“No thanks necessary. You know that. However”—he pauses—“you know this could get messy, right? You ready for that?”
“Yeah,” I say without hesitation. “I am.”
“Good. I’ll text you when we’re on our way.”
We hang up, and I lean my head back against the car, staring up at the sky.
As I stand there, it hits me how lucky I am. I have more than a dozen people who would do anything for me at a moment’s notice. The task ahead of me is heavy, stressful—but I know we’ll figure it out because I have that kind of support.
What gets to me is the realization that Tessa doesn’t have that.
She has Layla. And that’s it.
I can’t imagine how alone she must feel. How terrifying it must be to wake up every day knowing that the person who’s supposed to love you is the same person you’re most afraid of.
But that changes tonight.
Tonight, she’s going to know what it feels like to have people on her side. She’s going to know she’s not alone anymore.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
TESSA
I’m absolutely freaking out.
After Logan reluctantly left with his coffee earlier, Preston has barely taken his eyes off me. He’s sitting at the corner table, laptop open but untouched, watching me with so much disdain that it chills the blood in my veins.
I go through the motions—making drinks, smiling at customers—but internally, I’m panicking. My hands shake as I pour steamed milk. My throat tightens every time I feel his eyes on me. I don’t know what to do.
Preston may not know exactly what’s going on with Logan, but he knows something is off.
No, I’m not cheating on Preston. But that doesn’t matter. Even if I told him that Logan and I are just friends, that he comes in every day for coffee and chats with me for a few minutes, it wouldn’t matter. He doesn’t like it, and he’s going to make sure I know that.
What’s even worse is that he believes I lied to him. And that’s going to make the consequences all the more awful.
Layla came in a couple of hours ago, and she may not have been here when Preston saw Logan, but she clearly knows something is wrong. She’s been extra gentle with me, the way she always is when she knows I’m hurting—offering extra doses of kindness and smiles that reassure me she loves me and that she’s here for me.
I know she wants to help. I wish I could let her. But Preston would eat her alive, and I can’t let anything happen to her.
“Hey,” she says gently, sidling up beside me at the espresso machine. “Would you mind taking the trash out back to the dumpster?”
I look at her, confused. The trash is only half full, and we normally don’t take it out to the back alley until closing as part of our end-of-day duties. But something in the way she asks—almost pleading—makes my stomach tighten.
I swallow hard. “Sure.”
“Thanks,” she says cheerfully, her voice a little too bright. “You know how much I hate trash duty. I’ll handle things up here.” She grins before turning to greet the next customer.
I gather the top of the plastic bag and tie it into a knot. Pulling the trash from the bin, I make my way through the back and out the rear door into the alleyway.
As the swinging door that separates the back of the shop from the front closes behind me, I swear I catch a glimpse of some of the Cranes hockey players walking in through the front entrance. I can’t be certain, but they look so familiar—tall, broad-shouldered, moving with that easy athletic confidence. My mind flashes back to my Instagram scrolling, and I wonder if they’re Logan’s teammates.
I don’t stop to verify. Instead, trash bag in hand, I push through the back door and step into the alley.
Layla and I have a form of unspoken communication we’ve built over the years because Preston is almost always nearby. It’sbeen out of necessity. There was something in her voice just now—a pleading tone that begged me not to question her and to just do what she asked. And if there’s anyone I trust in this world, it’s Layla.
I step into the dim alley, the summer heat still clinging to the brick walls despite the late hour. I toss the garbage bag into the dumpster, and the metallic clang echoes off the narrow space.
