I whispered to myself, so low no one else could hear: “I’m coming, Britt. I’m coming for you.”
And this time—I wasn’t letting go.
Chapter 46
Ace
I can’t feel my fingers. They’ve been numb since the moment I stepped off the plane.
Arkansas air hits me in the face as I push out of the airport, thick and heavy, like it knows I shouldn’t be here. The cab ride is a blur — I barely register the driver’s chatter or the radio murmuring in the background. All I hear is my heartbeat, pounding out a panicked rhythm in my ears.
Brittany.
Her name has been a prayer on my lips since Corinne handed me that damned address, scribbled in shaky handwriting on a napkin. Corinne had looked at me with something like pity, like she knew I was walking into a storm I wouldn’t survive.
“She’s not the same girl you left behind,” she’d warned softly, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “You don’t get to just show up and expect her to fall into your arms, Ace.”
I had nodded like a fool, pretending I understood. But sitting in this cab now, clutching that crumpled napkin, I realize — I don’t understand anything at all.
When the cab pulls up to Pine Ridge Apartments, my chest constricts so tight I think I’m about to pass out. The buildings are faded yellow with chipped paint, wind chimes clinking softly from balconies. Kids’ bikes are scattered on the lawn. It’s… small. Modest. And yet, it feels like the most unreachable place on earth.
I climb the steps slowly, each footstep a war against myself. My fist hovers in the air at her door.
Knock.
Nothing.
Knock, knock.
Still nothing.
I’m about to turn away when the door swings open — and there she is.
Brittany.
She’s barefoot, in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, her hair twisted up in a messy bun. Her face is bare, no makeup, no effort — and she’s never looked more beautiful. But there’s asharpness to her now, a hardness in her eyes that wasn’t there before.
The trash bag in her hand drops to the floor with a soft thud.
“Ace?” she says, breathless — but not the way I hoped. Not soft, not longing. Shocked. Unsteady.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My heart is trying to climb out of my chest.
She steps back, eyes narrowing. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Britt—” I swallow hard. “I needed to see you. Please, just—can I talk to you?”
Her laugh is sharp, brittle. “Talk to me? Now you want to talk to me?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Where was this sudden urge when you left me breaking into pieces on the floor of our apartment? Where was this when I called and you ignored me for days, weeks?”
I flinch. “I was wrong—”
“Damn right you were wrong!” Her voice cracks, and I see the shimmer of tears in her eyes, though she blinks them back fiercely. “You don’t get to stand here, Ace. You don’t get to show up like some tragic hero and expect me to open the door.”
The hallway feels too narrow, the air thick between us. My mouth is dry as I force the words out. “I left Sierra. I… I signed the papers. I ended it. I’m here because I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Brittany lets out a shaky breath, pressing her hands to her forehead. “Jesus Christ,” she whispers. “Do you think that fixes this? Do you think that magically erases everything you put me through?”
“I don’t—no, I just—”
