Page 20 of By Your Side
Once finished, we headed to the door in silence. “Are you okay to drive? Tonight was a lot.”
Paige hesitated before answering, her fingers tightening around her car keys. She took a slow breath, and for a moment I thought she might actually tell me how she felt. But all she said was, “Yeah. I just need a minute before I get going.” I nodded, respecting her need for space, even as concern tugged at me. The air between us was thick with everything left unsaid, but I chose to trust she’d reach out if she needed me, at least for tonight.
“Just making sure,” I replied, stepping outside into the cool night beside her. The street was empty, darkness pressing in with only the distant hum of traffic. Paige crossed her arms, gaze fixed ahead. I wanted to offer something that might lighten the weight she carried, but she shook her head—barely, just enough for me to know the conversation was over before it started.
“I’m fine,” she said, keys clenched in her hand. “Really, I’ll be okay, I promise. I don’t feel like talking about it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She didn’t linger. A quick wave, a determined stride toward her car, and she was gone, leaving me standing under the streetlamp with nothing but the echo of her footsteps fading into the night.
I stood outside for a long moment, listening to the quiet city and letting the chill settle into my skin. It was the kind of night that made every sound carry—a distant dog barking, the hum of a stoplight changing, the crinkle of leaves skittering across the sidewalk. I thought about texting Paige, just a simple “made it home?” or “let me know if you need anything.” But I knew better than to crowd her, so I slipped my phone back into my pocket and let the silence stretch. In the end, I just took a deep breath and headed toward my car, the faint glow of the tavern sign behind me a reminder that sometimes, the hardest part is knowing when to let someone walk away on their own.
I drove home beneath a sky brittle with stars, and the silence back at my place echoed the unsaid words between us. Tomorrow, maybe, things would feel less fragile.
Chapter 7
Paige
If there was anything sacred in my life, it was my day off. No alarm. No bar. No customers were asking if we served food, even though they were holding a menu in their hands. Just me in my leggings, mug of tea in hand, ignoring the sink full of dishes while pretending my house didn’t smell vaguely like a teenager’s gym bag and the stale onion rings from last night’s dinner.
It had been a little over two weeks since the confrontation with Eli, and I hadn’t yet heard from him; radio silence. Ren said things were okay—for now, anyway—though I knew better than to take “okay” at face value when it came to Eli. He was plotting something, I knew it.
Hunter hadn’t mentioned us going to dinner again, but he texted me every morning, just quick notes to check in. I saw him on his brother nights at the bar, and we chit-chatted like we used to. It felt like my life had slipped back to almost normal - but part of me didn’t like that. Going back to how things werebeforewasn’t as comforting as I thought it would be.
Noah was home for the weekend, lounging on the couch, cocooned in an oversized hoodie, his bare feet sticking out from the edge of the old quilt he refused to let me throw away. He’d outgrown it years ago and now used it more like a weighted comfort blanket than actual warmth. He was on a break from culinary school, where he was learning how to make fancy sauces and sending me texts about knives I couldn’t afford to buy for him—not yet, anyway.
The girls were out, Lark was spending the night with a friend, and Briar was with Eli; it was his turn. She said she’d be okay and promised to call me or Grandpa if she wanted to be picked up at any point. Grandpa had become the de facto middleman between me and Eli. He dropped them off and picked them up whenever it was Eli’s turn to spend time with them. Briar and Lark had reassured me multiple times that they would tell me everything. No more attempts to protect me from the truth.
I sat on the couch with my tea, feet propped on the ottoman, as the late evening sun slanted in through the blinds enough to warm the edge of the rug. The living room was small and overstuffed—two faded armchairs, a too-squishy couch, and a crooked bookshelf filled with everything from classic novels to cookbooks to romance novels that seemed more like wishful thinking than reality.
The girls’ shoes were in a pile by the front door. An empty mug and a hair tie sat on the windowsill. A full laundry basket waited to be folded on the floor. I needed to clean up, but I wasn’t going to waste this rare one-on-one time with my son by mentioning the dirty dishes or the fact that I had approximately seven hundred loads of laundry to do.
He was here. That was enough. Especially since I knew something was wrong. He hadn’t told me yet, but he would.
Then he sniffed, voice thick and rough. “She dumped me over text.”
My heart squeezed in a way I hadn’t expected. So that was it. He was hurting, and not just a little, but from a broken heart. My baby’s first real taste of heartbreak, and it was crushing to realize I couldn’t take this pain on for him.
“She didn’t even call?” I asked softly, my mind racing. How long had he been carrying this alone?
He shook his head, voice barely above a hoarse whisper. “Nope. Didn’t even have the decency.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “She’s clearly blind,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “And stupid, too, because you’re amazing. Honestly, she needs therapy and a serious reality check.” He snorted, but the sound was watery, and a tear slid down the side of his nose. I handed him a tissue without comment, giving him the dignity of not drawing attention to it. For a minute, we just sat like that, the clock ticking softly in the kitchen, the house holding its breath.
“You have to say that,” he muttered. “You’re my mom.”
“No, I don’t. I could say nothing and just judge her in silence like a normal person.”
That got a weak smile out of him. He leaned against me on the couch, and I let him, resting my head lightly on his as I pulled him into my side. It had been a long time since I’d been able to hold him like this, and I wasn’t going to be the one to end it. I had almost forgotten how this felt, to hold my kids this way. Like when they were my little babies and I had the power to solve all their problems with hugs and kisses.
“I feel like I’m dying,” he whispered. “My heart actually hurts.”
I kissed the top of his head, my heart breaking right along with his. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know this means nothing right now, but you’re going to be okay, I promise.”
He nodded against me, and I squeezed him tighter.
A long time ago, like a decade or more, I had felt this way about Eli. How sad was it that I had felt nothing but relief when we divorced? Nothing but resignation and the slight thrill of finally being free of him. We’d married young, and almost immediately, I’d regretted it. But before I could do anything about it, Noah was on the way.
“Want me to make you a grilled cheese? I’ll cut them into triangles like when you were little.” I asked, knowing he’d refuse, but I needed to offer it anyway.
