Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

S arah

The Devil’s Brew is warm and lively, a stark contrast to the icy wind that whips through town. I sit across from Grady, nursing a mug of hot cider while Bear sprawls under the table at our feet. The pub smells like wood smoke and grilled burgers, and I’m just starting to feel like I might actually belong here.

Grady, as usual, is all gruff silence, his flannel–the gold and navy one he found me wearing in the middle of the night and then fucked me in–rolled up to his elbows and his dark eyes scanning the room. Occasionally, his gaze lands on me, lingering just long enough to make my stomach do a strange, fluttery flip.

I’m not sure how a man can look so effortlessly intimidating and captivating at the same time, but Grady has perfected the art.

“You’re quiet,” I say, trying to break the silence.

“Always am,” he replies, but there’s a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“True,” I tease, “but I thought maybe you’d run out of brooding for the day.”

His smirk widens. “Brooding’s a full-time job, sunshine.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile that sneaks onto my lips. He’s impossible, but somehow, that only makes him more appealing.

The conversation is light, playful even, until I catch a snippet of something from a nearby table. I stiffen, my fingers tightening around the handle of my mug.

“She stole from the school,” a woman says, her voice low but clear enough to carry. “Got fired and ran off before they could press charges.”

My heart stops. It’s her. My old boss–the superintendent of the last school I was at. The voice I hoped never to hear again.

I glance toward the source, and sure enough, there she is—Carla, the woman who made my life a living hell every day and then fucked my ex for good measure–sitting at the bar with a glass of wine and a smug grin, talking to a group of men who look vaguely familiar. Ridge, Zane, Slate. Grady’s friends.

Panic claws at my chest, cold and suffocating. I look to Grady, hoping for reassurance, but his expression is unreadable. He’s listening, his jaw tight, but he doesn’t say a word.

The air feels thick, suffocating. Misunderstanding his silence, I assume the worst. He believes it.

The rest of the meal passes in a blur. I pick at my food, avoiding Grady’s gaze, while the voices at the bar continue to echo in my ears. When Grady finally pays the tab and stands, I follow him out into the cold, my heart heavy.

Bear sits between us as we drive back to the cabin. The snow crunches under our boots as we climb the porch steps a few minutes later, and the silence between us feels heavier than ever.

“Sarah,” Grady says finally, his voice low and rough.

I glance at him, my throat tight. “What?”

“You’ve gone quiet.”

I force a smile. “Guess I’m taking a page out of your book.”

His brows draw together, but he doesn’t press. We reach the cabin, and he holds the door open for me, his eyes searching mine as I step inside.

The warmth of the cabin wraps around me, but it does nothing to chase away the cold sinking into my chest.

Later that night, I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at my suitcase. My mind races, replaying the conversation at the pub, the whispers, the stares. The idea of Grady’s friends thinking I’m some kind of criminal, of him thinking it, is unbearable.

I can’t stay.

It’s not just about the rumors. It’s about protecting him, protecting the life he’s built here. He doesn’t deserve to be dragged into my mess, to have his reputation tarnished because of me. Everything I was running from has found me, threatening to take me under and ruin the life I’m trying to build. Trying to ruin my career–no matter how far I run–I can never outrun my past, I realize.

I write a note, my hands trembling as I try to find the words. When it’s done, I leave it on the kitchen table, the weight of my decision pressing down on me like a lead blanket. Just last night he was bringing me to the heights of pleasure right here, and now I’m leaving him, this place, for good.

Grady is in his room, the soft creak of the floorboards the only sign of his presence. Bear is curled up in his usual spot by the fire, his snores a gentle rhythm that tugs at my heart.

I kneel beside him, burying my fingers in his thick fur. “Take care of him for me, okay?” I whisper, my voice cracking as tears sting my eyes.

Bear stirs, licking my hand, and the tears I’ve been holding back spill over.

The early morning light filters through the windows as I close the cabin door behind me, my suitcase in hand. The air is bitterly cold, the kind that cuts through layers and chills you to the bone. But it’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

I glance back at the cabin one last time, the place that, for a brief moment, felt like home. My throat tightens, but I force myself to turn away.

This is for the best. For Grady. For both of us.