Page 26 of Stick Fight

She waves a hand toward the dress. “Fixing it.”

“For…” I trail off, needing to hear her say it. Why the fuck do I need to hear her say it? Am I a goddamn masochist?

Her phone buzzes, and her shoulders stiffen as she stares at the lit screen.“He’s sent hundreds of messages,”she says, shaking her head. “He’s been threatening to ruin me if I don’t walk down that aisle. My career… it’ll be over if I don’t.”

My jaw clenches. Is she telling me that, so I’ll understand?

In a much lower voice, she adds, “They have all the connections. I’ve worked so hard, proven myself.”She snaps her fingers, and the sharp sound sends spikes of pain into my skull.“But with a couple of phone calls, they can crush me like a bug.”

I drop onto the sofa, my head throbbing. I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to say here, so I go with,“Are you going to answer?”

She exhales slowly, her gaze flicking to me before settling back on her phone.“I suppose I should.”

For a moment, silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. But instead of answering, she picks up the scissors again. “Gabs. What are you doing?”

Her voice is soft, almost wistful, filled with a longing that hurts my heart when she answers with, “Someday I’d like to design wedding gowns. I thought I’d start with this one. It’s gorgeous fabric, and I want to make it right... I want to make it my own.” Her brow furrows as she looks at me, like she’s begging for me to understand. But fuck, I’m nothing to her but an old friend and she doesn’t have to justify her actions. Not to me. Not to anyone. Except, maybe…herself.

“You’re going back,” I say flatly, a statement, not a question.

She nods slowly, her voice barely above a whisper.“Yes.”

My heart lurches painfully. I work hard to swallow it down, to keep my face impassive, but damn it, I want to grab her, pull her close, kiss some sense back into her. But this is her life, her choice, and last night was just a fleeting connection, her need for something real before…fake.

I lower my gaze to my coffee cup, gripping it hard enough to crack the ceramic. “Okay.”

“Roman.” Her voice catches as she says my name.

I lift my gaze, and the hurt in her voice is a physical punch.“Do you not want me to?” she asks, her voice barely audible.

“Gabs…” What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?

“Last night, then. Your offer? That was just the heat of the moment? It’s not real.”

Wait, what?

I scrub my hand over my face, trying to make sense of the storm in my brain.“You’renotgoing back to him.”

Her eyes widen, disbelief flashing across her face.“Of course not. Is that what you thought I meant?”

“My brain isn’t working so great today.”

A little laugh bubbles out of her throat. “I’m not sure mine is, either. You looked horrified for a second.”

“Yeah,” I begin, scrambling to backtrack. I can’t let her see how much last night meant to me. I don’t want to scare her off. “After what he did, I want to punch him. But you know, your career…I just…I thought. I was worried. Regrets.”

“I’m not going back with him. I’m going back—to Boston—with you,” she says, her voice full of conviction. “But I should answer him. I do owe him that.”

“You don’t owe him anything.”

She drops to her knees in front of me, and heart slams so hard in my chest I’m sure she can hear it. Honestly, it guts me to think that with just a couple of phone calls, he can easily ruin her. I wish there was something I could do for her, because I know firsthand how hard it is to chase a dream—the relentless grind, the sacrifices, the blood, sweat and tears it takes to make it happen.

I set my coffee down, pulling her hands into mine.“For the record, last night was not in the heat of the moment. Come back with me, Gabs. Stay with me.” She stares at me and just to clarify what I’m offering, not that I for one minute think she might have the wrong idea, I add, “Stay for as long as you need. Take all the time you need to figure out what’s next.”

“Okay.”

I arch a brow. “Yeah?”I can barely get the word out, but I need to hear her say it.

“Yeah.”

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