And I let her.
There was nothing left for me at the bar tonight—no more laughter, no more pretending. I needed the quiet now. The comfort of my own space. The safety of solitude. This night had run its course, and I could feel the weight of it closing in around me, like the final pages of a chapter.
So we left.
Each of my friends flanked me, arms linked, elbows brushing like a scene lifted straight from a rom-com, except this wasn’t scripted. It was real. Honest. The kind of sisterhood that held you up when your legs didn’t quite feel like your own.
They spoke softly as we walked, voices low and full of love. They told me they were proud. That they admired my strength. That no matter what I needed, no matter when, they’d be there.
I didn’t know how I got so lucky.
Grateful didn’t even begin to cover it.
Returning to Faircloud had felt like a gamble. But right then, in that moment, I knew it was the best choice I could’ve made.
When we reached my apartment, there were no long, drawn-out goodbyes. No pity. Just a series of warm hugs, whispered promises, and the quiet kind of support that didn’t need to be said out loud anymore. I watched them walk away with tears in my eyes—this time, from something softer than sadness.
The rest of the night belonged to me.
I would spend it alone. Letting the stillness wrap around me like a blanket. Soaking in the quiet victory of having faced the night, of having spoken my truth, of choosing to stay instead of run.
I would bask in the woman I was becoming again, the one who loved life, who once dreamed. The one who was finally starting to come back to herself.
A long shower. My own bed. Maybe another cry or two to wring out what was left of the ache.
And then, sleep.
I climbed the stairs slowly, the air cooler now, cleaner. It smelled like peace. Like closure.
Without looking back, I stepped into my apartment and gently shut the door behind me.
45
LOGAN
Instead of heading home, I turned toward the quiet streets and let my feet take over. I needed air. Stillness. A stretch of road and no one’s voice but my own to sort through everything clawing at my insides.
After talking to the guys, I’d made my way downstairs to find Ellie—just to see her face, make sure she was okay—but she was already gone. The bar felt hollow without her in it. Like all the oxygen had left the room the second she did.
I figured the girls had taken her home. They were gone too.
Hands shoved deep in my pockets, I walked. Each step heavier than the last, the kind that forces your heart to slow down so your mind can catch up. A part of me wanted to head straight to Miles’s place. Find him. Finish what I started. Let my fists say what words never could.
But I knew that wasn’t the answer.
Still, the anger coiled just beneath the surface like it had teeth, like it wouldn’t rest until something gave. It wasn’t just what he’d done—it was that he showed up tonight at all, uninvited, like he had some damn right to explain himself. Like his side of the story mattered.
But even through the rage, my thoughts drifted back to Ellie.
The tears in her eyes.
The way she’d looked at me.
Like I’d just pulled the rug out from under her when she’d barely found her footing again.
That look was going to haunt me.
I didn’t want to leave her like that. I also had guilt for telling the guys everything that happened to her, why we left. I didn’t see any other way around getting the reason to match the story without telling the whole truth.
