* * * *
ELISE
I don't know what made me step outside. Maybe it was the stale air inside, or maybe it was the suffocating silence building between me and Carson after everything that had just happened. Either way, I needed out.
And here we were, outside the bar that I knew existed just minutes ago. It still stung to see him standing in front of me after all these years—Pierce, in the flesh—wearing the same white shirt he had on when we first met, sporting that same damn smile. That easy, charming smile that once made my knees weak now barely masked the cowardice I'd grown to loathe.
A part of me wanted to believe we hadn't separated. That this was some parallel moment from a better version of our story. But that was a lie I'd told myself too many times. The truth stood before me now. And it ached.
After what felt like a lifetime of bitter silence, he finally spoke.
"It's been a while, hasn't it? How are you doing?" His voice had a low tremor, as if he feared the weight of the conversation that had gone unspoken for too long.
I didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be having this talk. But the man who'd brought me here was nowhere in sight, and the only one left was the one I hoped I'd never have to see again.
"I'm fine," I muttered, barely convincing even myself. I leaned against the alley wall, the cold brick pressing against my back as I faced the one person I'd worked so hard to avoid.
He hesitated, eyes flickering with guilt. "It isn't what you think. It was just a drink that got me a—"
"You don't need to explain anything to me," I snapped. "We broke up, and that's that. There's no point in making useless excuses, Pierce."
The words came out sharper than I intended, but they carried years of unspoken resentment. "It wasn't hard to remember why we ended up in this position," I said again, my voice catching. "Not when you ran."
I saw the way his hand curled into a fist, veins pulsing under his skin in the dim light. But I didn't flinch. I wasn't the same girl he left behind. I turned, ready to walk away, when his grip suddenly caught my arm—warm and tight, freezing me in place.
"I know I hurt you," he said, his voice rising. "But it was for your sake. You knew how your father disapproved of us. I gave you space. If you'd just thought about it—about us—then maybe you'd understand."
A cruel twist tightened in my chest.
My tears betrayed me, sliding down my cheeks no matter how tightly I blinked. I shook my arm free, wiping them away with shaking fingers.
"About us?" I hissed. "You should have stood beside me. Helped me face him. Instead, you hid—behind books, behind excuses. You abandoned me when I needed you the most."
He looked down, unable to meet my gaze. I hated how much that still hurt.
"The fact that I hoped we might work things out proves I cared," I said. "But you—you wanted to impress your social circle. I was just part of your image, wasn't I? A challenge. A prize."
His silence was damning.
I stepped closer, eyes burning into his. "If I'm wrong, prove it. Just tell me I wasn't a game to you. Tell me I meant something. Pierce—just look at me!"
But he didn't. He closed his eyes tightly, and that was all the answer I needed.
The pain of that moment felt worse than rejection—it was acceptance. And that was the part that shattered me most.
"Ellie, listen—" he started.
"Don't," I cut him off. "Don't call me that name again. You're not my father. You're nothing but a pathetic nobody who gave up."
Then, finally, the silence cracked.
"I believe you've sorted things out, haven't you?" Carson's voice rolled through the alley like a cold wind. I hadn't even heard him approach.
I rolled my eyes, arms crossed. Of course he was listening.
He turned to Pierce, now catching the faint flicker of realization in his eyes.
"Did not expect to meet you here, Pierce , especially in such a dilemma."
Pierce stiffened.
The air smelled like smoke—thick, acrid, and choking. It coiled around us like a ghost from the past.
Pierce turned toward me again, this time with a false familiarity. "You must have noticed, Ellie—Elise—detests smoke, so stop it."
I didn't let him finish. That old pretense made my blood boil.
Without thinking, I snatched the cigar from Carson's lips, took a long drag, and blew the smoke directly into Pierce's face. He recoiled with a cough.
I didn't care. I grabbed Carson by the arm, steering him away from the past and toward anything else—anywhere else.
We stopped by a pond not far from the bar, the moonlight reflecting in ripples along the surface. A cold railing separated us from the water, and my reflection stared back at me, blurred by motion and memory.
"Just so you know," I said without looking at him, "this doesn't mean I've chosen you."
I could feel him smirking before I saw it.
He leaned against the railing beside me, flicked his cigar against the metal until it hissed out, then vaulted over it in one easy motion, landing with ease.
"That's entirely up to you," he said. "I'm more than willing to wait."
It was… refreshing. No pressure. No games. Just his presence—steady and patient.
You're leaning back too far. I assume you've got a grip—"
Before I could finish, there was a loud splash. My eyes widened. I rushed to the edge and saw his body floating.
For a second, panic flared. "Carson?!"
I jumped in without thinking.
Then he surfaced—smiling.
The water was cold. Shallow. A stupid prank and startling. But not as startling as his laughter as I emerged.
"You—! I swear, I'll kill you!" I shouted, punching him lightly as he teased me, blaming me for pushing him first.
He was ridiculous. Infuriating. And right now… exactly what I needed.
Then I saw it—blood on his collarbone. I paused. Remembered the cigar. Realized what he'd done.
He'd branded himself with the same mark I bore.
He'd scarred himself just to match me. Not to pity me. But to say, "I see you."
I stared at him, stunned into silence. He just grinned, dodging another splash before launching into one of his own, and soon we were in a full-blown water fight. Laughter echoed off the surface as if the night were trying to return something it had taken.
In that moment, we were just two people who had both lost—everything, maybe—but found comfort in someone who understood what it meant to want to lose… and still kept standing.
I didn't choose him. Not yet.
But I let myself laugh. And for once, it felt like enough.
* * * *