The Cliffs is quiet when I get there, just a handful of locals milling around the fire pit, voices low. Shepard’s alreadyoutside, a pint in front of him, his glasses catching the glow of string lights strung above the patio.
He raises his chin when he sees me. “Beer’s on me tonight.”
I slide into the chair across from him, grab the glass he’s already ordered for me. The first sip burns cold down my throat, bitter enough to settle something in my chest.
We sit in silence for a while. That’s the thing about Shepard—he doesn’t fill space with empty words. He waits. Gives you room.
Finally, I break. “I screwed it up.”
He looks at me, not unkindly. “What did you screw up, exactly?”
“Everything,” I say, half a laugh, half a groan. “Dinner. Boone. Hell, maybe even Sadie.”
“She didn’t look upset,” Shepard says. “Quiet, yes. But not upset. Not like you’re imagining.”
“You weren’t in my head,” I mutter.
“No,” Shepard agrees, calm as ever. “But I’ve known you long enough to recognize when you’re spiraling. You hold yourself to standards no one could meet, Gabe. And when you fall short, you punish yourself twice as hard.”
I stare into my beer, the foam lacing the rim. “Boone doesn’t see it that way.”
“Boone’s younger than you,” Shepard says gently. “He’s brash. He feels things loud. You know that. Doesn’t mean he’s wrong, but it also doesn’t mean you’re irredeemable.”
The word lodges in my chest. Irredeemable. Isn’t that what I am, though? After Sawyer, after that fire, after the choices that haunt me?
He takes a sip, watching me over the rim of his glass. “You care about her.”
It’s not a question.
“Yeah,” I admit, my voice barely audible.
“She’s safe with Boone,” Shepard says after a beat. “And maybe with you too, in time. But right now? Don’t let your guilt rob her of the chance to heal.”
I close my eyes, the ache in my chest swelling. “You think I should stay away.”
“I think you should be honest—with yourself, with us, with her eventually. But staying away isn’t the answer. She came here to start over. We can give her that. If we’re careful.”
Careful. God, that word feels impossible with the way my pulse races every time Sadie’s near. But Shepard says it like it’s simple. Like control is just another choice.
We sit there until the sky turns fully black, the fire pit throwing sparks into the night. I drink slower than usual, letting Shepard’s words sink in.
He doesn’t absolve me—he never would. But he doesn’t condemn me either. Somehow, that’s worse.
Because now the responsibility is mine. To do better. To not let my feelings wreck this fragile thing we’ve built with Sadie.
When we finally stand, Shepard claps a hand to my shoulder. “Get some sleep, Gabe. Tomorrow’s a new day.”
I nod, though I don’t believe him. Tomorrow won’t erase tonight. Or yesterday. Or any of the sins piled up behind me.
But maybe it can be the start of something less destructive. At least, I hope so.
CHAPTER 22
Sadie
The sharp chemical tang of dye fills the air, stinging faintly at the back of my throat as I lean over the bathroom sink with gloves on, working the pink cream through the strands of my hair. The mirror above the sink is fogged around the edges, my reflection half-blurred and half-sharp, but I can still see the washed-out streaks of color giving way to something brighter. Fresher.
It’s ridiculous how something so small—just hair—feels like control. Feels like taking a piece of myself back.
