“Bye, Knox,” I whisper.
I end the call and drag in a shaky breath, chest tight with that awful mix of relief and dread. I got through talking to him without completely falling apart, but it doesn’t loosen the ache lodged in my ribs.
I’m holding it together for now, but every part of me is balancing on that impossible line between wanting to run to him and needing miles of space.
Quietly, I ease my bedroom door open. The hinges groan loud enough to make me wince. Aunt Rose is a light sleeper,and I don’t have it in me to answer worried questions. I pause to listen.
Silence.
The bathroom tiles are freezing against my bare feet as I catch my reflection in the mirror. Pale. Smudged makeup. Sad eyes.
I step into the shower, letting the hot water sting my skin, wishing it could burn away even a fraction of what’s knotted up inside me. By the time I towel off and get dressed, barely bothering with my hair, the bathroom door eases open.
Aunt Rose’s gentle, almost unsure voice fills the space. “Juliette?”
Her eyes scan over me, widening as they take in my disheveled state. “Oh, sweetheart, are you okay?” Her voice cracks just a bit. “By the time I heard what happened, you were already gone, and you weren’t answering your phone. Callan said Finn brought you home.”
Before I can summon the strength to speak, she steps forward and wraps me in a hug. As her arms tighten around me, memories of past conversations flicker through my mind. Things I pushed away until now.
I pull back just enough to meet her gaze, searching for the truth in her eyes. My arms fold across my chest, instinctively guarding what little is left of me.
“You knew he was married.”
She flinches, the movement so slight it’s almost imperceptible. Guilt flashes across her face, too quick to hide.
“I knew hehadbeen married,” she admits. “That’s true. I knew she was…difficult, to put it kindly.” She falters for a moment, her gaze shifting away. “But the rest? That wasn’t my business, Juliette. He’s my boss, and it wasn’t my place to get involved in things I don’t fully understand.”
Her eyes meet mine, searching, almost pleading, and asking for forgiveness I don’t know if I’m ready to give.
I should be angry, but the truth is, I’m worn down by the weight of too many unanswered questions. There’s no fight left in me. The logical part of my brain is also telling me this isn’t her fault. Not really. She didn’t make the choices that brought me here. And yet, it still stings.
I give her a subtle nod, my throat tight with things I don’t know how to say. This is one more thing I’ll have to process later, when I’ve got the space for it. “I’m heading to meet him now. Is it okay if I take your car?”
“Of course,” she says quietly, then pauses for a moment, her gaze softening. “Just…text me when you get there so I know you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I will,” I promise, slipping on my boots and grabbing the keys.
Knox’s truckis parked out front of the café when I pull up. The sight stirs a bittersweet mix of hope and sadness. It’s that strange ache of wanting and knowing better all at once.
My heart doesn’t seem to care about the mess of things. It just knows he’s here and decides that’s reason enough to twist tight.
I don’t waste any time once I park. If I sit here too long, I’ll start overthinking, and I can’t afford to lose my nerve now. My hand hesitates over the door handle for just a second…
But then, I see him.
My gaze drifts to the window, and the moment I spot him, my stomach drops. He’s sitting at one of the tables, looking like he’s been torn apart and stitched back together, only halfsuccessfully. His eyes are shadowed, his face drawn. It’s a look I know all too well.
I take a steadying breath, forcing my legs to move. The door to the café creaks open, the bell above jingling softly. Knox’s head snaps up, his eyes locking with mine with a force that makes me stop in my tracks.
The urge to turn and walk away pulls at me like a current, but I fight it. One step at a time.
When I reach the table, he stands. His movements are stiff, like he’s trying to hold himself together. The tension in his shoulders is visible in the way he’s bracing himself, like he’s expecting me to lash out at any second. He pulls out a chair for me, but it’s not the familiar, confident gesture I’m used to. There’s something careful about it, almost hesitant. I slide into the seat without meeting his eyes. My heart wants to leap and run into his arms and pretend nothing ever happened, but my mind knows better.
The silence stretches between us. The distance between us is almost too much to bear. Every part of me screams to close it.
“I grabbed you a coffee and one of those muffins you like.” His hand comes up, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I, uh, wasn’t sure if you’d want anything or not.”
Damn him.
