“I always wondered what you’d go for after me,” he continues, still looking directly at me.“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
And something inside me goes cold. Not embarrassed. Not angry. Cold. Because this is exactly how he used to talk to me when he wanted control back.
That’s when Blake punches him. The sound isn’t as dramatic as it is in movies. It’s sharp.
James stumbles backward into another table, knocking glasses to the floor as people stand too quickly. I’m unsure what is happening, and suddenly the entire bar shifts. The situation goes from quiet conversation to overlapping voices, movement, and confusion as chairs scrape across the floor and someone shouts for security.
“Blake…” I start, but before I can finish, someone collides with me from the side as they try to move out of the way. My shoulder slams hard into the corner of a chair in a way that sends a sharp burst of pain down my arm, so suddenly I lose my breath.
For a second, everything goes blurry. The noise gets louder. Someone swears. Someone else laughs nervously. Security starts moving through the crowd. And then Blake is beside me again.
“Lisa,” he says immediately.“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, even though my shoulder is already throbbing hard enough that I can feel it in my neck.
He doesn’t believe me.
“Come on,” he says quietly, already guiding me toward the door like the rest of the room stopped existing the second he saw me get hit.
The cold air outside feels like stepping into a different world entirely. The adrenaline that carried me through the last few minutes disappears almost instantly the moment we reach the sidewalk. It leaves behind something heavier and shakier that I can’t hold together the way I thought I could.
“I’m sorry,” I say automatically.
“For what?” Blake asks.
“For him. For that. For dragging you into it.”
“None of that is your fault,” he says immediately.
“You didn’t have to punch him.”
“Yes,” he replies quietly.“I did.”
“What about your career? Your job?” I ask, panicking.
“Don’t worry,” Blake says. He says it like it’s simple. It doesn’t feel simple.
I don’t realize I’m shaking until we reach his car. And I don’t realize I’m crying until I try to open the passenger door and my hands don’t cooperate.
“Hey,” he says softly.
“I’m fine,” I try again.
“You’re not,” he answers gently.
And this time, I can’t pretend anymore.
He doesn’t ask questions while he drives. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t try to fix anything immediately. He just brings me back to his apartment like it’s the most natural place in the world for me to be.
The moment the door closes behind us, everything I’ve been holding together since James walked toward our table breaks at once.
“I hate that he can still do this,” I whisper.
“Do what?” Blake asks.
“Make me feel like I’m still there,” I say, my voice shaking despite how hard I’m trying to keep it steady.“Like I never actually left. Like he still gets to decide whether I’m confident or small or embarrassed or ok.”
Blake steps closer slowly.
