Chapter 69 069
RYAN
I barely made it to the car before my legs gave out.
The moment I slid behind the wheel and slammed the door shut, everything I’d been holding together just… collapsed. I leaned forward, forearms braced on the steering wheel, breathing hard like I’d just run miles.
The bakery door stayed closed.
I stared at it like it might change its mind. Like Emily might come rushing back out, rolling her eyes and laughing about how dramatic I was being.
She didn’t.
She disappeared inside, shoulders stiff, back straight, like she was physically forcing herself not to look back. The door swung shut behind her with a soft chime.
That sound felt final.
Like a period at the end of a sentence I wasn’t ready to finish.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
Then louder. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
My hands shook as I dropped them to my thighs. I knew I should leave. Give her space. That’s what she’d asked for—without saying it out loud. But my body refused to cooperate. The idea of driving away while she was still right there, so close and yet completely unreachable, made my chest ache in a way that felt physical.
So instead of going home—or going after her like some desperate idiot—I pulled out of the lot, drove two blocks down, and parked under a wide oak tree where I still had a clear view of the shop.
I watched the windows.
Watched her shadow move behind the counter.
Watched her reach for something, then pause, then reach again. Watched her tie her apron around her waist, fingers precise, movements sharp—like she was armoring herself for battle.
My chest hurt so badly I rubbed at it, stupidly thinking pressure might fix whatever was cracking open inside me.
I was screwing this up.
Royally.
Again.
My phone was already in my hand before I could stop myself. I hit Mom’s name and put it on speaker.
She answered on the second ring, voice bright and cheerful, like she hadn’t detonated my life.
“Hello, darling!”
I laughed, but there was nothing funny in it. “Really, Ma? Really?”
There was a pause on the line. I could practically hear her calculating her response.
“What’s wrong?” she asked finally, tone sliding into careful concern.
“You had to go that low?” I said, my voice tight. “Telling Emily I was with Miranda? You knew exactly what that would do to her.”
“Oh, come on,” she said lightly. Too lightly. “It was a harmless little joke. I was just fishing.”
“Fishing?” I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles went white. “You don’t fish with someone like Emily, Mom. You just blew everything up.”
She sighed, long and theatrical. “Ryan, honey. You’re being dramatic.”
“No,” I snapped. “I’m being honest. You crossed a line.”
“I was trying to see if you had feelings for the pretty girl, Miranda” she said, almost amused.
“That wasn’t your test to run,” I said through clenched teeth.
Her voice softened, but the edge was still there. “You’ve been different since she came back into your life. So irrational. Acting like a lovesick teenager.”
I closed my eyes briefly, pain flaring behind them. “She is worth it,” I said quietly. Then louder. “And you don’t get to decide if that’s what is best for me or not.”
Silence stretched between us.
Then she tried again, quieter now, more dangerous. “She’s changing you, Ryan. And not necessarily for the better. You used to have your head on straight. Now you’re chasing after a woman who already left you once—”
I hung up.
I didn’t yell. I didn’t throw the phone.
I just ended the call and dropped it into the cup holder like it burned me.
My hands were shaking.
I hit the steering wheel once. Twice. Three times. Hard enough that my palms stung.
“Get it together,” I muttered. “Get it together.”
I needed someone who understood. Someone who wouldn’t manipulate or lecture or twist the knife deeper. Someone who actually cared about Emily and not just what she represented in my life.
Aaron.
If anyone could tell me how to fix this, it was him.
I started the engine and pulled back onto the road.
My phone buzzed.
Therapist.
Again.
I glanced at the screen. Three missed messages.
Ryan, please call when you can.
I’m concerned.
Just checking in.
I let it go to voicemail.
I couldn’t do clinical concern right now. I needed raw, unfiltered truth. Brother talk. Someone who would tell me if I was about to lose the woman I loved all over again.
The streets blurred past as I drove. I replayed the parking lot over and over in my head. The way Emily’s arms crossed like she was holding herself together. The way she stepped back when I tried to kiss her forehead.
That flinch.
God, that flinch.
She used to lean into me like I was home. Like I was safe. Now I was the man she didn’t trust enough to touch.
I took the turn toward Aaron’s office building. Traffic was light for once. Sunlight spilled through the windshield, warm against my face.
For half a second—just half—I let myself imagine showing up at the bakery tonight with flowers. Saying the right words. The ones I hadn’t found yet. Something that would make her laugh instead of cry. Something that would make her believe me again.
Then I saw it.
A massive delivery truck barreling through the intersection.
Red light.
No horn.
Just speed. Too much speed.
Time slowed.
“Shit—” I breathed.
I yanked the wheel hard to the left. Tires screamed in protest. Metal crunched. The world tilted violently, like it had been picked up and shaken.
One second I was driving.
The next, everything exploded.
Glass shattered around me. My head snapped forward and then back. Something hot and wet streamed down my face—blood. Smoke curled up from the hood, thick and acrid. The airbag slammed into my chest with brutal force, knocking the breath clean out of me.
I tried to breathe.
Couldn’t.
My seat belt cut into my ribs like wire.
I blinked through the haze, vision swimming. My left leg wouldn’t move. Pinned. The dashboard had crumpled inward, trapping me.
“Shit,” I rasped. “Shit.”
Sirens wailed in the distance. Someone was shouting outside. I fumbled blindly for my phone. It had flown to the passenger-side floor.
I reached.
Missed.
Reached again.
Got it.
My fingers were slick with blood.
“Siri,” I croaked. “Call Emily.”
The phone beeped.
Ringing.
Once.
Twice.
Pick up. Please pick up.
It rang again.
Voicemail.
Her voice—bright and recorded—filled the car.
“Hey, it’s Emily. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.”
My throat tightened, copper flooding my mouth.
“Em,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I… accident. I—”
My grip gave out.
The phone slipped from my hand.
Darkness crept in at the edges of my vision, soft and fast.
I thought of Zara’s laugh.
Emily’s smile when she tasted something new she’d baked.
The way she looked at me that night we almost got it right.
I thought of how badly I wanted one more chance to tell her I wasn’t going anywhere.
My eyes closed.
Everything went quiet.