Instead, all I can think is that I’ve already crossed that line.
And I have no idea how to uncross it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Delaney
Almost three weeks at Sunridge.
Long enough that the rhythms of the house feel familiar, meal times, Sadie’s school schedule, which floorboards squeak outside Boone’s room, but not long enough that my nervous system believes any of it is permanent.
Not long enough to forget Caleb’s face in the kitchen when I told him that he looked at me like he cared.
Not long enough to stop wanting to Google Marcus Hale.
So naturally, the first thing I do this afternoon is Google Marcus Hale.
Again.
And of course, there he is.
Front page of some glossy food magazine, all styled stubble and smug smirk, arms folded in that fake relaxed pose I know the PR team made him practice. Headline:
The Comeback King: Marcus Hale on Success, Scandal & Second Chances
My stomach flips so hard I have to sit down.
Second chances.
Not mine, obviously.
I scroll. I read. I hate myself for reading. But I read.
“People make mistakes,” he says in the interview. “I’ve learned a lot about boundaries, about leadership. I’m grateful for the opportunity to grow.”
Grow.
Right.
He’s photographed in his shiny kitchen, leaning over a plate of something delicate and ridiculous, surrounded by staff in perfectly pressed jackets. There’s a whole paragraph about how he “nurtures young talent.” I almost throw my phone across the room.
Comments underneath:
king behavior
we stan a man who takes accountability
that sous chef should be ashamed fr
My throat burns.
I close the article. Open it again. Close it.
Close the whole browser.
My reflection stares back at me in the black screen. Tired eyes, tight mouth, that same hollow spot under my ribs that never quite fills.
I’m not in the mood. For cooking. For small talk. For existing in a universe where Marcus Hale gets redemption arcs and I get panic spirals.
