If she’d let herself believe the last few weeks changed anything…
She knew Tool would hold on tight enough to break them both.
The walk from the garage back to her apartment felt longer than usual. Each step away from Tool’s place felt like peeling off a layer of skin—exposing, uncomfortable, but necessary.
By the time Brandi reached her building, the quiet of the early morning wrapped around her like a too-heavy blanket. No traffic yet. Just the sound of gulls down near the water and the distant hum of a delivery truck making its rounds.
She unlocked her door, stepped inside, and leaned back against it once it clicked shut behind her.
The silence wasn’t comforting. It never really had been.
She peeled off her clothes, tossed them in the hamper, and stepped into the shower without thinking. The hot water did its job—washed away the sweat, the smell of scotch, the memory of his mouth on her skin—but not the ache in her chest. That stayed.
She dressed simply: worn jeans, a loose cotton tee, hair twisted up into a messy knot. Something about the mundane act of getting ready helped her breathe again.
Downstairs, the little bell above the shop’s back door jingled as she turned the lock. The ice cream shop smelled like sugar and waffle cones—comforting, familiar. The kind of scent that usually made her smile.
Not today.
She flipped the lights on, one row at a time. Powered up the dipping cabinets. Ran her hand along the cold glass of the display counter. Everything was just as she’d left it the night before.
Brandi tied on her apron and stood behind the counter for a moment, hands planted, just breathing. Trying to shake off the lingering weight of Tool’s hands. His voice. The heat in his kiss. The way he’d whispered her name like it meant something.
Don’t break my heart,she’d told him once.
And then she’d walked away first.
“Pull it together,” she whispered to herself. “Today’s a new day.”
She flipped the sign toOPEN. Sunlight spilled in through the windows, catching on the pastel tiles and dancing across the glass jars filled with sprinkles and crushed candy.
Brandi took a long, slow breath and forced her shoulders to relax.
Whatever it had been, it was over. And if Tool wanted to talk, he knew where to find her.
The morning light was soft, creeping in slowly through the half-drawn blinds. It cut across the hardwood floor and crawled up the side of the bed, warm and golden, but it wasn’t what woke him.
The cold did.
Tool reached for her before he even opened his eyes, hand sweeping over empty sheets that had gone cool sometime in the early hours. His brow furrowed as he cracked his eyes open, rolling to his back and staring at the ceiling.
She was gone. No weight beside him. No warmth. No sound of a shower or shuffling in the other room.
He sat up slowly, the sheet slipping down his bare chest, and looked around the room like maybe she’d appear if he waited long enough.
Nothing. Only the quiet hum of the garage below and the faint scent of… coffee?
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand down his face. His body ached, not just from the drinks last night but from the weight of what he’d failed to say. What he’d failed to show her.
He pulled on a pair of sweats and padded barefoot into the kitchen area.
On the counter sat a full pot of coffee, steam still curling from the top. Two mugs sat beside it. One clean. One used. Lipstick print on the rim.
But no note.
No goodbye.
Just the coffee, fresh and quiet like a whisper she hadn’t said out loud.
