Chapter 14: Where He Doesn't Touch Me
Jesse didn't show up at work for three days.
No text.
No call.
No message left with anyone.
Just absence.
And silence.
The kind that crawls into your gut and stays there like rot.
---
I still went in.
Still did my job.
Still waited for him to walk through the back door and say something like it meant nothing.
Because I was starting to realize…
Maybe it really meant nothing.
---
Mark—Mr. Nice Guy Mechanic—started hanging around more.
Friendly. Smiling. Offering snacks, jokes, coffee.
I ignored him at first.
Until I didn't.
Until I let him touch my arm when he laughed too hard at something I barely said.
Until I let his gaze linger where Jesse's used to.
Until I found myself saying yes when he asked if I wanted to grab a beer after work.
Not because I wanted Mark.
But because I wanted Jesse to notice.
---
The bar was loud. Hot. Smelled like whiskey and missed chances.
Mark bought the first round.
I drank it fast.
He leaned close.
"You always this tense?"
I smirked. "Only when the wrong man touches me."
He paused. Read between the lines.
"You want me to stop?"
"I didn't say that."
He leaned in again—this time slower.
I didn't pull away.
But I didn't close the gap either.
Because suddenly, every breath I took smelled like Jesse.
Every part of me remembered how he handled me.
And this?
This wasn't even close.
---
I didn't kiss Mark that night.
But I almost did.
And when I got home, I hated myself for hoping Jesse might somehow feel it.
---
He didn't text.
He didn't call.
But the next morning—he was in the garage.
Standing in the far corner like he'd never left.
When our eyes met, something cracked inside me.
I walked past him. Cold. Quiet.
But before I could slip by, his hand caught my arm.
"Don't," I muttered, yanking away. "You don't get to ghost me and then pretend it's fine."
"Kade—"
"No," I snapped. "Say it. Say what this is or end it."
He looked at me.
And for the first time—he looked gutted.
But still, he said nothing.
So I left.
---
That night, I stared at my ceiling,
And wondered what was worse:
The pain of not being touched…
or the ache of being forgotten.