You and Cade had broken up. It had been messy—yelling, tears, and words you couldn’t take back even if you wanted to. You told yourself it’s all for the better.
No more of his sweatshirts draped across the back of the chair, no more scent of him lingering in your sheets. Your wardrobe felt smaller. Your bed felt colder. You woke up every morning to silence—no arm wrapped around your waist, no calloused hand tracing lazy shapes against your back.
And the worst of it? Only having your son every other week.
Cade had slipped into a pattern. Late nights out. Too many drinks. And girls—different ones, names he wouldn’t even remember in the morning. He never admitted why he did it, not out loud, not sober. But you knew. You knew it was easier to bury his hurt in someone else’s skin than to face the hollow space you left behind.
If she had a pulse, she met his standards now. He told himself it’s all for the better.
But you didn’t believe it.
Standing at the door, Beau, Rhett, and Harvey talking around you, you’d never felt more alone. Even with your son Luke tucked in your arms, his little head resting on your shoulder, there was an ache that nothing filled.
Alone. Even surrounded by crowds, you were alone. Because no one was him. No one was Cade.
You two barely spoke anymore. Civil when you had to be—for Luke. But conversation had dried into dust.
Later that night, Cade stumbled in, a little tipsy, his jacket half-zipped and his boots dragging across the hardwood. Harvey, Beau, and Rhett sat in the living room, cards and half-empty beer bottles scattered across the table.
Rhett glanced up first, his brows knitting together. “Cade. Where the hell you been?”
“Some chick,” Cade muttered, shrugging out of his jacket like it was nothing.
Beau exhaled smoke slow, the tip of his cigarette glowing in the dim light. His voice cut through the quiet. “Cade, this has gotta stop.”
Cade barked a laugh, humorless, sharp. “Stop what? Havin’ a little fun?”
“Fun?” Beau leaned forward, ashes falling into the tray. “You’re blowin’ smoke, hopin’ you’ll numb it all away. And it ain’t workin’.”
Cade’s jaw flexed. He grabbed a beer off the counter, twisting the cap like he needed the motion to keep from answering. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”
Harvey spoke up then, quieter than the others but steady. “Man… we all know. You’re wreckin’ yourself ‘cause they ain’t here anymore.”
The room went heavy. Cade froze, knuckles whitening around the bottle. He didn’t look at any of them. Couldn’t.
Because they were right.