Page 50 of Broken Roads
I go in.
Inside, low voices echo down the hallway to my right, and I follow the sound, moving as quietly as my boots will allow on the linoleum floor. Guilt presses down on my shoulders, making me walk with an uncharacteristic hunch, as if I could somehow make my six-foot-two frame less conspicuous.
The hallway opens into a larger corridor with doors on either side. All closed except for the one at the end. A small sign has been taped beside it: "Meeting in Progress." The voices are clearer now, though I can't make out individual words. Just the cadence of someone speaking to a group, and the occasional murmur of response.
I approach slowly, heart hammering against my ribs, mouth dry with anxiety and shame. This is my last chance to walk away, to preserve whatever decency I still possess. To respect the boundaries Hailey has clearly set, even if I don't understand them.
But I don't take it.
Instead, I step closer to the door, close enough to peer through the narrow window set into its upper half. Close enough to see what Hailey has been hiding from me.
About fifteen people of varying ages sit facing each other, their expressions attentive as a woman speaks from across thecircle. I don't immediately register what I'm seeing, my brain struggling to categorize the gathering. Then my eyes land on a small table near the front—pamphlets stacked neatly beside a coffee urn, and behind them, the unmistakable blue triangle logo. Alcoholics Anonymous. The realization drives the air from my lungs in one fell swoop. This isn't just any meeting. This is an AA meeting. And Hailey is sitting there, between Tessa and an older man, her fingers worrying what looks like a small coin.
I step back from the door as if burned, my heart pounding wildly against my ribs. The pieces fall into place with brutal clarity. Her refusal to join us at the Rusted Spur, the tension that entered her body whenever Sawyer mentioned drinks.
The coin she clutched that morning on the porch, the one I caught her holding like a lifeline.
She's an alcoholic. A recovering alcoholic.
And I teased her about being too good for our local bar.
Shame floods me, hot and suffocating. I lean against the wall beside the door, legs suddenly unsteady beneath me. Through the narrow window, I can still see the meeting in progress, though I can't make out individual words. The woman who was speaking has finished, and a middle-aged man has taken her place.
I know I should leave. Every second I stand here is another violation of Hailey's privacy, another betrayal she hasn't consented to. As he speaks several people, Hailey included, nod in understanding.
I close my eyes, unable to watch any longer. The memory of that morning on the porch rises unbidden—Hailey whirling to face me, fingers closed tight around something in her palm. The hurt in her eyes when I confronted her after Sawyer's invitation. The quiet dignity with which she absorbed my barbs and continued to work alongside me despite them.
She wasn't hiding a secret boyfriend. She was protecting her sobriety. And I've been too blind, too wrapped up in my own feelings to see what was right in front of me.
My hand rises to roughly scrub across my face, stubble scratching against my palm. My skin burns hot with shame, pulse throbbing in my temples. I need to leave, need to get as far from this door as possible before someone notices me lurking like the stalker I've become.
My boots sound too loud on the linoleum as I quickly walk down the hallway, each step punctuated by self-recrimination. What the fuck was I thinking? What kind of man follows a woman, spies on her private meetings, and invades the sanctuary she's created for herself?
Not a man I want to be.
I barely make it to the main exit when my name cuts through the evening air like a blade.
"Bradley?"
My blood turns to ice. I stop dead, one hand on the heavy glass door, my whole body going rigid. Slowly, I turn around to find Hailey standing at the far end of the hallway, her face a mask of shock and something else, something that looks dangerously close to betrayal.
What the fuck have I done?
Chapter 21
Hailey
Time freezes.
The hallway stretches between us like an endless void while Bradley's face contorts with guilt. My sobriety token burns against my palm, the edges digging into my flesh as my fingers clench around it. Seven months of rebuilding myself from shattered pieces, exposed in an instant. And he's here. He's just witnessed my most carefully guarded secret, the one thing I wasn't ready to share.
Behind me, the meeting continues, voices murmuring in that sacred circle of shared pain and hope. But here in this hallway, silence roars between us. My heartbeat thunders in my ears, drowning out everything except the sight of Bradley—tall, strong, unshakeable Bradley—looking utterly shaken.
His hand still rests on the exit door. Those dark eyes, usually so controlled, now swim with something I've never seen in them before. Shame. It washes over his features, pulling his mouth into a grimace that makes my stomach twist.
Is that disgust I see? Disappointment? The realization that the woman he's been sharing lunches with, the woman whose ideas he finally embraced, is damaged goods?
My legs move before my brain catches up, carrying me toward him with steps that feel both too fast and impossibly slow at the same time. His posture stiffens as I approach, shoulders drawing back as if bracing for impact.
