Page 29 of Good Graces

“Hey,” I say quietly.

He glances up, eyes narrowed like he’s expecting me to complain or quit.

“Thanks,” I mutter. “For . . . you know.” I gesture vaguely, unsure how to explain that I needed this. That I was unraveling when I walked in, and now, somehow, I feel like I’ve been stitched back together. “For today.”

His expression softens. “Right. I’ll see you again in a couple days.”

It’s not a question. I should say no, should remind him I don’t have time for this. I can’t afford to spend my nights in a dingy gym throwing punches at a bag. I need to sleep more. Focus more.

“Yeah,” I say instead. “See you soon.”

I step outside into the cool night air, still feeling the sting in my palms. It’s sharp, but the tension I’ve been dragging around all day feels quieter now, like someone finally turned the volume down. My lungs pull in a steady breath, deep and grounding, the kind that doesn’t catch or tighten.

I fish around in my pocket for my phone, half expecting it to be dead. I haven’t checked it since yesterday morning—since the second I got the call about Wesley. I texted Robbie, my manager, a quick “Family emergency. Can’t come in.” Then I shoved my phone away and forgot about it.

Now, as the screen lights up, I blink at the notifications. Ten missed texts. A few are from my roommates. Some from my mom. One from Robbie, checking in. But none of them matter quite as much as the one at the bottom.

Warren

heard about Wesley. hope he’s okay.

I stare at it for a second longer than I should, my heartbeat thrumming somewhere in my throat. Warren fucking Mercer texted me. For the first time in two and a half years, he reached out to say something that wasn’t sharp or loaded or angry.

He reached out to check on me.

I swallow hard, my fingers hovering over the screen. I shouldn’t care. It’s a simple message—nothing heavy, nothing that should make my chest feel like it’s folding in on itself. But it does. And when I scroll up, just to see it, I find the last thing he ever sent me.

Quinny, please.

I remember exactly where I was when I first saw it. Sitting on the steps outside my dorm, my heart lodged somewhere between my ribs, my mind a hurricane of what-ifs and too-late regrets.

I ignored it. Not because I wanted to and not because I didn’t have anything to say. But because, by then, it didn’t really matter. Warren had already made up his mind about who I was and what I was worth.

Maybe he was the one to say the final words, but I was the one who really ended it. Just a girl with too many secrets and a habit of breaking things that matter.

That’s why I let the message sit there, unanswered. A final period on something that had once been everything. I spent a long time wishing I hadn’t. Wishing I’d fought harder. Wishing he would have listened.

But now he’s the one reaching out. And I have no fucking idea what to do with that.

I don’t know what to do with him, either. The way I still feel him everywhere. The way his voice sneaks into my head when I’m alone, low and certain, like he’s standing right behind me. The way I still ache for something I told myself I didn’t need.

And I hate that a single text is enough to make me feel like I’m standing on those steps all over again, drowning in those same regrets.

10

WARREN

She didn’t answermy text, and I don’t know why I expected her to. Don’t know why I bothered to send it at all.

What did I think was gonna happen? That she’d suddenly decide to open up, to let me in again? That she’d text back and say,Thank you for checking in, Warren, like we were civil, like we were people who actually knew how to be gentle with each other?

Ridiculous. Foolish. My own fucking fault.

But maybe it’s worse than I think. Maybe she hasn’t even looked at her phone. Maybe she spent the last few days in the hospital waiting on news that didn’t come, and the idea of that makes my chest pull tight.

My stomach twists, and I give her the benefit of the doubt. I tell myself not to jump to conclusions.

That is, until I show up to work the next morning, and she’s already there. Perfectly fine. Smiling at the Davises like nothing happened. Joking with one of the servers. Laughing, even.

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