Chapter 68: Edge of Despair Melissa POV

I parked my car outside Jake’s apartment, the engine ticking as it cooled, my fingers drumming on the steering wheel. I grabbed my phone from the passenger seat, flipping it open to check the time—past midnight. "He hasn’t texted back," I muttered, tossing it into my purse, slinging the strap over my shoulder as I stepped out, slamming the door with a thud.

The street was quiet, a stray cat scampering across the pavement, its tail flicking as it darted under a bush. I adjusted my scarf, pulling it tighter against the chill, my boots clicking as I walked up to his building. I buzzed his apartment, my finger pressing the button hard, then waited, tapping my foot on the stoop.

No answer. I frowned, digging my phone out again, dialing his number, the rings buzzing in my ear as I paced a small circle. "Come on, Jake," I whispered, my breath fogging in the cold air. Voicemail clicked on—his gruff voice saying, "Leave a message."

"Damn it," I said, hanging up, shoving the phone back into my purse. I buzzed again, holding the button down this time, the sound shrill in the silence. "Pick up, you idiot," I muttered, kicking a pebble off the step, watching it skitter into the grass.

Still nothing. I grabbed the door handle, jiggling it—unlocked. "That’s not like him," I said, pushing it open, the hinges creaking as I stepped inside. I climbed the stairs, my hand sliding along the railing, my boots thudding against each step.

At his door, I knocked hard, my knuckles rapping a rapid beat. "Jake? It’s Mel—open up!" I called, pressing my ear to the wood, hearing a faint clink from inside. I knocked again, louder, my fist banging now. "Jake, I know you’re in there!"

The door stayed shut. I twisted the knob—locked—and pulled my keys from my purse, fumbling for the spare he’d given me, the metal jangling as I slotted it in. "Please be okay," I whispered, turning the key, pushing the door open with a creak.

I stepped inside, kicking off my boots by the mat, my socks silent on the hardwood as I dropped my purse onto the floor. The living room was dim, the TV flickering static, casting shadows across the couch where a beer bottle sat half-empty on the table. "Jake?" I called, adjusting my glasses with a quick nudge, my eyes scanning the room.

A crash came from the kitchen, glass shattering. I rushed over, my socks slipping slightly as I turned the corner, stopping dead at the sight—Jake standing there, shirtless, a whiskey bottle in one hand, a knife in the other, twirling it between his fingers, his eyes glassy.

"Jake!" I shouted, darting forward, my hand grabbing the knife’s handle, yanking it from his grip with a sharp tug. It clattered to the counter as I tossed it into the sink, the metal banging loud against the steel.

"What the hell are you doing?" I yelled, grabbing his arm, pulling him away from the counter, my fingers digging into his skin.

He stumbled, the whiskey bottle slipping from his hand, splashing onto the floor as he caught himself on the table. "Mel?" he slurred, his voice cracking, his hand swiping at his face, smearing tears.

I kicked the bottle aside, the glass rolling under the fridge, my hands gripping his shoulders. "Look at me, Jake! What’s going on?"

He sank into a chair, his head dropping into his hands, sobs shaking his shoulders. "She’s gone, Mel—Sophia’s with Ethan."

I grabbed a dish towel from the counter, wiping the whiskey spill with quick swipes, tossing it into the sink. "Gone? What do you mean?"

He lifted his head, his eyes red, grabbing a napkin and twisting it between his fingers. "She’s staying at his place—didn’t even tell me!"

I pulled out another chair, sitting across from him, my hands folding on the table. "She’s helping him, Jake—he got fired. It’s not—"

"Helping him?" he cut in, slamming the napkin down, his voice breaking. "She’s choosing him over me!"

I leaned forward, grabbing his hand, squeezing it tight. "She’s not choosing, Jake. She’s messed up—Ethan’s a wreck too."

He yanked his hand back, pacing to the counter, kicking a cabinet door shut with a bang. "I don’t care! She’s mine—she’s supposed to be here!"

"Stop it!" I shouted, standing, my chair scraping the floor. "You’re enough, Jake. She’s not worth this!"

He turned, grabbing the whiskey bottle’s neck, his fingers trembling as he lifted it, then set it down hard, the glass clinking. "I’m nothing without her, Mel."

I stepped closer, pulling him into a hug, my arms wrapping tight around his shoulders as he sobbed into my scarf. "That’s not true," I said, my voice firm, rubbing his back with slow circles. "You’re more than enough."

He clung to me, his hands gripping my coat, tears soaking the fabric. "She’s breaking me," he whispered, his voice raw.

I pulled back, grabbing his face with both hands, forcing him to look at me. "You’re not breaking—you’re stronger than this. We’ll figure it out, okay?"

He nodded, wiping his nose with his sleeve, stumbling back to the chair, sitting hard. "Okay," he mumbled, picking at a scratch on the table.

I grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filling it with water from the tap, handing it to him. "Drink this," I said, my tone softer now, adjusting my scarf as I sat again.

He took it, sipping slowly, his hands shaking, the glass clinking as he set it down. "Thanks, Mel," he said, his voice hoarse.

I nodded, picking up his phone from the counter, setting it on the table with a soft tap. "You scared me, you idiot."

"Sorry," he muttered, leaning back, running his hands through his hair, tugging at the ends.

I stood, pacing to the sink, rinsing the whiskey off the counter with a sponge, tossing it aside with a wet plop. "We’re not losing you—not to this," I said, turning back, my hands on my hips.

He grabbed his wallet from the table, flipping it open, pulling out a crumpled photo—Sophia and Ethan, smiling at some event. I snatched it from his hand, my fingers crumpling the edge, my resolve sparking as I stared at them.