Chapter 22
Sadie's POV
I kept my eyes on my plate, but I felt the exact moment he walked into the room. The air shifted. My pulse kicked up.
Jake was wearing a dark grey long-sleeve Henley that clung to his shoulders in a way that should be illegal before nine AM, paired with black joggers that hung low on his hips. His hair was still a mess—deep brown waves falling across his forehead like he'd barely dragged his fingers through it. Shadows lived under his eyes, and his jaw was tight, like he'd been clenching it all night.
But when he glanced at me, something softened in his expression for the briefest second.
A quiet flicker of recognition.
Like last night's conversation in the hallway still existed between us, suspended in the morning light.
He pulled out the chair next to me and sat down with the kind of easy confidence that made my stomach flip.
"Morning," he said, voice low and rough with sleep.
I looked up automatically, my fingers tightening around my fork.
"Morning," I replied softly.
His gaze lingered on me half a second too long—tracing the collar of my sweater, the way my hair fell over my shoulder—before he looked away and reached for the orange juice.
Diane slid a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him, her expression somewhere between fond and exasperated. "You were up late again. Your eyes are red."
He gave a small shrug, pouring himself juice with one hand while his other fingers drummed absently on the table. "Couldn't sleep."
I remembered him leaning against the hallway wall last night, telling me I didn't have to apologize for existing in his space. The way his voice had dropped when he said my name.
My stomach flipped all over again.
Diane set down a bowl of fresh berries next to my plate of eggs and smiled warmly at me. "Sadie, your mom mentioned you don't like onions, so I left them out of the eggs. I hope that's okay."
I looked up, startled. "You remembered that?"
"Of course. Emma told me all about your favorites when we had lunch last week."
Something warm and painful twisted in my chest. I swallowed hard and forced a small smile. "Thank you. Really. This is amazing."
Liam grinned from across the table, his golden curls catching the morning sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. "See, Diane? Sadie appreciates you. Unlike me, who had to survive onions in everything last week."
"Please. You've been eating my food since you were fourteen. You knew what you signed up for."
I laughed before I could stop myself—a real laugh that surprised even me.
Jake's fingers stilled against the table. I glanced over and caught him watching me, his pale blue eyes unreadable but intent. Then he looked away and picked up his fork like nothing had happened.
Liam launched into a story about yesterday's practice, something about Cole completely whiffing a tackle and landing face-first in the mud. Diane asked me about my classes, her questions gentle and genuinely interested. Jake stayed mostly quiet, but every now and then I'd feel his eyes on me—a weight I was starting to recognize.
By the time we finished, my chest felt full in a way I didn't know how to name.
---
Liam tossed his backpack over his shoulder and jerked his head toward the door. "Sadie, let's go. We're gonna be late."
I grabbed my canvas tote—the kind with fraying edges that I'd had since sophomore year—and followed him toward the foyer.
Jake was still in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame with his hands in his pockets. His silver Zippo appeared in his right hand, flipping open and closed in that steady, hypnotic rhythm. Click. Click. Click.
I glanced back at him without meaning to.
He was already looking at me.
Not a casual glance. Not distracted.
Intent. Steady. Like he was cataloging something.
My heart stuttered.
Then one corner of his mouth lifted slightly—barely there, but unmistakable.
"Have a good day, little fool," he said, voice still rough.
I turned away quickly, heat flooding my cheeks, and practically fled out the front door.
Liam was already halfway to his black Jeep when I heard Jake call out behind us.
"Parker. Wait up."
I turned just as Jake jogged down the front steps, his movements fluid and athletic despite the tired set of his shoulders. He was carrying a navy blue Lions hoodie—the same one from the photo in the hallway, with the number 7 stitched on the sleeve.
"You forgot this in the kitchen," he said, tossing it to Liam.
Liam caught it one-handed. "Thanks, man. You coming to first period today or what?"
"Free period. I'll take my own car." Jake's eyes flicked to me for half a second. "Coach wants to talk strategy before the Riverside game anyway."
"Dude, we're gonna demolish them. Their defensive line is a joke."
Jake's mouth curved into something sharper. "Their linebacker's decent. You're gonna have to actually run your routes instead of half-assing it."
"I never half-ass anything."
"You literally tripped over your own feet during drills yesterday."
"That was one time—"
I watched them banter back and forth, the easy rhythm of boys who'd known each other forever. Jake's whole demeanor had shifted—looser, lighter, the tension in his jaw gone. He looked almost boyish when he grinned at Liam's indignation.
Then his phone buzzed. He glanced down at the screen and his expression shuttered instantly.
"I gotta take this," he muttered, already turning back toward the house. "Later."
He walked away before either of us could respond, his shoulders tight again, the Zippo reappearing in his hand.
Liam watched him go, his grin fading slightly. "He's been weird lately."
"Weird how?" I asked quietly.
"I don't know. Just... off. Like he's looking for something but he doesn't know what." He shook his head and unlocked the car. "Come on. Let's go before we're actually late."
I climbed into the passenger seat, still thinking about the way Jake had looked at me in the kitchen. Like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn't have all the pieces to.
Liam started the engine and turned up the music—some indie song with a steady beat that filled the silence. Then he glanced over at me and grinned.
"You look good today, by the way."
I blinked. "What?"
"I'm just saying. That whole outfit? Very clean-girl-aesthetic or whatever Brook calls it." He gestured vaguely at my clothes. "Diane picked that out, didn't she?"
I glanced down at myself. Cream-colored cable-knit sweater—oversized but not swallowing me, the sleeves pushed up to my elbows. High-waisted straight-leg jeans in a dark wash that actually fit. My hair was down in loose waves, and I'd only put on tinted lip balm and a coat of mascara.
It was simple. Understated. But somehow it felt more me than anything I'd worn in months.
"Well, she has good taste. You're one of those people who looks good in anything. It's kind of unfair."
"Are you trying to make me feel better?"
"I'm stating facts." He shrugged, pulling out of the circular driveway. "But fair warning—people are gonna stare when you get out of this car. Just mentally prepare yourself."
I clutched my tote tighter in my lap, my stomach twisting.
I had no idea how to prepare for that.
Through the side mirror, I caught a glimpse of Jake standing on the front steps, phone pressed to his ear. Even from a distance, I could see the tension in his posture.
Then Liam turned onto the main road, and the Montgomery Estate disappeared behind us.