Chapter 16: Shadows still linger

The ride back to the house was silent—or, well, as silent as it could be with Taylor in the car. She tried filling the space with scattered commentary about the hospital waiting room magazines, about how she should've been the one to chase Jackson because she had the better shoes, about anything really. But her voice just skimmed the surface, failing to cut through the heaviness weighing everything down.

I kept my gaze fixed on the window, watching the blur of streetlights streak by. My reflection looked foreign—skin pale, a bruise already blooming beneath my cheekbone. Every throb of pain was a reminder that this wasn't some nightmare I'd wake up from. It had happened. He'd found me.

Conrad sat beside me, silent. His quiet was different from mine, though—it wasn't avoidance. It lingered, thick with words he wasn't saying. I felt them press against me, unspoken apologies, unformed promises. At one point, his hand brushed against my thigh, warm and tentative. For a second, I thought he'd leave it there. But then he pulled back.

I wanted to. God, part of me wanted to lean into him, to let myself be held steady after a night that had spun me out. But the other part—the hurt, the betrayal still raw from the dance floor—kept me frozen in place.

So I stayed by the window, silent, waiting. Anticipating. Because right now, the only thing I could think about—the only thing I wanted—was to get back to the house and hear the words I'd been desperate for all night:

That Jackson was gone. For good.

The headlights swept across the driveway as Belly pulled us up to the house. My chest clenched the second I saw them—Jeremiah and Steven—waiting on the porch. Their suits were wrecked, ties hanging loose, both of them bent with exhaustion. Jeremiah's knuckles were raw, bruised, like they'd been sanded against concrete.

The second I stepped out of the car, both of them were on me.

"You okay?" Jeremiah asked, his voice low but urgent, his eyes scanning me like he needed proof.

Steven froze mid-step, his smirk collapsing when he saw my cheek under the porch light. "Holy shit, Steph..." His voice cracked before he masked it with a scoff. "That bruise is brutal. You look like you went twelve rounds with a heavyweight."

Taylor shot him a glare. "Steven!"

He winced. "What? I didn't mean—" He rubbed the back of his neck, softer now. "I just... damn. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," I lied, even though the ache in my cheek pulsed with every word.

Jeremiah didn't look convinced, but he nodded once, jaw tight. "Good. Because we need to tell you what happened."

The porch fell quiet for a beat, heavy with everything they weren't saying yet.

Jeremiah finally broke it. "We had him. Cornered him in the lot. Thought we could hold him long enough to drag him to the cops." His voice was low, even, but the tension in his shoulders told the real story. "But he slipped. Got in his car and took off before we could stop him."

My throat closed, hot tears pricking my eyes before I could fight them back. The thought of Jackson still out there, free, sent a sharp twist through my chest.

Steven caught it, my eyes glassy in the porch light, and cleared his throat. "Do you know how hard it is to chase someone in loafers?" His voice cracked slightly, but he ploughed on. "I swear, my feet are destroyed. Next time, I'm bringing running shoes to a dance."

Taylor whipped her head toward him, scandalised. "Steven—"

But I let out a shaky laugh through the tears, swiping at my cheek.

Steven's lips quirked, softer now. "What? You needed a distraction."

Beside me, Conrad shifted. He didn't say anything, but his fingers brushed lightly against the back of my hand, just once—like a question, like a silent I'm here. I didn't take it, couldn't, not yet.

So instead, I exhaled, forcing myself to steady. "I'm going inside."

No one stopped me. The voices blurred behind me as I slipped through the door, the house quiet except for the faint hum of the pipes when I turned the shower on. The hot water rushed over me, steam curling in the air, washing away the blood and the sting but not the ache that sat heavy in my chest.

The bathroom filled with steam fast, fogging the mirror until my reflection was nothing but a blur. I stepped under the spray, the hot water stinging as it hit the bruises on my cheek, then softening into something that felt almost like relief.

Blood, sweat, the faint smell of antiseptic—they all swirled down the drain, gone in seconds. But the weight of the night didn't rinse away as easily.

I pressed my palms flat against the cool tile, lowering my head as the water coursed down my back. My chest heaved once, sharp, before I let it break.

I thought about Jackson—his smirk, his voice, the way his fist hadn't even hesitated. My stomach twisted at the memory. But worse than him was Conrad, and that single moment on the dance floor. The way he'd left me standing there. The ache of it cut sharper than the bruise spreading across my skin.

And yet... when I closed my eyes, all I could feel was Conrad's hand in mine, his voice steady in the car, his thumb brushing away my tears like he was holding on for both of us. Never again, he'd said. A promise whispered so desperately it almost hurt to remember.

Hot water streamed over my face, and for a second, I let myself believe it—that maybe this was the end of Jackson, that maybe Conrad meant what he'd said.

By the time I finally stepped out, the mirror was still fogged, and I almost preferred it that way. I didn't want to see the bruise, didn't want to see the girl who'd been hit, who'd been left. Not tonight.

Wrapped in a towel, I just stood there for a moment, staring at the blur of myself in the glass, trying to decide which part of me was stronger—the one still hurting, or the one who wanted to believe Conrad's promise.

...

The night air was cool, brushing damp against my skin as I stepped out onto the beach. The muffled sounds of laughter and movement carried faintly from upstairs—Taylor's voice sharp, Jeremiah's lower rumble, Steven throwing in the occasional bark of a laugh.

I wasn't ready to join them. Not yet.

The boards creaked softly beneath my feet, and that's when I saw him.

Conrad.

He was stretched out on one of the sunbeds we placed at the beach, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting over his stomach. His dark shirt clung in places, rumpled in others, his watch glinting faintly in the porch light. But it wasn't how he looked that stopped me—it was his face. The way his gaze seemed fixed on nothing, distant, sharp with thought.

I froze for a beat, just watching. He looked like he was carrying the whole night on his shoulders, and maybe he was.

For a second, I thought about turning back inside, slipping away before he noticed me. But the boards betrayed me, another groan under my weight.

His eyes flicked toward me instantly.

There it was again—that flash of softness, brief but undeniable, before he covered it with that steady mask he always wore.

"Hey, stranger," I called softly, going closer.

His head turned immediately, eyes finding mine in the dim light. For a heartbeat, his face was unreadable—still caught in whatever storm had been swirling in his head. But the second he registered me, something shifted. He pushed himself upright, swinging his legs over the side of the sunbed, his posture instantly more alert.

Without saying a word, he patted the space beside him, a quiet signal. An invitation.

He watched me for a second, his gaze flicking briefly to the faint bruise along my cheek before settling on my eyes. His voice was careful, low.

"How are you feeling?"

I let out a dry laugh, leaning back against the cushion. "Physically? Better. Emotionally..." I trailed off, my lips twisting into something that wasn't quite a smile. "A wreck. But hey, that's my life."

For a moment, he didn't say anything. Just sat there, his jaw tight, like he hated the way the words sounded coming out of my mouth.

"Do you think we can talk?" He asked.

"I.. yes"

He exhaled hard, raking both hands through his hair before looking at me again. "I'm so sorry about the dance. I don't even know how to explain what went through me."

My throat tightened. "I know what happened. You—"

"Before you say anything," he cut in quickly, leaning forward like he was afraid to lose the words, "I don't want her. I want you."

The words stung and soothed all at once. I shook my head, my voice breaking as I tried to steady it. "The dance meant so much to you. To all of you. And I would have understood if you had told me what was going through your head. But standing there, in front of everyone, watching you leave without even looking back..." My breath hitched. "It hurt. Because it made me realise that when it comes to her, I'll always be second choice."

He stood suddenly, pacing two steps away before turning back, his voice sharp, desperate. "Come on, it's not like that."

"Please," I whispered, rising to my feet too, forcing him to look at me. "Let me finish."

He pressed his hands against his head, fingers curling into his hair, like he was trying to hold himself together.

"It's been two weeks," I said, my voice trembling. "Two weeks. And all we've been talking about are your feelings for her. We're not even together, and I can't do this—always wondering if I'll ever be enough, always waiting for the moment I come second. I can't stand it. And it hurts so bad knowing you're the first person who's ever made me feel all of this."

His chest rose sharply. He stepped closer, eyes burning. "You think it doesn't hurt me too? Hell, how many times do I have to tell you? You brought out a version of me I didn't even know existed anymore. Nobody else has done that. Nobody."

Tears blurred my vision, spilling before I could stop them. I shook my head. "That's what makes this hurt the most. Because what we have—it feels like one of a kind. But no matter how much you deny it, you still love her. And she'll always be in the way."

His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach for me but couldn't. His voice cracked as he stepped closer. "That's where you're wrong. She and I—it's over. There's no going back. And there's no way I'd ever betray you."

I let out a bitter, broken laugh, wiping at my face. "I never doubted you'd cheat. That's not it. It's that emotionally... you're not here yet. And if there's one thing I need right now, it's stability. And it kills me to admit that I can't have that with you."

The silence stretched. His eyes were glassy, his mouth parting like he had more to say, but no words came.

Then, in a rush, his voice broke through, raw and desperate.  "I—" He stopped, chest rising hard, then pushed again. "Steph, I lo—"

"No." The word ripped out of me before he could finish. "Don't say that, Conrad."

His face crumpled, all the fight draining from him.

Inside, my thoughts clawed at me, sharp and relentless: It's been two weeks. TWO WEEKS. We're not even together. He's saying that because he's scared of losing me. Because he wants me to stay. Because he needs me. But that doesn't mean he wants me.

The tears came hot and fast, blurring the sand and the path ahead. I turned, bolting from the beach toward the house, every step heavier than the last.

"Stephanie!" His voice cracked through the night behind me, desperate, breaking.

I didn't look back. I couldn't.

By the time I reached my room, my chest was heaving, sobs clawing their way out of me. I slammed the door shut, my back pressed hard against it as if I could keep the world out.

But the echo of his voice followed me in, lodging itself in the cracks of my heart.

I didn't want to talk to anyone... Or at least I thought I didn't, because none of it would matter. No matter what they said, what I was feeling felt too real. Too heavy.

I'll always come second.

The thought dug in like glass splinters.

For a moment, I thought about leaving—slipping outside, letting the night swallow me whole. Just walking until my legs gave out, until the ache in my chest dulled. But I couldn't. Not with Jackson still out there, prowling the edges of my world like a shadow I couldn't shake.

So all I could do was collapse onto the bed, curl into myself, and let it happen. Let the tears burn hot and steady. My whole body shook with it, the kind of crying that rips out of you like it's been waiting years to be free.

And it wasn't just fear—though Jackson haunted me in every corner of my mind. It was hurt. Betrayal. Loss. All of it was crashing together so hard I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

I buried my face into the pillow, my chest heaving until the fabric was damp and warm. I couldn't remember the last time I'd cried like this, the last time I'd let myself feel this much without trying to hold it all in.

It was like my whole world had cracked open, and for the first time, I wasn't strong enough to hold it together.

The sobs just kept coming, harsh and uneven, until my chest ached with it. I curled tighter into the blanket, wishing the world would just stop spinning long enough for me to breathe.

The door creaked open without a knock, and then Taylor's voice filled the room, sharp and certain. "Steph?"

Before I could answer, she was already there—heels dangling from her hand, eyes narrowing the second she saw me. "Oh, hell no."

She dropped everything, climbing onto the bed beside me like she didn't care about the mess of tissues or the state I was in. Her arms wrapped tight around me, her nails cool against my back as she pulled me upright.

"Don't you dare think you're alone in this," she said fiercely. "And if this—" her tone sharpened, her grip tightening, "if this is about Conrad and Belly, I swear to God, I'll kill them both. I mean it. I'll march right downstairs and make sure neither of them ever makes you cry again."

Despite the ache in my chest, a broken laugh slipped out of me, because it was so her—fire blazing in my defence, even when I could barely stand up for myself.

She pulled back just enough to look at me, her expression fierce, unwavering. "You're not second to anyone, Stephanie. Not in this house. Not in this world. And if anyone makes you feel like you are, then they're the problem—not you."

Something in her certainty cracked me open all over again, but this time the tears came with relief, because Taylor's fury felt like protection I hadn't known I needed.

I sniffled, my voice small against her shoulder. "How do you even know... that I feel like I'm second?"

Taylor leaned back, eyes narrowing like I'd just asked the dumbest question alive. "Steph, come on. It's not rocket science."

Her tone softened a fraction, but the fire was still there. "Besides, I was out earlier. You two weren't exactly whispering." She gave me a pointed look. "I heard enough."

Heat rushed to my face, shame burning even through the ache in my chest. I tried to look away, but Taylor wouldn't let me.

She reached out, cupping my chin so I had no choice but to meet her eyes. "And yeah, maybe you think you're second. But I'm telling you right now—you're not. Not really. Anyone with eyes can see the way he looks at you. He's just too damn stubborn and complicated to say it right."

Her thumb brushed away one of my tears, her jaw set. "But until he figures his crap out, you've got me. You hear me? You've got me."

I sniffled, dragging the back of my hand across my cheek. "To be honest... I expected Belly to come knocking after you saw me like this." My voice wavered, but I forced a small, shaky smile. "But I'm glad it was you, Taylor."

Her expression softened, but her voice stayed steady, protective. "Belly wanted to. Trust me. But she feels guilty—about the dance, about everything. She doesn't know how to face you yet. Doesn't change how much she loves you, though. She just... knew you needed someone fiercer tonight. So she asked me. And I came without a second thought."

I let out a weak laugh, shaking my head. "Fierce is one word for it."

I curled into Taylor's arms that night. We weren't even that close, not really—but her being there, steady and protective, made the weight on my chest ease just enough for me to breathe.

Still, sleep wouldn't come. Not with my mind replaying everything. Not with Conrad haunting every thought. The way he'd touched me—gentle, desperate, grounding. The way he'd reached for me not just with his hands, but with every part of himself I wasn't sure he let anyone else see.

And the truth was, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how betrayed I felt... I wasn't ready to let him go.

The glow of my phone lit up the dark room. One new message. His name on the screen.

"I can't stand knowing you're hurting because of me. I don't know how to fix what I broke tonight, but I need you to know this—I'm not walking away. Not from you".

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, itching to type, to give in the way I always did when it came to him.

But I didn't. Because I knew the second I answered, even with one word, I'd fall right back into him.

So I set the phone down, pulling the blanket tighter around me. The ache in my chest was sharp, but beneath it, something else was stirring.

However, no matter how much I hurt, no matter how twisted everything felt with Conrad, Belly, all of it—there was one truth I couldn't escape.

Jackson was still out there. And even though I was breaking in a dozen ways, I knew one thing with absolute clarity: Jackson's story wasn't going to end with him chasing me. It was going to end with me stopping him. Once and for all...