“I’m sorry,” I say, and the words come out rougher than I want. “For… all of it. I wish things had been different.”
Sierra swallows once. Her gaze drops to my hands like she’s avoiding my eyes on purpose. “Jace.”
“I mean it.” I step closer, just enough that it feels like a choice. “You deserved better than me.”
That finally pulls her gaze back up. There’s no anger in it. Just the kind of hurt that’s too old to be sharp anymore.
“I deserved better than what we became,” she says quietly. “I don’t know if that’s the same thing.”
That hits hard because she’s right.
I nod once. “Fair.”
Silence stretches. Not hostile, just heavy.
She shifts again, the folder creasing slightly in her grip. “This isn’t how it was meant to go, I’m sorry it came to this.”
“I understand, I appreciate that.”
“Good.” She gives a small, controlled breath. “I hope you figure out what you actually want.”
I don’t answer fast enough and she notices.
Her eyes soften for one beat, then she steps to the side to pass me. Her perfume trails behind her, faint and familiar.
At the door, she pauses without turning fully around. “Take care of yourself.”
I blink, because it feels like mercy.
“You too,” I manage.
She nods once and leaves.
Outside, the air is crisp. Bright. A little too sharp for how steady my heartbeat feels.
I pull my phone from my pocket before I can overthink it.
Sierra’s name sits at the top of my messages, unread but not unanswered. We’ve spoken. We’ve agreed. We’ve been careful with each other in a way that feels earned.
I type slowly.
Thank you for how you handled today. I hope you find what you need.
I stare at it for a second, then hit send.
No apology. No justification. Just respect.
I slide the phone back into my pocket and head for my truck.
The drive should feel different.
It doesn’t.
The road unfolds the same way it always does, familiar and indifferent. Traffic lights cycle from red to green. A stop sign flashes in my peripheral. A couple of pedestrians take their time crossing the street, laughing about something I’ll never hear. No one out here knows what I just signed away. No one slows down for it.
I turn the radio on without really thinking, then shut it off again a few seconds later when the noise feels too intrusive. My hands adjust on the steering wheel, loosening, tightening, like they’re testing how much control I actually have. The speed limit sign passes unnoticed. I’m not in a hurry. I don’t feel like I’ve earned the right to rush anything.
A car behind me honks when the light turns green and I hesitate half a beat too long. I ease forward, muttering an apology no one hears. Red. Green. Yield. Brake. The rules out here are simple, and for a moment, I let myself focus on that instead of everything else.
