Ellie didn’t even flinch when you showed up at her door that morning.

She looked at you like you were the one who’d done something wrong—like you had ruined her night. That smug, sleep-heavy attitude only twisted the knife deeper. Not once did she mention the kiss. Not a word of apology. No explanation. No regret.

You weren’t going to beg for one either.

Your voice was calm—too calm—when you said, “We’ve got patrol.” Ellie rolled her eyes, grabbed her backpack, and shoved past you like everything was fine.

You didn’t speak much on the route out of Jackson. The air between you was heavy, brittle. And the worst part? Ellie didn’t even notice. Or maybe she did—and just didn’t care.

⸻

Later that evening, when you finally got back home, everything felt colder.

You found yourself at the old training field, sitting on the fence beside Jesse. He’d been waiting—he usually was these days. Just like you, he was carrying that same look in his eyes: raw, humiliated, worn thin from the weight of people he trusted.

“She didn’t even look sorry,” you muttered, arms crossed.

Jesse gave a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Dina didn’t either. She said it was the weed, said she didn’t even remember it. But come on… You don’t kiss someone like that by accident.”

You nodded, quiet. The moonlight made Jesse’s profile look older somehow. Tired in a way you recognized deeply.

“I just wanted her to love me,” you whispered, barely audible.

Jesse was silent for a while before he said, “You deserved to be loved right. So did I.”

⸻

That’s when Abby showed up. She spotted you both and raised a hand, walking toward you with that confident, purposeful gait of hers. She’d always been warm toward you—gentle in a way most people weren’t anymore.

“Hey,” she said, voice softer than usual. “You okay?”

You tried to hold it together, but the sight of her—strong, steady, dependable—made your throat tighten.

“She kissed Dina,” you admitted, voice shaking. “In front of everyone.”

Abby’s jaw clenched slightly. “Yeah, I heard. That was bullshit.”

She sat beside you, close enough for you to feel her body heat. You could smell the leather from her holster, the faint scent of cedar and soap.

“You deserve better,” she said simply, turning to look at you with those honest eyes. “Someone who puts you first. Who doesn’t make you feel like you’re a fucking placeholder.”

Your breath hitched. Jesse had stepped away by then, muttering something about giving you two space. Maybe he knew what was coming before you did.

Because you were looking at Abby now—really looking at her. Not just the muscles or the braid or the way she could snap a man’s arm without blinking. But the way she saw you. Like you weren’t invisible. Like you mattered.

And for the first time in days, you didn’t feel like a joke.

“You’re not just saying that because you pity me?” you asked, voice small.

Abby’s gaze didn’t waver. “No. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

⸻

That night, you didn’t go back to Ellie. You didn’t even go home.

You stayed at Abby’s.

She made you tea. Gave you space. Held your hand when you started to cry. And when you laid down on the couch, wrapped in one of her hoodies, you realized:

Maybe this heartbreak wasn’t the end.

Maybe it was the beginning of something real.