Chapter 15: Steps to forget

His mouth twitched, but it wasn't a smile. He dragged a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at me for a second. "Guess neither of us wanted front row seats tonight."

That landed heavier than I expected, and for a moment, the silence said more than either of us could.

Finally, he exhaled, shoulders sagging as he tilted his head toward me. "Go on. You first. Why aren't you in there?"

The lump in my throat burned. "We were looking for you. And when you weren't there, Conrad..." My voice faltered. "He went to dance with Belly. Because it means more to them. To her. To him. More than it ever could to me."

Jeremiah turned his head slowly, his eyes catching mine in the low light. There was no sharpness in them, no surprise either—just the weight of someone who'd already made peace with something that still hurt.

"I get what you're trying to say," he murmured. "That it's about tradition, or honouring Mom, or just making sure Belly wasn't left standing there alone." His jaw flexed, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "And maybe that's all true. But let's not pretend it doesn't mean something else too."

I stayed quiet, afraid of what he'd say next.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunching. "They'll always have... something. A pull. Not always romantic—not exactly—but strong enough to mess everything up when it shows its face. Strong enough to make people like you and me question things we shouldn't have to question."

My chest tightened. "And you're okay with that?"

Jeremiah laughed softly, but there was no humour in it. "No. Of course, I'm not okay with it. She's my girlfriend. And watching him step in like that? It sucks. It'll never stop sucking. But I also know Conrad. And I know he'll always feel like it's his job to protect her. To be there when she's alone. That's not something I can erase."

He glanced at me again, softer this time. "But don't mistake it. That doesn't mean there isn't room for the rest of us in their lives. Doesn't mean you didn't matter. You did. You still do."

Jeremiah's voice dipped lower, almost like he was afraid of saying too much out loud. "You know what I keep coming back to? The way he's been since you showed up. He's different, Steph. Lighter, sometimes. More present. Like he actually remembers how to laugh."

The words pressed against my ribs, painful and comforting all at once.

He shook his head, a sad smile tugging faintly at his mouth. "I spent years watching Conrad guard every part of himself like it was a crime to let anyone in. Not even Belly—" he paused, swallowing hard, "not even Belly ever broke through that wall all the way. He loved her, sure. I won't lie about that. But she wasn't the one he let see everything. Not really."

Jeremiah's eyes caught mine, steady despite the ache in them. "But you? Somehow, you've gotten further than she ever did. That says a lot. More than you probably realise."

For a second, neither of us spoke. The muffled music from inside pulsed faintly through the walls, but it felt like we were standing in a different world altogether—one where truths stung but also soothed.

Jeremiah's gaze drifted back toward the glowing windows of the hall, his jaw flexing. "Although... what he did tonight—leaving you like that—it's..." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "It's inexcusable."

I tilted my head, studying him. "Funny. That's kind of what you did to Belly."

His eyes snapped to mine, surprised, before a small, humourless laugh slipped out. "Touché." He dragged a hand over his face, the sound fading into something heavier. "But mine wasn't about her. Not exactly."

The teasing edge in me softened as he leaned back against the wall, his voice dropping lower, steadier.

"The dance..." He swallowed hard, his throat working. "The last time we were here, this was the night I found out about Mom being sick. Every song, every laugh—it felt like walking into a memory I couldn't hold onto anymore. I thought I could push through, but when the music started, it was like I was right back there." His hand flexed at his side, restless. "And I couldn't... I just couldn't."

My chest ached, the sting of his words sinking deeper than I expected.

Jeremiah let out a quiet laugh, brittle at the edges. "And yeah, maybe I was waiting for one of them to notice. For Belly, for Conrad... to come check. But they didn't. And I guess that hurt more than I want to admit."

He glanced back at me then, eyes shining under the dim glow of the streetlight. "So yeah. I left her hanging. Just like he left you."

I shook my head softly. "I can't even begin to fathom how it feels for you—losing her. I've never experienced grief like that." My voice wavered, but I steadied it. "But... my parents did leave me. And in its own way, that felt like a death, too. Just one that kept happening, over and over."

His gaze flicked to mine, sharp and searching, like he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the rest.

"After they left, I spent so long waiting for them. Every time the phone rang, I thought it would be them. Every pair of headlights outside the window, I told myself, they'd finally come back." I exhaled, a laugh slipping out. "But it never was. They never did."

The words settled between us, heavy but steady. "Loss... it messes us up in different ways. For you, it's holding on to her because she was everything. For me, it was clinging to this impossible hope, even when I knew it wasn't coming. Either way, it shapes us. Breaks us."

Jeremiah's jaw tightened, and he dragged a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Guess grief and abandonment are different shades of the same thing—you're left with this hole that never really fills. Doesn't matter if someone's gone forever or if they just chose to leave."

Jeremiah exhaled slowly, his shoulders easing just a little. "Thanks," he continued, voice lower now. "For being here. For listening. I had no idea how much it would've helped me to actually... say it out loud. Talking to you—it helped me more than I thought it would."

I was still surprised that neither Conrad nor Belly had come to check on us. The thought lingered, heavy, until I turned to Jeremiah. "You should go inside. Find them," he said softly. He studied me for a moment, but then he just nodded. "Alright. But you're coming too."

The music grew louder with every step, laughter and chatter spilling through the doors. But just before we crossed into the main hall, movement outside caught my eye through the glass.

Conrad.

He was on the patio, pacing, his voice low but sharp as he spoke to someone hidden just out of view. His shoulders were tight, every line of his body strung like wire.

And not far from him, framed by the doorway, Belly stood with her arms crossed, frustration written across her face, anger practically radiating off her.

My stomach dropped the second I realised who Conrad was talking to.

Even from a distance, I'd know that posture anywhere—hands stuffed into his pockets like he owned the ground he stood on, that smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like the whole world was a game only he knew the rules to.

I froze in the doorway, the noise of the dance fading behind me until all I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears.

"What the hell is he doing here?" I whispered, more to myself than anyone else.

Jeremiah's brows knit together, confusion flickering before his eyes hardened. "Who is this?"

My throat went dry. I swallowed hard. "It's... Jackson."

The name alone felt heavy, bitter on my tongue.

Jeremiah didn't ask anything else. Didn't need to. His whole body shifted—like something inside him clicked into place. Without hesitation, he stepped in front of me, his shoulders squaring, blocking me from view.

"Stay here," he said firmly, his voice lower than I'd ever heard it.

He didn't look back, but I saw the way his jaw tightened, the set of his hands. Like he'd suddenly understood just how scared and confused I felt standing there, and he wasn't going to let me face it alone.

My breath hitched, heart rattling against my ribs as I clutched at the fabric of my dress, torn between staying put and chasing after him.

Jeremiah planted himself between them, but Jackson didn't back down. His smirk had soured into something darker, sharper.

"You think you can just shut me out? Pretend like I don't exist?" he snapped, his voice carrying too easily across the parking lot.

Conrad's reply was ice-cold. "You don't belong here. Not tonight. Not ever."

Jackson scoffed, stepping closer. "Funny. Last time I checked, Stephanie isn't yours to guard."

Jeremiah's chest rose sharply, his fists twitching at his sides. "She sure as hell isn't yours either."

Jackson tilted his head, his grin sharp and cruel. "Maybe not. But I was the one she chose first, wasn't I?"

Conrad's jaw clenched, his eyes hardening to steel. "Yeah, and you ruined that the second you showed her who you really are."

Something ugly flickered across Jackson's face then, like all the smug control he'd wrapped himself in cracked wide open. His shoulders bunched, his jaw set, and that's when the fury hit.

And I knew that look. I knew him too well—well enough to recognise the exact second he was about to snap. The set of his jaw, the twitch in his arm, the way his weight shifted forward. He was going to swing.

At Conrad.

My body moved before my brain could catch up. One heartbeat, I was behind Jeremiah, the next I was stepping forward, shoving myself into the space between them.

"Steph—!" I heard Conrad's voice break behind me, but it was too late.

Jackson's fist connected hard, a flash of white-hot pain exploding across my cheek. The hit landed sharply, the metallic tang of blood flooding my mouth before I even realised I'd fallen. The world tilted sideways.

Gasps cut through the night—Conrad's, Jeremiah's—sharp and panicked.

Because the punch that was meant for Conrad had landed on me.

My vision blurred, hot and metallic flooding my mouth before I even realised—it wasn't just pain. My nose. My nose was bleeding.

Conrad was instantly at my side, his hands hovering, panicked, not sure where to touch without hurting me more. "Steph—Jesus, are you okay? Look at me."

I tried to answer, but it came out broken, choked, the copper tang of blood overwhelming everything.

Jackson froze, the fire in his face gone in an instant, replaced by something I'd almost call fear. "Shit," he muttered, stepping back. His eyes darted from me to Conrad, to Jeremiah—calculating, like the only thing on his mind now was escape.

"Don't you dare—" Jeremiah started, but Jackson was already moving, spinning on his heel.

The doors burst open then, and Steven and Taylor stumbled out, laughter on their lips—until they saw me. Taylor's scream split the night. "Oh my God—Stephanie!"

Steven's face dropped, the colour draining from him as his eyes darted between me, Conrad crouched at my side, and Jackson, bolting toward the lot.

Behind them, Belly appeared, her dress swishing as she ran. Her eyes went wide, her voice rising, sharp with command. "Conrad, take her to the hospital. Now!"

Conrad didn't hesitate, his arm sliding firmly around my back, already lifting me. But for one beat, he locked eyes with Jeremiah—uncertain, torn.

"Go, man!" Jeremiah barked, shoving at him. "Get her out of here!"

Conrad nodded once, jaw tight, before scooping me into his arms and sprinting toward the car.

Jeremiah's head whipped toward Steven. For a second, they just stared at each other, both knowing exactly what had to happen without a single word.

Steven gave the smallest nod.

And then they were off—chasing Jackson into the night.

...

The world tilted in and out of focus, headlights streaking across the windshield as Belly sped down the dark road. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel, eyes darting from the road to the rearview mirror every few seconds. Taylor sat in the passenger seat, twisting around every so often to check on me, her lip caught between her teeth.

I was stretched across the backseat, my head resting in Conrad's lap. His hand never left mine, his other cradling the side of my face like he could shield me from the sting in my nose, from the blood that wouldn't stop seeping through the tissues. His jaw was clenched so tightly I could feel the tension radiating off him.

"Stay with me, Steph," he said, voice low but sharp with urgency. His thumb brushed circles over my skin like he was willing me to focus on that instead of the copper taste in my mouth. "You're okay. You're gonna be okay."

The pain flared every time I shifted, but I forced my eyes to stay on him, on the way he kept glancing down at me like if he looked away too long, I'd slip through his fingers.

"Conrad," I croaked, my voice barely there.

His eyes met mine instantly, softer this time, even through the panic. "Don't talk. Save your strength."

But I needed to. "I'm... not going to die from a bloody nose."

(Pretend its night and he's wearing his suit)

Belly let out a shaky laugh from the front seat, the sound brittle. "Don't joke about that right now."

"I am too dizzy, though," I whispered, my words slurring at the edges. "Can't decide if I hate it or if I'm blessed... seeing two of you right now."

Taylor twisted around in her seat, eyes wide. "Oh my God, she's delirious."

Belly's grip tightened on the steering wheel, her voice sharp. "Then keep her awake, Conrad. Don't let her close her eyes."

Conrad's thumb traced over my knuckles, firmer now, his jaw setting. "Hear that? You're stuck with me. No sleeping. Not until we're there."

My lips curved weakly. "Bossy."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping so only I could hear. "Damn right. So stay with me, Steph. Keep looking at me."

I blinked hard, forcing my gaze up to his. His face wavered—two Conrads bleeding into one—but the way he looked at me, solid and unshaking, anchored me.

"Tell me something," he said quickly, as if words could tether me here. "Anything. Favourite song. First pet. Hell, tell me what you hate most about me."

"You'd... need a longer car ride," I mumbled, my mouth twitching.

Taylor let out a strangled laugh. "Okay, she's still Steph."

Conrad shook his head, a sharp exhale that almost sounded like relief. "Good. Keep talking. Complain all you want, just... don't stop."

A weak laugh slipped out of me. "Complain? God, I could complain all night. Starting with how you left me standing there alone back on the dance floor."

I meant it half as a joke, but his eyes flickered—guilt cutting through even in the dim light. He didn't argue, didn't defend himself. He just held my hand tighter, his jaw working like he was swallowing words he couldn't say.

From the driver's seat, Belly's hands gripped the wheel harder. She didn't look back, but her silence filled the car, heavy and raw.

Conrad leaned down then, close enough that his hair brushed my temple. His hand slipped gently into my hair, brushing damp strands back from my face with a touch so careful it almost hurt. "I'm sorry," he whispered, so low it was for me alone. "Never again."

A shaky breath escaped me, my voice barely more than a rasp. "That's... kind of hard to believe." The truth slipped out before I could stop it.

A single tear slid down my cheek, hot against my battered skin. He caught it with his thumb, wiping it away like it hurt him to see it there. Then, with a tenderness that unravelled me more than the pain ever could, he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering as though he was afraid I'd disappear if he let go.

His eyes locked on mine, steady and unflinching despite the storm swirling inside them. "Then let me prove it," he murmured.

A shaky breath slipped out of me, and I hated how small my voice sounded when I whispered, "I'm scared, Conrad. How did he even find me?"

His hand slid gently into my hair, stroking slowly and carefully, like he was afraid I might break under his touch. His voice cracked just a little when he said, "I don't know, Steph." His eyes met mine, and for once, all the walls were gone. "I wish I did."

His thumb brushed across my temple, tender and grounding. "But I swear to you, he's not going to get near you again.

And just like that, the fear blurred at the edges. For a moment, I forgot we were even on the way to the hospital. I was dizzy out of my mind, the world tilting with every breath, but somehow Conrad made me forget. His hand in my hair, his voice steady in the storm—he kept me sane.

And maybe that's what scared me most of all. How did I even forget the way he'd left me standing there? What he made me feel now was so strong, it drowned out everything else.

Before I knew it, the car slowed, bright red letters glowing ahead. We'd arrived at the hospital.

The fluorescent lights glared too bright as the sliding doors hissed open, and suddenly there were voices, nurses, the sharp smell of antiseptic wrapping around me. But through all of it, Conrad didn't leave my side for a second.

When one of the nurses reached for me, Conrad's hand stayed firm on my arm. "I'm coming with her," he said, his voice low but unyielding.

"Sir, we'll take care of her, you can wait—"

"No," he cut in, steady but sharp. "I said I'm coming with her."

The nurse blinked at him, clearly annoyed, but there was something in his tone—so insistent, so immovable—that after a tense beat, she just sighed and waved him through.

I squeezed his hand weakly, forcing a small laugh. "Conrad, I'm fine. It's just a few bruises, a bloody nose. You don't have to fight the entire hospital staff for me."

His eyes flicked down to mine, and there was no humour there, just that raw, wrecked look I'd seen in the car. "Don't tell me you're fine..." His thumb brushed over my knuckles, gentler now. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

I wanted to argue, to remind him that I was tougher than I looked, but something in his voice—like he wasn't just talking about the hospital anymore—stilled me.

The nurse arched a brow at Conrad, then at me, a smirk tugging at her lips. "If he's this stubborn about staying, he's either insane... or he really likes you."

Heat bloomed in my cheeks, and I caught Conrad's jaw tighten, but he didn't deny it. He just held on tighter.

"I'm staying", he said, once again.

I blinked against the sting at the corners of my eyes, whispering, "I know. I believe you."

That was a conversation for another time. Not here, not with blood drying on my face and nurses bustling around. Tonight, I just let him hold on like he was afraid I'd slip away, and maybe I held on just as tight.

But the truth of it lingered between us, heavy and unspoken—the dance, the choice he made, the way it hollowed me out. I could see it in his eyes, too, the guilt, the weight of everything we hadn't said. And still, I couldn't ignore the sharp sting in my chest, because no matter how safe I felt under his grip, part of me was still hurt, betrayed, and angry about what had happened with him and Belly back at the dance. That wound didn't just vanish because he was here now.

The checkup didn't take long. I was bruised, unsteady, shaken to my core, but fine. Fine enough that the doctor cleared me to go home, handed me a list of instructions, and sent me on my way.

But as we walked out under the harsh glow of the hospital lights, one question lodged itself in my mind and refused to let go:

How the hell had Jackson found me here?