Page 89 of Full Out Fiend

“Was she okay?” I manage to choke out.

“No.”

I close my eyes in anguish. I assumed as much but hearing it out loud hits different.

“It took your brother and me a long time to piece together what happened and how it all went down. In the end, there are still things we don’t know because Tori refused to talk about what happened before we got there. Knowing her, she left out the worst of it as a way to protect you.” He pauses and gives me a pointed look.

I nod, desperate for him to continue.

“Physically, she had a lot of surface scratches and scrapes. It took me almost an hour to get the glass out of her hair and clothes, and her hands and legs were all cut up.”

I clench my fists in my lap.

I did that.

Then I ran away. I did that, ran away, and never looked back. Never gave any fucking indication that I was sorry or remorseful. I obliterated a friendship and physically maimed a woman I cared about to what end—to prove my devotion?

I’m sick.

I’m sick, and I infect anyone who gets too close to my particular brand of toxic.

“The damage wasn’t just physical. You shattered her spirit. I didn’t sleep for days after it happened, worried it would all be too much and that you might have actually broke her. But she didn’t stay broken. She healed herself—figured out what she wanted and did what she had to do to fix her marriage and move forward.”

“It helped that you never tried to contact her again, and that you finally loosened your grip. Eventually, I got over it and forgave you because I realized you were going to leave her alone. I never knew if that was intentional, or if you really didn’t understand the severity of what you did and were just an arrogant asshole. I was just so fucking grateful it was done.”

His confession does little to soothe me. The decision to let her go wasn’t one I initially made for myself. I woke up the next day with him and Dem—my two closest friends—in my face. They laid into me about what happened, and I nodded along wordlessly as they made their demands. They insisted I leave her alone forever. The severity of their anger was strong enough to scare me into compliance.

I spent the next several months on a short as fuck leash. Dem moved us out of the Valet House. Jake made a point of forgetting my existence. My world turned upside down, and I just went with it, assuming it would be enough. Enough distance. Enough repentance. Tori moved away, and although I pined for her, I accepted that I lost. That she picked him. That I finished second.

Never once did it occur to me that I wasn’t the victim in the whole damn situation.

“I fucked up.”

Jake snorts, and I can’t help but match his reaction. No words exist for the severity of what I did. That much is clear.

“There’s no going back, Fielding. For any of us. I need you to recognize that and to promise me you won’t contact her ever again. You almost destroyed the most hard-earned love I’ve ever witnessed between two people I consider family.”

He continues. “I get that Maddie and Dem’s relationship makes it inevitable that you’ll see her at some point in the future… family gatherings, weddings, funerals… but the only way any of us moves past this is if you swear you won’t attempt to contact her.”

I hate being told what to do—or in this case, what not to do.

“The kindest thing you can do is leave her alone. Forever.”

But as much as I hate it, the voice inside my head knows he’s right.

There’s no going back. There’s no making up for what I did. It’s time to accept it and let it shape who I become.

“I wouldn’t dream of contacting her now,” I vow. And I mean it. He’s right—there will eventually come a day when I have to see her and accept that the pain she feels when she looks at me is all my own doing. But knowing my brother and Little Wheeler, it’ll be a long-ass time before that day comes around.

Sighing, I bring my glass to my lips. I take a sip of water, letting the icy blast quench my thirst and calm my frazzled nerves.

“No apology will ever be enough,” I lament, meeting Jake’s gaze and doing my best to convey the veracity of my words.

“You’re right,” he agrees, before adding, “So stop punishing yourself and just do better.”

As if it’s that easy.

I search his face as he stares back in challenge. The takeaway is clear: I’m the only one who can change the narrative. I have to accept the past and make peace with who I am and what I’ve done. Forgiveness isn’t an option. Acceptance may not be what I deserve, but it’s the key to moving forward.