler, shaded by trees, the ground uneven and worn smooth by boots and time. I took maybe three steps before I saw movement ahead.
Chain.
He was walking out of the treeline like he belonged to it, cut on, shoulders loose. And hanging off his side, fingers curled into his vest, was Sugar.
She laughed at something he’d said, head tipped back, body pressed close like she knew exactly how to fit there. One hand slid across his chest, casual. Familiar. Her mouth hovered too close to his jaw.
The world tilted.
I stopped so fast Briar nearly ran into me.
“Oh,” Briar breathed. “Shit.”
Chain hadn’t seen us. Not yet. His attention stayed on Sugar, his arm slung low around her waist, holding her there without effort or hesitation.
Something in my chest cracked clean open.
This wasn’t a misunderstanding. This wasn’t timing or fear or silence doing damage.
This was him choosing something else.
My body moved before my mind caught up. I turned and walked back the way we came, my steps quick and quiet, like if I moved fast enough I could outrun the image burning itself into my brain.
“Lark,” Briar hissed, following. “Wait—”
“I can’t,” I said. My voice sounded too calm to be real. “I can’t do this.”
We reached the car and I yanked the door open, climbing in with shaking hands. Briar slid into the driver’s seat a second later, keys already in hand.
She didn’t say anything as she pulled away from the clubhouse, gravel spitting under the tires.
Neither did I.
I stared straight ahead, my reflection faint in the windshield, eyes glassy and distant. Chain’s face replayed in my mind, over and over. Not angry. Not hurt.
Relaxed.
