Page 31

THIRTY-ONE

MJ

The night was colder than usual for October, the kind of chill that seeped through your coat and settled in your bones. The faint glow of the porch light stretched out across the yard, illuminating the man sitting on the top step.

Trent fucking Fischer.

He sat there like a ghost from a life I didn’t want to remember, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, his shoulders hunched like he wasn’t sure he should even be here. But his eyes? His eyes were locked on me, familiar and calculated, the same shade of brown that used to make me think I was safe.

I wasn’t.

The wind whispered through the trees, rattling the last of the leaves still clinging to the branches. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, the sound barely registering over the pounding of my heart.

“MJ,” Trent said softly as he rose, his voice low and steady. “Please. I just want to talk. Can we do that?”

The words froze me in place, the weight of them pressing down on my chest like a stone. He’d said similar words before—too many times. Back when I still believed that talking meant he cared, that smooth words meant he wouldn’t hurt me or ignore me again.

This wasn’t then. I wasn’t her.

“I mean it. No games. No lies. Just...let me explain,” he pleaded with his hands in the air. “MJ.. .”

My keys bit into my palm. “What are you doing here, Trent?” My voice came out steadier than I expected, cool and clipped, like I wasn’t standing there in my own driveway fighting the urge to scream.

I walked toward the steps and gripped the railing so hard my knuckles turned white. “Get off my front porch.”

He took a step closer, his hands still out in a mock gesture of surrender. His breath clouded in the crisp air, the faint smell of cologne reaching me as he moved.

“I know I messed up,” he began, his tone smooth and practiced, like he’d rehearsed this in his head a hundred times before showing up. “But I’ve been thinking about us—about you—and I want to make things right.”

I laughed, sharp and humorless, the sound cutting through the quiet. “Right,” I said, leaning against the railing, forcing my body to stay relaxed. “You’ve changed. You’re different. You’re sorry. Let me guess—you didn’t know what you had until it was gone?”

His jaw tightened, a flicker of frustration breaking through his carefully crafted expression. “I mean it, MJ. I’ve grown up. I shouldn’t have ghosted you like that. I’m ready to be the guy you deserve.”

I shook my head, the anger simmering beneath my skin rising to the surface. “The guy I deserve? Trent, the guy I deserve wouldn’t have knowingly taken my virginity and then acted like I never existed.”

His brow furrowed, the mask slipping further. “Come on, MJ. Don’t be like this. You were never so ... difficult before.”

There it was. The real Trent. The one who thought he could break me down with just a few words, who thought he still had that kind of power over me.

I straightened and stepped toward him. “You want the MJ who believed your lies? The girl who thought we’d ride off into the sunset together? She’s gone, Trent. And the woman standing in front of you? She doesn’t care if you’ve changed, because she has. Now get off my fucking porch before I show you how strong I’ve become.”

His smile faltered, but he didn’t back down. “I’m just asking for a second chance. Is that so hard? To forgive someone?”

The door behind him creaked open, and I glanced over his shoulder to see Aunt Bug stepping out, her gaze cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter. She was wrapped in an oversize sweater, her expression nothing short of utterly unimpressed.

Trent stumbled off the porch and looked up at her. I took the opportunity to climb the steps and stand next to my aunt, looking down at him with my arms crossed.

“You want me to call the sheriff,” she said coolly, resting one hand on her hip, “or do you think he can run faster on those bird legs than I can dial?”

Trent’s face turned an interesting shade of red, but he held his ground, his hands rising defensively. “I’m not trying to cause trouble. I just want to talk to her.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem like she wants to talk to you.” Bug’s tone was flat, unimpressed. “And if you don’t want the fire department out here hosing you off this porch, I suggest you leave.”

Trent shook his head, a dangerous, defiant glint in his eye. “I’m not going anywhere until she hears me out.”

I scoffed at his audacity. The same man who’d called me a cunt was now begging for my forgiveness?

I ground my teeth. “You know what, Trent? I’m actually glad you were my first, because that means, any man to ever come after you is infinitely better.”

Red splotches bloomed on his neck. “Better?” he scoffed, his tone dripping with resentment. “Who? You think Logan’s better?” Fury and resentment marred his features. “He’s always been better, hasn’t he? The golden boy who takes whatever he wants, leaves the rest of us picking up scraps. You’re just another trophy to him, MJ. I can’t believe you’re the type of girl who would throw her life away to follow him around like a lost puppy.”

The words hit like a slap. My breath caught as realization dawned. This wasn’t about me—this had never been about me. This was about Trent’s ego, about some petty competition he thought he was still in.

An idea struck me like lightning, and before Bug could say more about the fire department, I turned toward the corner of the porch, where the coiled garden hose sat like a beacon of petty justice.

For years, Trent’s words had been like hooks, snagging on the insecurities I didn’t even know I had. But now, as I stood here with a hose in my hand and his accusations rolling off my shoulders, I realized something important.

I wasn’t that girl anymore. And he wasn’t strong enough to break the woman I had become.

“MJ ...” Trent’s voice wavered as I grabbed the hose, unspooling it with deliberate calm. “What the hell are you doing?”

I didn’t answer, instead twisting the nozzle open just enough to let the water dribble out in warning. I gave him a once-over, my expression as bored as I could muster. “You’re still here?”

He stepped back, his shoes scuffing the driveway. “Don’t be a child. You’re not serious.”

I squeezed the nozzle fully, sending a forceful spray of cold water straight into his tiny dick. He yelped, stumbling backward as I flicked my wrist, water drenching him from head to toe.

Water spurted up his nose. Then the spray hit Trent square in the chest, and for the first time in years, I didn’t feel small. I didn’t feel powerless. I felt in control, the weight of his words rolling off me like water off the hose’s stream.

“MJ!” he spluttered, his arms flailing as he tried to block the spray. “What the hell?”

“I told you to leave,” I said evenly, tilting the nozzle to hit him in the face again for good measure. “But I guess you needed a little extra motivation.”

His face darkened, his voice dropping to a growl. “You’re pathetic. You don’t even see he’s playing you, MJ. He’s only here because it makes him feel like he’s better than me.”

The words stung, not because I believed him, but because they echoed the doubts I’d been trying to drown out. But then I saw Bug’s expression—a mix of pride and something sharper, more protective—and the sting faded, replaced by a surge of defiance.

“Son,” Bug drawled, stepping up beside me, “if you really believe that, you’re even dumber than you look. Now are you finally going to learn how to leave when a woman tells you to?”

Trent struggled to get to his feet, muttering under his breath, but I wasn’t done yet. I turned the hose on him again, this time aiming lower, the cold water hitting his legs and making him slip slightly on the damp grass. He landed on all fours.

“You’re right, Trent,” I said evenly, my voice steady. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you. And your ego. And the fact that you can’t stand the idea of someone else being happy when you’re not. Well, guess what? That’s not my problem anymore.”

He glared at me, soaked and humiliated, before finally rising to his feet and storming off into the night like a petulant child.

I stood there, the garden hose still in my hand, water seeping into the grass at my feet. My pulse thrummed in my ears, not from fear, but from the rush of adrenaline still coursing through me.

“And that’s how you take out the trash.” Aunt Bug’s voice was warm but with an edge, pulling me out of my thoughts. She leaned against the doorframe with a smile.

I snorted softly, letting the hose drop to the ground. “Didn’t feel like trash when I was with him.”

Bug pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer, placing a hand on my shoulder as I climbed to meet her at the door. Her grip was firm, grounding. “Men like him? They don’t know how to lose. They twist things around, make you think you’re the problem because they can’t face their own shortcomings. But you? You’re finally learning how to win—your way.”

The words hit something deep inside me, a place that had been raw and aching for far too long. I met her steady gaze, feeling a sting in the back of my throat. “It didn’t feel like winning for a long time.”

“Because you didn’t know your worth,” Bug said simply. “But you do now, don’t you?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “I think I do.”

She gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze before stepping back. “Good. Now come inside before you catch a cold. I’ll make you some peppermint tea.”

In the kitchen, the warm light softened the edges of the night. Bug moved around the space with the practiced ease of someone who’d lived here her entire life, setting a kettle on the stove and pulling down two mugs. I sat at the table, staring at my hands, the silence between us comfortable but heavy.

When she slid a steaming mug in front of me, she rested her hip against the counter and tilted her head. “It felt good, didn’t it?”

I nodded slowly, wrapping my hands around the mug. “Yeah. I think ... I think I needed that.”

“Not just hosing him down,” she said with a small smile. “But standing up for yourself. Owning your strength.”

I took a sip of the tea, the warmth spreading through me. “It felt good. Like ... like maybe I took something back.”

Bug’s smile softened. “You did. And don’t let anyone make you feel bad about it. Not him, not anyone. You think men like him are rare?” Bug said, leaning against the counter with her mug in hand. “Honey, they’re a dime a dozen. The real rarity? A woman who knows she doesn’t need to settle for them.” Her words settled in my chest, warm and heavy, like the tea she’d handed me moments before. “And you’re starting to figure that out, aren’t you?”

I didn’t say anything, but I nodded again, her words nestling into my chest.

The tea’s warmth seeped into me, soothing the lingering edges of my nerves. But it wasn’t just the tea, or even the moment with Bug that left me feeling steadier than I had in a long time. It was something deeper.

Logan’s face flashed in my mind—the way he’d looked at me the last time we were together, his gaze steady and unflinching, like he saw through all the walls I’d spent years building. He saw me. The real me. And instead of turning away, he stayed.

The thought hit me like a wave, rushing in too fast to stop. I set the mug down, my hands trembling just slightly as the realization settled in my chest, warm and terrifying all at once.

I love him.

Not just because of the way he made me feel—safe and alive—but because when I was with him, I loved the version of myself I was becoming. The version who could stand up to Trent, who could claim her worth, who could trust someone to hold her heart without crushing it.

Bug’s words echoed in my mind, soft but steady: You’re finally learning how to win—your way.

The thought of Logan waiting for me, of seeing his name light up my phone again, sent a jolt of warmth through my chest. Maybe I wasn’t ready to say the words out loud—not yet.

But I was ready to fight for what we were building.

For once, I let myself believe it.