Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Raffa

I kick my shoes off and flop down on the bed in my room at the B&B. My mind's a mess, replaying the past weeks I've spent in this quaint little town—the town my father grew up in but never talked about.

There are so many questions I want to ask him, but I'm too damn afraid to. Like why he never brought us here as kids, or why we didn't meet our grandmother until we were well into adulthood. Maybe one day I'll get the nerve to ask, or maybe, like my siblings, I'll just stay away from his toxicity altogether.

My thoughts drift to Meadow and her ex. The private security company won't be here until tomorrow afternoon. What if Bryce does something desperate before then? I know there's not much I can do if Meadow doesn't want my help, but that doesn't stop me from worrying about her.

Staying with her last night could've been the smart move, but how smart? We kissed after she told me one of her most painful memories. It wasn't exactly the ideal timing. She bared her soul, and instead of just listening, I kissed her. Because I couldn't not kiss her. Her vulnerability, the raw emotion in her eyes—it pulled me in, and once I tasted her lips, there was no going back.

But now, I'm second-guessing myself. Was it the right move, or just my own selfish desire getting in the way? She didn't push me away, but maybe that was because she needed comfort, not because she wanted me. I took that moment, and now I'm wondering if it's going to complicate everything.

I try to shake the thought, but it lingers, hanging over me like a bad decision I can't undo.

Yeah. It was definitely . . . But I needed it. Like something deep inside me took over, and I had no choice but to follow.

The moment my lips touched hers, it was electric. When she opened up for me, I tasted her, slow and deliberate, feeling the heat rise between us. It wasn't just a kiss—it was like claiming something I didn't even know I wanted.

I try to shake the thoughts from my mind. This isn't helping. Getting involved with Meadow, getting wrapped up in this town—it's adding stress, not easing it. The festival, these people . . . they've pulled me in just as deep as the firm back in Boston. The weight of it all is pressing down, and I can't seem to let go.

Staring at the ceiling, I wonder if this time here has done me any good at all. I know I need to relax, to stop worrying, but every time I close my eyes, I see Meadow's face. Her tears. The way that asshole Bryce broke her. She's more than enough, more than she even realizes. She could be someone's everything if she ever believed it.

I toss and turn all night, sleep refusing to come. Thoughts of her lips, her future, the pain in her eyes—it's all on loop in my mind. How could someone like Bryce tear her spirit apart like that? She's strong, beautiful, kind. If anything, she's more than anyone could ever deserve.

When the sun finally starts to rise, I give up on sleep and pull on some workout clothes. Running usually helps clear my head, and God knows I need that right now.

As I run through town, the streets are still quiet, the early morning light casting everything in a soft glow. But no matter how fast I go, I can't outrun the thoughts of Meadow. What's she doing right now? Is she okay?

Just as I'm finishing up my run, I spot her stepping out of my grandmother's bakery. I jog over, managing a wide smile. "Good morning. I hope you slept well. Although, with everything going on, I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't."

"Yeah, I slept okay," she says, her voice clipped. "I have to go. I'll see you later."

She brushes me off so quickly that I barely have time to respond. Something tightens in my chest, and a wave of dread settles over me. I know she's trying to push me away, and maybe I should let her, but part of me refuses to do that.

"Meadow, wait," I call after her. She pauses, turning just slightly. "I want you to know, if you need help with your current situation, I'm here. I'll do whatever I can."

She gives me a small nod, mumbling a quiet, "Thank you," before hurrying off down the street toward her gallery. I watch her walk away, frustration brewing inside me. Why is she shutting me out? Why won't she let me help?

I'm starting to feel things for her—things I haven't felt for anyone in a long time. Maybe I shouldn't have let my guard down, shouldn't have let myself get tangled up in this. But I did, and now, I'm in deeper than I should be. I head back to the B&B, hoping a shower will clear my head.

Once I'm dressed and ready for the day, I head out again, hoping to run into her. That's when I notice the slick BMW rolling into town. People are staring, and it's not hard to figure out why. The car screams arrogance. Then, the door opens, and out steps a big douche bag. I don't even have to hear him speak to know who he is, some big city asshole feeling superior. The suit, the way he carries himself—it's like staring at a version of myself I thought I'd left behind. The old Raffa.

I don't like him, there's something in my gut that says he came here to cause trouble. So, I follow him as he marches into my grandmother's bakery, his face twisted in annoyance like the world owes him something.

"Where's Meadow?" Bryce demands, his voice loud and grating, flailing his arms like he's about to take off. "I know she's here. Someone tell me where she is."

He glares around the bakery, his impatience radiating off him, and my own temper starts to boil. I can feel the tension building as he waits, clearly ready to throw a tantrum when no one immediately answers.

Paul steps forward, his body language calm but firm. I can't hear what he says, but whatever it is doesn't seem to matter to Bryce. He keeps yelling, demanding to know where Meadow is like a spoiled child who's lost his toy. I clench my fists, fighting the urge to get involved. I know it's not my place—yet. But everything in me is screaming to shut him down.

Just then, the bell over the bakery door jingles, and Meadow walks in. Her eyes zero in on Bryce, and I see her stiffen before straightening her shoulders.

"Bryce, that's enough of your childish behavior. You don't have to come in here and yell like a lunatic," she says, her voice calm but edged with steel.

"I needed to know where you were, baby," Bryce says, his tone shifting to something sickly sweet that makes my skin crawl.

"Don't call me baby or speak to my friends like that," she snaps, her voice sharp. "We have nothing to say to each other. It's over. You decided I wasn't enough for you, and I've realized that you're a piece of trash. I'm enough for myself and for the people who actually love me."

"I miss you," Bryce tries, his voice softer now, but the manipulation behind it is so clear it makes me want to punch him.

"I don't care," Meadow replies, unwavering. "You made your choice, and I made mine. I choose me. Now leave."

"Come on, Meadow, you know you miss the relationship and what we had together," he croons softly.

"Nope. You broke my trust and you tried to break me." She shakes her head. "You didn't succeed and I won't give you a second chance just so you can do your worst."

Bryce narrows his eyes, his jaw clenched. "Nobody will love you the way I did," he hisses, his words cutting through the air like a final desperate jab.

I want to step in, to tell him that the way he "loved" her wasn't love at all. It was manipulation, control, and emotional abuse. But I hold back, watching as Meadow stands her ground. This is her moment, and she's more than capable of handling it. She doesn't need me to save her—she's saving herself.

"I hope to God no one ever loves me the way you did," she says, her voice steady, strong. "Because I deserve better than that. Better than you."

Bryce's face twists in anger, but there's nothing left for him to say. He's been defeated, and he knows it. He glances around the bakery one last time, his eyes burning with frustration, before turning on his heel and storming out the door.

The door slams shut behind him, and the tension in the room finally starts to ease. Meadow stands there, taking a deep breath as if she's just shed the last bit of weight that Bryce had held over her.

I don't say anything at first. I just watch her, admiring her. She handled it. She stood up for herself. And as much as I wanted to step in, I'm glad I didn't. This was her moment to reclaim her strength, and she did it with more grace and power than I could've imagined.

"You okay?" I finally ask, my voice quiet, but she nods, giving me a small, relieved smile.

"I am now," she says, and there's something in her eyes that tells me she's truly free of him for the first time.