Page 18 of Fade With Me

His expression hardened, his voice taking on a stern, authoritative edge. “Let’s face it, Brynlynn. Making dresses is a waste of time. You’re better off sticking to what you're good at—picking up more shifts at the diner. At least that way you’ll contribute something useful.”

Pick up more shifts? Is he serious? I’m already running on empty. Meanwhile, he’s off God-knows-where—partying or scheming. I have no idea what heactuallydoes for a living. Every time I ask, he dances around the question, giving vague answers or changing the subject. It’s like he expects me to just accept that he’s some kind of mysterious, successful man without ever explaining how he actually makes his money. I’m starting to wonder if it’s even legal.

I tried to sound casual, but the words slipped out before I could stop them. “Maybe…I could work with you?” I asked, fidgeting with the edge of my sleeve, avoiding his gaze as my heart picked up speed.

Reggie’s eyes grew cold, any trace of warmth replaced by a glacial, icy stare. “We’re not hiring. And even if we were, you’re not exactly the most qualified,” he said, his tone cutting. “Your skills are better suited to simpler tasks—like asking ‘do you want fries with that?’ all day.”

I blinked, the words catching me off guard. “Excuse me?” The question slipped out in disbelief, followed by a surge of rage that felt almost primal. “Did youreallyjust say that?”

I didn’t know what came over me. I’d never stood up to Reggie, never dared to challenge him, but something inside me snapped. A strange, unsettling energy pulsed through me, my heart pounding with an indignation so vast it was all-consuming. My emotions swelled, raw and untamed, slipping beyond my control. The chandelier above us flickered violently, casting erratic shadows across the walls. The air thickened, charged with something unseen, something electric.

I locked eyes with him, fury building inside me, threatening to explode.

His fingers clamped around his glass, his knuckles whitening as the amber liquid trembled. His eyes blazed with anger, but beneath it, something else lurked—a subtle twitch in his eyelid, a brief crack in hiscarefully constructed mask. His gaze flicked upward, jaw tightening as the lights shuddered, then flared back to full brightness. Just as quickly, his focus snapped back to me, his expression hardening, smothering whatever unease had surfaced.

His hand shot out, clamping around my wrist with a grip hard enough to bruise. “Watch yourself,” he growled, his voice low and controlled, but edged with something sharper. Something cautious. The grip loosened, and he let go of me with a dismissive shove. A sneer twisted his mouth, a cruel echo of the intensity that came before. “What a coincidence. A mini earthquake to match your mini tantrum.” His sarcasm hung in the air, needling beneath my skin, stoking the fire already burning inside me.

I rubbed at my wrist, keeping my gaze fixed on my lap, then smoothed a hand down my dress, trying—and failing—to regain control. Every movement felt deliberate, exposed. The waiter approached with our plates, setting them down quietly before slipping away.

The rest of the meal stretched on in tense silence, punctuated only by the sharp clink of silverware against fine china. Each bite felt heavier as Reggie’s words chipped away at me, slowly unraveling the fragile threads of confidence I’d managed to stitch together. No matter how much they stung, no matter how they tore at me, I couldn’t deny it. He was right.

My dress-making dreams, once full of hope and possibility, now felt like distant fragments, slowly fading into the background. The harsh reality of my situation settled in, like a cold, suffocating blanket: I was adrift in a sea of inexperience, my skills nonexistent, my prospects as bleak as a dying star.

A string of dead-end jobs was my only resume, a fragile thread that could barely support the weight of my ambitions. The future loomed before me, an empty, desolate landscape, full of false promises and shattered hopes.

seven

As Saturday dawned, anticipation hummed through my veins. I hadn’t expected to be this excited to spend the day hiking with Zeke, sweating, stumbling, and braving the trail. It felt less like a simple hike and more like the start of an adventure.

I dressed with purpose, opting for black shorts and a fitted white tank top to stay cool under the sun. A lightweight jacket knotted around my waist completed the look. I braided my hair into two neat French braids, a small touch that made the day feelmore significant.

I crept out of my bedroom, hoping to escape Reggie’s attention. But as I glanced into his room, I was met with an unsettling emptiness. The bed was unmade, the curtains open, and the space carried that familiar, heavy scent of absence. Typical Reggie—always leaving me to wonder where he was, or more likely, what he was up to.

With a quiet sigh, I padded downstairs, my bare feet barely making a sound on the old wooden steps. My trusty hiking boots waited in the corner, their scuffed toes and worn soles a testament to countless trails. Slipping them on, I felt that same weight and comfort, like they were an extension of me.

I grabbed my backpack, the soft rustle of nylon and snap of the fasteners grounding me. I’d done this a hundred times before, but today felt different. The routine, once automatic, now settled me in a way that surprised me.

Before I left, I scribbled a quick note to Reggie on an old piece of notebook paper: “Hiking all day, be back for dinner,” I wrote, blunt and to the point. The magnet on the fridge clicked softly as I pressed the note in place. I grabbed my keys and stepped outside, the crisp fall air filling my lungs. The world felt alive in that fleeting moment, vibrant, fresh, full of possibilities.

I followed my usual routine and chose to walk to the trailhead. It was only a few miles, but a good warm-upfor my legs and a chance to clear my head before the hike.

As I neared the entrance, a sleek black BMW coasted to a stop, its engine purring like a finely tuned machine. Zeke stepped out, a confident smile spreading across his face, his eyes squinting against the bright morning light as they found me.

Seeing him outside a tailored suit was strange, but it only made him more magnetic. His black cargo pants and fitted shirt clung to his frame, the contours of his muscles so sharply defined that my breath hitched.

“What a morning!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up, his whole body alive with excitement. He inhaled, slow and deep, as though the early hours themselves were something he could bottle up and keep. “The sun’s out, the birds are singing…it’s going to be an amazing hike. I can feel it!”

I shot him a playful, mock-scolding look, eyebrow raised as I gave him a quick once-over. “Uh, someone’s had a little too much coffee this morning.”

His grin faltered, but then he burst out laughing. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Should’ve skipped that extra espresso shot.”

Still chuckling, he ducked back into the car, grabbed his backpack, and slung it effortlessly over his shoulder before strolling over to join me.

We headed toward the trailhead, the entrance barely visible beneath a tangle of branches and debris. Zeke’sexpression shifted to skepticism as he eyed the dense foliage ahead. “You sure this is it?” he asked. “Looks a little…sketchy.”

I couldn’t resist. Dropping my voice into a low, exaggerated imitation of his, I teased, “What happened to ‘Ilivefor the rush of adrenaline?’”

He rolled his eyes but was unable to suppress the amusement that tugged at his lips. “First of all,” he said, raising a finger, “I don’t sound like that. And second, that’s not even close to what I said.”

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