#groveling

For three days you jumped at every single notification, silently hoping it was one of them. Any of them.

But it wasn't.

And you, unfortunately, got the answer to the question you had been asking yourself for months.

Did they still want this?

The answer was clear.

You didn't let their unofficial dismissal get to you. You still had shit to do. A life to get on to. A book signing to go to.

Jesus.

A book signing. A book you wrote. A book that was being published and released the day of the expo. You weren't expecting a huge line because this was your debut novel, but with the help of some ARC readers who had took to social media, there had been a bit of a storm brewing.

You had listened to John when he had mentioned writing under an alias. Don't know how crazy people are out there. They'd do anything to get close to you, Dove. Just better to protect yourself where you can. You almost hated yourself for listening to him now. Now you would just have to keep writing under your pen name.

You were getting ready to close up shop early when your phone finally pinged.

Kyle.

Fuck.

Of course it was Kyle. The one who hadn't treated you like you were constantly bothering him. Not the one who made you feel guilty for agreeing to your arrangement. Nor was he the one who fucked you and left you. No. He was just the one who just wasn't there.

Maybe that was just as bad.

What are you up to today?

That was it. Almost two weeks of radio silence and that's all he had to say? It just added more evidence that you were making the right call in ending this now. It had already carried on for too long.

You had two things on your to-do list and you wouldn't let Kyle's sudden reappearance deter you.

E-mail the publisher back.

Change the locks.

You didn't have the strength to face them again. If they groveled, it would be too easy to take them back. One against four wasn't much of a fair fight. And if they didn't care to fight for you... you don't know if you could survive it. Coming face-to-face with the proof that it didn't bother them to give you up even though it was killing you.

No. Cutting it off completely was the best thing to do.

So you didn't respond.

You left Kyle's text unanswered as you e-mailed the publisher back that everything was set for your flight on tomorrow morning. You would spend Thursday adjusting to the time difference and Friday you would rest up before the expo this weekend. She assured you that you would need to rest up your writing hand. Whatever that means.

You left Kyle read as you closed up shop several hours earlier than usual. You needed to drop off the bank deposit before you started on task number two.

You didn't bothering responding to Johnny when he had texted you when you were leaving the hardware store, purchase in hand. Asking if you were free Friday. Promising dinner. 'In or out. Your choice.'

It was almost second nature when you got home to pull up your phone. Ready to text one of them to see which one of them could come over and help.

Fixing a leaky sink? Nothing Johnny hasn't seen before. Need help moving furniture? John won't mind when you change your several times on what should go where. Kyle would always come in with take out the moment you mentioned you were hungry and whenever you felt like going for a walk when it was a bit too late in the evening, Simon was the first to volunteer as your personal guard dog.

But asking them to come and change the very lock you planned on using to keep them out seemed... counter productive, if not downright petty.

You were almost done with the lock when your phone sounded off. Only this time it wasn't a text. Someone was calling you.

You almost faltered when John's name came on your screen.

Fuck.

That almost got you.

You almost answered it.

Almost.

You clicked on the 'Sorry, I can't talk right now. Options, before finishing up your work.

And just like that, you were done. No help needed. You had changed the lock. Even adding on a deadbolt. Replacing the flimsy chain Simon had taunted you about. If someone wanted to get in here, that wouldn't stop them.

Well, now you didn't need to hear it anymore.

Not that you would really hear it again...

Your flight was in twelve hours. Although that seemed an ample amount of time you hadn't even begun to pack. You had luckily narrowed your outfits down, but now was the task of folding it nicely into your suitcase rather than just stuffing it in there.

On my way. We need to talk.

It was too late for talking. Three days too late. Several months too late.

The last message sent was four weeks ago. A new Thai place had opened up close to your apartment that you were wanting to try. All of them had given you excuses.

Not my taste, Dove.

Cannae do it tonight. Next weekend? Next weekend didn't happen either.

I can do tomorrow. Kyle ended up bailing. You forget the excuse he used.

Simon hadn't even bothered to reply.

The final nail in the coffin of your relationship. Almost two years wasted with nothing, but a broken heart to show for it. And the worst part is, they had all chipped away at your heart, leaving you to deal with the final blow that would shatter it.

Im sorry. I can’t do this with you anymore. wish you all the best.

Your fingers made quick work in blocking their numbers. It was best. If they wanted to reach you, they couldn't. On the other side of the coin, if they didn't care to reply, you wouldn't spend countless hours crying over the fact that none of them had been affected the same way you had.

You would deal with getting them their belongings that they had left behind another time. You had big things, great things happening for you. You were cutting your loses. You were cutting them loose.

At first, it wasn't in front of you. He settled beside the couch, close enough that his knee brushed the rug near your foot. Then he shifted, one big hand braced on the cushion, and leaned in until his chin rested on your knee.

The contact was warm through your pants. Heavy. Intentional.

You looked down at him at last.

Jason looked up under dark lashes, blue-green eyes sharp in the low light. Watchful. Careful. Like he was stepping barefoot over broken glass and trying not to bleed. His mouth was set in that stubborn line he wore when he was forcing himself not to get defensive.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

Then you closed the book over one finger to mark the page and asked, very flatly, “Are you a dog now?”

Something in his face changed.

The tension in his mouth bent around the edge of something dangerous and entertained. His eyes flicked over yours, reading, measuring.

Then Jason made a low sound in his throat and barked once.

It wasn’t even close to a real bark, which somehow made it worse. Or better. It came out rough with amusement, low from his chest, making the room feel smaller. After, he raised one eyebrow at you like he was offering politeness as a performance, like he knew exactly how ridiculous he looked on the floor at your knee and was choosing to use it anyway.

Look? See? I can behave.

I’m yours. Notice me.

The laugh that almost rose in you burned off before it could reach your mouth. You were still angry. That mattered. Him trying didn’t erase the way he’d spoken to you. Didn’t erase the silence you’d wrapped around yourself to keep from saying something just as sharp back.

Still, your fingers twitched on the spine of the book.

Jason noticed. Of course he did. His pupils were already a little blown in the dim room, but they widened at that tiny movement, a dark bloom eating into the color of his eyes. You saw the moment hope touched him, ugly, eager, and badly hidden. He didn’t move away from your knee. If anything, he let more of his weight settle there, as if he wanted you to feel the apology in the shape of him.

“C’mon,” he said quietly. “You gonna make me grovel forever?”

You held his gaze for another second, then set the book aside on the arm of the couch with deliberate care.

Jason’s eyes dropped to your hand as if it were a weapon.

You just sighed in return.

His breath changed.

It was subtle at first. A deeper pull through his nose, a pause after. You saw the muscles shift in his throat when he swallowed. Jason liked control, even when he pretended not to. Maybe especially then. He liked knowing where the ground was. What you were doing now, giving him just enough to keep him kneeling there and nothing more, was getting under his skin in a way shouting never could.

Good.

He deserved to squirm.

You uncrossed your legs slowly. Jason’s chin slid with the movement, his mouth parting for half a second before he caught himself. Up close, you could see the tension collecting in him in small, precise places: the flex in his jaw, the pulse in his neck, the way his fingers curled once against the cushion and then flattened. A man built for impact, for speed, for force. All of it going taut under stillness.

When you leaned toward him, he went very quiet.

One of your hands came up first, hovering near his face just long enough to make him track it. Then your fingers slid into his hair.

Jason shut his eyes for the briefest instant.

His hair was thick, softer than his reputation had any right to be. Still a little messy from the fight and from the hands he kept shoving through it when he was frustrated. It curled faintly at the crown when it got too long. Your fingers threaded through the white highlights first, then settled into the darker strands towards the crown of his head, sinking into his scalp, and Jason exhaled.

There.

That reaction.

You felt it move through him all at once. The drag of his inhale, suddenly unsteady. His shoulders dropped and tightened at the same time. The smallest press of his chin into your knee, unable not to lean into the touch that had finally come after all that silence.

His eyes opened again, slower this time, and they were darker than before.

You tightened your hand in his hair and yanked.

Jason’s head snapped back.

Not violently. Maybe closer to a sting. At least enough to make his face tilt up to you, to strip away the angle he’d been hiding behind and make him look. His breath caught. His pupils blew wide, swallowing almost all the color from his eyes. For one sharp second, every line in his body went still with shock.

Then heat rolled through his expression so fast it was almost brutal.

His lips parted. The tendons in his neck stood out under the skin. One hand came off the cushion and landed against your calf, big and warm and instinctive, but he didn’t grip. He just held there, like he knew one wrong move would break whatever wire had just gone live between you.

Your anger hadn’t left. It sat under your ribs, heavy and smoldering, feeding the pulse in your throat. But now it had changed temperature. Now it had teeth.

Jason stared up at you like he couldn’t decide whether he’d been punished or rewarded.

You could feel the shape of his breathing through your hand, tangled in his hair. Every inhale scraped him on the way in. His lashes flickered once. There was something almost wrecked in the look he gave you, not because he was sorry, though he was, but because he knew exactly what you were doing with the apology he’d brought you, and he was letting you do it anyway.

You want forgiveness, you thought, watching his throat work again. Look at you.

The room pulled tighter around you. The lamp hummed. Somewhere outside, a siren passed and faded. Jason’s thumb shifted once against your leg, a tiny involuntary drag that said more than any argument. His body knew before his pride did. Maybe that was always the problem. Jason felt everything with his whole body. Anger. Loyalty. Want. Regret. He carried all of it like it had mass.

You leaned closer.

His gaze dropped to your mouth, then jerked back to your eyes. That quick flicker of attention made something sharp and mean curl in your stomach. You kept your hand tight in his hair, holding his head tipped back, and saw another shiver move through him when your knees nearly brushed his chest.

He did not speak.

Smart.

Your other hand came down to the back of the couch for balance as you bent toward him, slow enough to make him live inside every inch of it. Jason’s breathing was audible now. Quiet, but there. You felt the warmth of it against your wrist. Saw the way his chest expanded under the black fabric, too fast, too deep. The scar near his throat moved when he swallowed.

When your mouth reached his ear, his eyes shut.

Not all the way. Just enough to betray him.

Your lips barely brushed the shell of his ear as you whispered, “You’re so fucking pathetic.”

The effect was immediate.

Jason inhaled like the words had gone straight into his bloodstream. His fingers flexed against your calf, not enough to hold, just enough to confess. The hand in his hair went tighter by accident, and you felt the tremor that ran through him, small but unmistakable. Want, humiliation, apology, frustration, all of it colliding behind the hard plane of his face until he looked almost feral with the effort of staying still.

His eyes opened again after a second, and there was nothing careful left in them.

No, that wasn’t true. There was still care. He was still watching you for the line, for the point where this stopped being punishment and became something else. But it had gone molten now, threaded through with a hunger he wasn’t even trying to hide. His pupils were huge. His mouth slightly open. You could feel the heat coming off him in waves.

It would have been easy, right then, to kiss him.

Maybe that was what he thought you were going to do, because his head tilted by a fraction against your hand, not pushing, just offering. A question he didn’t dare ask aloud. The old instinct to meet force with force, heat with heat, to let the fight burn into something else entirely.

Instead, you let go of his hair.

Jason’s breath hitched at the loss.

You stood.

He stayed where he was for one stunned heartbeat, staring up at you from the floor. Hair mussed from your fingers. Face sharpened by the amber light and the flush just starting to rise under his skin. You could see his mind catching up, trying to decide if you were dismissing him or leading him somewhere worse.

Better.

You stepped around him and moved toward the bedroom.

The apartment felt different at your back now. Charged. Close. You heard Jason turn before you looked. You heard the quiet sound of his hand bracing against the floor as he shifted to follow you with his eyes. There was weight in every step you took, not because you hurried, but because you didn’t. You knew he was watching the line of your shoulders, the tilt of your head, and the cruelty of walking away after leaving him kneeling there, lit up with nowhere to put it.

Halfway down the short hall, you glanced back.

Jason was still on the floor, but barely. One knee up under him, his body already coiling to rise. His expression had gone intent, almost dangerous. Like a dog hearing the click before the command, every nerve turned toward you. The lamp light caught in his eyes and turned them wild. He looked bigger suddenly, all that force gathering itself.

You leaned one shoulder against the bedroom doorway.

For a moment, you just looked at him. Let the silence stretch. Let him feel it.

Then, with a faint tilt of your head, you said, “Come, boy.”

Jason moved immediately.

The speed of it made your pulse jump.

One second, he was on the floor, the next, he was up, crossing the space between the living room and the hall with that stripped-down purpose he only showed when he stopped pretending to be civilized. His breath was rough now. Shoulders tight. Eyes fixed on you like there was nothing else in the apartment, nothing else in the city, maybe nothing else in the world. The old anger hadn’t vanished. It had been taken apart and remade into something hotter, heavier, and meaner at the edges. It made the hair at the back of your neck stand on end.

He reached the doorway just as you stepped back into the bedroom.

For one second, framed in the doorway, Jason looked at you with wrecked disbelief. Like he couldn’t quite believe you’d done this to him; taken his apology, put your hand in his hair, called him pathetic, and then beckoned him after you anyway. His chest rose hard beneath his shirt. His hands flexed at his sides. The air between you felt close enough to bite.

Then Jason came in after you and slammed the door.

The way you held his son like your bones had been made for it. The way your eyes looked so far away, even now, even still.

“I’m back,” he said quietly.

You hummed. Not really an answer. Not really anything.

“I brought diapers,” he tried, a sad sort of smile in his voice. “The weird eco ones you liked. And the cream Santi’s PA said was good for-”

“Put them on the shelf,” you said, still not looking at him.

He nodded and set the bag down.

He wasn’t sure why he had expected anything different.

You hadn’t even texted when the race ended. Not like he had expected you to. Even ignoring everything that had happened, you now had a child to care for and no time to check in on him.

But still, every time he felt his phone vibrate in his jeans pocket, he couldn’t fully crush the small, stubborn hope that it might be you.

“I did an interview,” he offered, like that might be currency between you. “Well. Sort of. I lost my shit on a reporter.”

You said nothing, just adjusted Nova gently, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“I said his name,” Max added, stepping closer. “I shouldn’t have, I know. I should’ve asked you if that was okay, but I was so riled up and Jos said-”

That made you glance at him, and he stumbled over his words, caught off guard by your eyes on him.

“It doesn’t matter what happened, not really,” he continued, quieter now. “Bottom line is, I should’ve checked in with you first.”

He stood there, hands shoved into his pockets.

“I guess it’s fine,” you said, voice neutral. “Everyone would’ve found out eventually anyway.”

Nova started to twitch, his fingers moving in small, restless motions, and you resumed rocking him. “But thanks for telling me. I didn’t watch, so I had no idea.”

You didn’t even watch.

Max breathed in slowly. Not a surprise - not anymore - but it still hit him in a place he didn’t know how to name.

He couldn’t stop wishing, with something almost painful, that things were different.

He knelt down beside the rocking chair, eye level with your lap. His hands trembled slightly.

At first, you weren’t sure what he wanted. But then…

“Can I…?” he asked softly, reaching toward Nova.

You hesitated - just a second - then nodded.

This was new territory. Max had never held Nova like this. Never really held him at all. There had always been this gap between them, one he had created and one you had stopped expecting him to close.

But now…

Max carefully slipped his arms under the baby, lifting him against his chest like he was holding the last unbroken thing he had.

You held your breath, afraid to make the wrong sound.

Nova shifted, tiny fingers curling into Max’s shirt, and Max exhaled like he hadn’t breathed properly since he left.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. His voice cracked. “Oh my god, he’s perfect.”

You stared at them. Your son, warm against his father’s chest. Max, eyes glassy, face softened in a way you hadn’t seen in a long time - completely undone by six pounds of something he hadn’t realized he needed this badly.

He cradled Nova like he had found his heart outside his body.

And you didn’t know what to feel. So you didn’t try. You just stayed still.

Instead, for the first time since Max had come home, you said something real. Quiet. Honest.

“You missed so much.”

It wasn’t accusatory. You didn’t mean it like that.

His face twisted - grief, guilt, something so heavy it almost bent him in half.

“I know,” he said. “And I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

Nova let out a tiny sigh in his arms.

Max closed his eyes.

And for the first time in weeks, something in you shifted.

Not forgiveness. Not closeness.

But maybe…

Maybe not the end. Not yet.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I swear the plot will pick up in the next chapter. I know it’s very slow-burn and a bit tedious and repetitive at the moment, but it will get better

Silk is draped over me. Ice blue, glossy fabric. The dress is floor-length with a cowl neckline. It was borderline scandalous but Zayne had booked a private table for tonight. Our fifth anniversary. Thin drop earrings graze my shoulders, my hair tied up in a bun. My arms are decorated with silver bracelets and my neck lined with a moonstone necklace. I spray Amouage's "Guidance" all over me, letting the pear, jasmine, and saffron scent cloud around me.

The scent reminded me of him. He never failed to compliment me each time I wore it.

I reach for a delicate black box on my dresser, taking out a beautiful silver comb. It was a gift from Zayne from last year. He wasn't able to give it to me the night of our date because he ended up working extra shifts. But I loved it anyway--he knew me well. I admired the sparkle across my eyelids, the color popping against my lips, as I check myself in the mirror.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It was a quarter-past-five in the afternoon when I got to the restaurant. The place was expensive and popular. If Zayne hadn't reserved a table, I didn't see how I'd get seated before 6:30. Speaking of my husband, I checked my phone while I waited to find a message from him.

"on my way, love"

Sent ten minutes ago. I tap away on my screen and find his location still at Akso Hospital. I put my phone back in my clutch. He must've just finished up his last shift, I reasoned with myself. It usually took him quite a while to get out of the building once he actually completed a surgery. With some luck, the day went well and his patients were as healthy as could be.

"Hello! Do you have a reservation?" I glance up to find a young girl smiling at me. She was dressed in uniform, her brown hair tied up in a ponytail. My eyes sweep across her name tag: Shumin.

"Yes, I do. It's a 5:30 reservation for two."

She looks to her monitor, clicking away to check the time slots. "What name is the reservation under?"

"Li Zayne."

She types in the name and a few seconds pass. She smiles, "Yes, I see it. Follow me, please."

I'm taken to a mahogany table, tucked in the corner of the restaurant. The music is louder than the chattering here, and the seats are leather benches instead of wooden chairs. It's a good spot. It feels cozy, romantic, sweet.

I slip my jacket off as I sit down. The seats are plush beneath my thighs and I feel myself shiver at the cool touch. I take my phone back out for another quick moment.

"just sat down"

"lmk when u get heree ♥️ "

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"Would you like to order something while you wait?"

I'm pulled out of a daydream as a waiter walks past my table. There's a pen and pad in his hands, his eyes expectant and his name tag hanging upside down.

I glance down to my open menu, then back to him. I swallow a lump I hadn't noticed was sitting in my throat. "Yes, thank you." I drag my finger down the folder, only ordering from the Appetizers page.

"Is that all?" he asks, glancing up. I nod. "How about a drink?"

"Just water, please. Extra ice."

"Absolutely." He smiles politely once more, pen dragging and swishing against cream paper. I return the smile as he excuses himself. My fingers unconsciously wrap around my phone for the nth time that evening, flipping it over to see the large numbers across the top.

6:42

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

I could feel their gazes.

They weren't judgmental, just curious. But I still felt it. They were wondering who was supposed to be sitting across from me. What kind of person they must be, for me to still be here. What kind of a man did a woman tolerate humiliation for? Date after date, entering and leaving by herself. Another night spent alone, another dress worn and unseen.

I had eaten all the appetizers, finished my drink, and ordered some real food. Then I finished my refill and finally began eating the rest of the dishes too. I had fully committed myself to staying. To waiting until the very moment he showed up. I could be angry tomorrow, but I kept telling myself I had to be there when he got off work. Just in case something went wrong and he needed reassurance. In case he made a mistake and couldn't think straight because of it. I could at least give him that.

I had put my jacket back on, unable to stand the goosebumps that just wouldn't leave my skin alone. My arms were crossed, clutch in my lap, and phone on the table. Face up, so I knew exactly when a notification popped up. I was leaning against the back of the seat, not bothering to maintain my posture after so long.

"Excuse me."

I lift my lashes, looking toward the voice. The face looked familiar, though her eyes held a different emotion. My gaze dropped down to her uniform. Shumin.

"I'm very sorry, but we have another reservation set for this table. The couple is waiting at the front desk." She pauses, quickly scanning the half-eaten dishes in front of me. "Would you like me to bring the check?"

"Oh, yes, of course." I sit up. I meet her gaze and find her watching me. There was that strange look in her eyes again.

A long moment passes. I clear my throat. "The check?" She startles, apologizing with a nervous laugh. She excuses herself and I watch her go, brows furrowed.

I grab my phone again.

8:26.

I had no new messages. And Zayne's location still hadn't budged from Akso. I breathe in deeply, slowly letting it loose after a moment. I find myself ordering an Uber, confirming the payment before I can think twice.

Someone else brings me the check. I take out my credit card, sign my name, leave a tip. They thank me for coming and I bid them good evening. Buttoning up my jacket to shield me from the winter nights, I walk out of the restaurant. My heels begin to feel like daggers as I stand there, waiting for my ride. It seemed like another hour had passed by the time the uber pulls up.

I'm quiet the entire car ride, sitting in the backseat and getting out before the driver even turned into my neighborhood. I walk myself to my door, making sure the car wasn't following me. It's only when I'm back in my room that I feel my shoulders slump, the fight leaving my body. I close my eyes, trying to steady my thoughts.

Pity. That's what I saw in her eyes.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The last time I checked my phone, it was almost three hours past midnight. I wasn't sure why I was still waiting up for him. I told myself it was a sign of goodwill, to comfort him. But part of me wanted to make him guilty, feel bad that he left me hanging again. On our 5th anniversary. Until I was practically kicked out of his reservation. And I had to pay for food that was meant to be eaten by two people.

Whatever the reason, I was staying up. I mean, I really was trying to. I swear, I only meant to rest my eyes for a few minutes.

But I was just so tired.