Chapter 54 Chapter 54

Chapter 54 Chapter 54

The club was a sensory assault, a violent collision of bass-heavy music, the sting of cheap perfume, and the thick, suffocating haze of cigarette smoke. It was a place designed to make you lose yourself. Usually, AJ found a grim sort of comfort in that chaos; he enjoyed the way the noise made it impossible to hear the restless, demanding voices inside his own head. But tonight, the mere thought of it made him sick. He didn't want the artificial numbness of the dance floor. He wanted the heavy, unforgiving silence of his own apartment. He wanted to sit in the dark and feel the full weight of the wreckage he was living in.

A sharp, rhythmic knock at the door broke his solitude. He knew it was Reno before he even reached for the handle.

Reno didn't wait for an invitation. He walked in, his presence acting like a sudden, grounding weight in the room. He carried a heavy plastic bag that clinked with the glass necks of premium vodka.

"I brought the booze to you," Reno said, his voice quiet, lacking its usual sharp edge of command. He set the bag on the coffee table with a thud. "Drink as much as you want. Drown your sorrows, and then, for God’s sake, call her."

AJ felt a fresh wave of heat rise in his chest—a mixture of humiliation and blinding, white-hot fury. He stood by the window, staring out at the blurred city lights, trying to keep his composure. He failed. A stray tear escaped, tracing a hot path down his cheek, and he swiped at it with a trembling fist, angry that he was still capable of crying.

"I can’t," AJ choked out. The words felt like they were scraping his throat on the way up. "She thought of killing my baby, Reno. That isn't just a mistake. That’s a line you don't cross."

Reno pulled up a chair and opened one of the bottles, the sound of the seal breaking echoing in the quiet room. He poured two glasses and pushed one toward AJ. "She thought about it, yeah.

But she didn't do it. She turned the car around. She was headed to your mother, AJ. She was looking for a way to keep the career she sacrificed everything for and keep the baby. She wasn't driving to the clinic when that truck hit her. She was driving to your family."

AJ turned, his eyes bloodshot and dark. "It doesn't change the intent, Reno! She looked at the life we made and saw an obstacle to be cleared."

"She was terrified," Reno countered, his tone steady. "You asked her to give up everything she’s ever built—her dreams, her status, her independence—all so she could fulfill a role you decided for her. You’re lucky she’s a sweet girl, AJ. If she had the temperament of a woman like Lisette, you would’ve woken up in a hospital bed missing a lot more than just your peace of mind. Look at it this way: Katherine survived. The two of you are still breathing. You can make another baby. You can fix this."

AJ felt a hand clench around his heart, a cold, invisible fist that squeezed until he couldn't breathe. He expected his heart to simply stop, to give up under the pressure. If he felt this much agony over a baby he hadn't even had the chance to name, he couldn't even begin to calculate the depth of Katherine's suffering. She was the one who had felt the life leave her body. She was the one who had to live with the physical and emotional scars of the crash.

He wanted to reach for the phone. He wanted to dial her number, to hear her voice, to apologize, to scream, to do anything to bridge the distance between them. But he couldn't risk it. He was still vibrating with a rage that felt like it would burn the house down if he opened his mouth. If he spoke to her now, he would say things that would leave wounds on her soul that no amount of time could heal.

"Tonight, I mourn," AJ whispered, sinking into the armchair and reaching for the glass. "I drink, I bleed, and I sit with this. But come morning… I don't know, Reno. I don't know if I can look at her and see the woman I loved anymore."

Reno sat back, watching him. "You’re going to have to decide, AJ. You either love her enough to forgive her for being human, or you leave her to find someone who doesn't expect her to be perfect."

When Reno finally left, the apartment felt even smaller, even emptier. AJ spent the next few hours in a haze of alcohol, his mind replaying the conversation in the hospital room. He fought an internal war that was far more brutal than any business negotiation he had ever managed.

Stay, one side of his brain argued. She was scared. She was under pressure. She chose you, in the end. She chose your mother. She wanted to keep the baby.

Leave, the other side screamed back. She saw your child as a career setback. Can you ever trust her again? Every time you see her, you’ll wonder if she’s secretly calculating the cost of your life.

He looked at the empty seat where she usually sat. He remembered the way she looked in her red dress just days ago—radiant, defiant, and beautiful. That woman didn't seem capable of the cold calculation he was accusing her of. But then he remembered her face in the hospital bed, the way she had looked at him with such hollow, desperate shame.

He realized that his anger wasn't just about the abortion clinic. It was about the fact that the pedestal he had placed her on had been shattered. He had wanted her to be his partner, but he had secretly wanted her to be his mother, too—to be the version of femininity he was raised to respect. He hadn't respected her autonomy; he had just demanded her compliance.

He poured another drink, the liquid burning as it went down. He hated himself for the demand he had placed on her. He hated her for considering the alternative. He was caught in a cycle of blame that felt impossible to break.

As the sun began to hint at a pale grey light against the window, AJ finally set the glass down. His head was pounding, but his resolve was becoming clearer. He wasn't going to leave her because he was afraid of what she might do. He was going to have to decide if he loved her enough to understand why she was afraid.

He realized that staying or leaving wasn't just about forgiveness. It was about whether he was ready to stop playing the role of the victim and start being the partner she actually needed. The morning light hit his desk, illuminating the phone he had been staring at all night.

He wouldn't call her yet. He needed to wash the taste of the vodka and the bitterness from his mouth. He needed to be a man, not a wounded child. When he did call, he wouldn't be looking for an apology. He would be looking for a truth they both were terrified to face. If they could survive the crash, maybe they could survive the aftermath. If not, then the accident was just the beginning of the end.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back, waiting for the day to truly begin.