Chapter 28: The Crack (Daniel POV)
Chapter 28: The Crack (Daniel POV)
I sit at a small table in the bakery, the air sweet with sugar and vanilla. Rita’s next to me, a plate of cake samples in front of us, little squares of white and chocolate on a pink tray. She’s smiling, her hair pulled back, her voice light as she talks. “This one’s lemon,” she says, holding up a piece with a tiny fork. “Try it. It’s fresh.” She pushes it toward me, her eyes bright, waiting. My hands shake a little, resting on my knees under the table, and I force them still. I take the fork, slow, and eat the cake. It’s soft, tangy, but it sits heavy in my mouth. “Good,” I say, my voice flat, setting the fork down. She nods, happy, and picks up another piece. “Okay, now this one’s chocolate,” she says. “I think it’d be perfect with the roses.”
I nod, not really listening. The bakery’s warm, too warm, and the walls are covered in pastel colors, flowers painted on them. A woman in an apron moves behind the counter, setting out more cakes, smiling at us. Rita keeps going, cutting into a white piece now. “Vanilla’s classic,” she says, taking a bite, then offering me some. “Mom loves it. What do you think?” My hands shake again, harder this time, and I clench them into fists. I see Leo’s face instead, his grin over coffee, not this table, not this cake. “Sure,” I mutter, pushing the plate away a little. She frowns, just for a second, then smiles again. “You’re quiet today,” she says, soft. “Everything okay?” I nod, fast, and grab a glass of water, drinking to keep my mouth busy.
She keeps talking, picking flavors, writing notes on a pad next to her. “Lemon for the top tier,” she says, tapping the pen. “Chocolate for the middle. Maybe vanilla at the bottom. Simple but pretty.” Her voice is steady, sure, like this matters. I stare at the cakes, the little forks, my hands shaking in my lap. My chest feels tight, like it’s closing in, and I grip the edge of the table, the wood cool under my fingers. “Daniel?” she says, looking up, her head tilted. “You don’t like them?” I shake my head, slow. “They’re fine,” I say, my voice rough. “Pick what you want.” She pauses, then nods, going back to her list. I lean back in the chair, my breath shallow, trying to stay here, but I can’t.
My phone buzzes loud in my pocket, cutting through her words. I pull it out fast, my hands clumsy, and see Claire’s name on the screen. My heart jumps, hard, and I stand up, the chair scraping loud on the floor. “I need to take this,” I say, not looking at Rita, and step toward the door. “Hello?” I say, pressing the phone to my ear, my voice low. “Daniel,” Claire says, quick and sharp. “Leo’s at the airport. With Jake. They’re leaving soon, New York flight.” My stomach drops, cold and fast, and I grip the phone tighter. “Leaving?” I say, loud, my breath catching. “Yeah,” she says. “Max told me. He’s bad, Daniel. Jake’s taking him now.” I don’t wait for more. I hang up, shoving the phone in my pocket, and turn to the door.
“Daniel?” Rita calls, standing now, her voice high. “What’s wrong?” I don’t answer. I bolt, pushing the glass door open, the bell jingling sharp as I hit the street. My truck’s parked close, and I run to it, my boots loud on the pavement. My hands shake bad now, fumbling with the keys, but I get the door open and climb in. The engine starts, a low roar, and I peel out, tires squealing on the road. Leo’s leaving. Jake’s taking him. I can’t let that happen. I swerve through traffic, cars honking, my hands tight on the wheel. The city blurs past, lights flashing, but I don’t slow down. My foot presses the gas harder, the truck shaking as I weave between lanes.
My mind’s racing, full of him. His face when I left, his voice on that dead voicemail. I did this, broke him, and now he’s gone. I hit a red light, slam the brakes, and grab my phone again. His number’s dead, I know that, but I’ve got a new one, a burner I picked up yesterday, hoping he’d answer someday. My fingers move fast, typing shaky. “I can’t do this without you,” I write, simple, true. I hit send, my breath fast, and toss the phone on the seat. The light turns green, and I gun it, the truck lurching forward, cutting off a car that blares its horn. I don’t care. I need to get there, need to stop him.
The airport’s close, signs pointing the way, and I push faster, my hands slipping on the wheel with sweat. My phone buzzes again, loud on the leather, and I glance down. It’s Rita. “Where are you?” her text says. I don’t answer. I can’t. The road narrows, traffic thick, and I swerve again, reckless, my heart pounding loud in my ears. “Come on,” I mutter, low, my voice shaking. The airport’s ahead, big and bright, and I turn sharp into the lot, tires screeching. Rita’s voice comes through the phone now, calling, her name flashing on the screen. “Daniel!” she says, faint but confused, as I grab the phone and cut it off, throwing it back down. I’m out of the truck, door slamming, running hard toward the terminal, her call unanswered behind me.