Page 79 of Fueled Hate

Jogging across the parking lot, I step through the door, glancing around to find her. My eyes lock with Jett’s as he steps out of the hallway that leads to the restrooms. Quickly rushing past him, I reach for the bathroom door, but it’s locked.

I can’t get to her.

My fist pounds against the door as I implore her. “Open the door.”

She won’t let me in.

The betrayal keeps coming at her from all angles—from every person in her life.

She’ll never fully allow me in now.

“Let me in, Sadie.” I slam my fist against the barrier preventing me from getting to her.

Jett moves in front of the door. “She’s been hurt enough without you coming along to finish what he started. Just leave her alone.”

“I can’t.” Taking a painful step away from her, I turn and walk out of the diner. Even if I tear that door down with my bare hands, she’d still slip out of my grasp because I can’t get a handle on myself.

I can’t leave her alone; I can’t give her up … even if I should.

43

Sadie

The heels of my hands press into my temples as I clench my eyes closed, trying to stop the images flooding my mind. My mom smiling, laughing as she tapped Kyle’s shoulder, fussing about him adding too much salt to the cake batter of my eighteenth birthday cake. What appeared to be a motherly gesture had actually been a flirtatious touch.

He hadn’t wanted to have sex with me until after she died—because he was with her before that. Nausea flows through me again as my arm clutches my stomach. There’s nothing left though, because I’d already emptied its contents before dropping to sit on the floor, my back against the metal stall. It’s been over an hour since Dylan pounded on the door, yelling for me to open it.

How could he not have told me? What a fool he must think I am. He’d said it himself: I hadn’t realized what was going on right under my nose.

My dad.

My face falls into my hands as a sob escapes. My shoulders shake as I wonder if he knows or if he was clueless like me.

A message dings on my phone as I pull it from my pocket.

Jett: Are you all right?

Me: Yes.

Jett: Then come out of the bathroom. My shift is over. I can take you home.

Me: Thanks. Meet you by your truck.

Home. I don’t know where home is because my definition has just been incinerated by someone I thought I knew better than myself, someone I’ve grieved for but betrayed me and my dad in the worst way.

Pushing off the bathroom floor, I rinse my mouth, splash some water on my face, and walk out the door. As I let it close, I notice the handwritten Out of Order sign taped to the door. That explains why no one had tried to come in. It had to have been Jett directing customers to the other restrooms so I could have some time to myself.

I pull the sign off the door, crumble it up and toss it into the trash can as I walk out of the diner, keeping my eyes lowered. I don’t want to talk right now. I just want to get out of here.

Jett’s sitting on the opened tailgate of his massive diesel truck. The waitstaff always picks on him about it because people need a step latter to get into it. Even his six-foot-tall frame looks small next to the oversized monstrosity when he hops down and closes the tailgate as I approach.

“Hey,” he says awkwardly as he moves to the passenger door, opening it for me to climb up into. I pull myself up by the interior handle and feel his hand slightly grip my hip as he assists me into the truck.

Smoothing my shirt down, I brush at the spot because it doesn’t feel right. Only one person’s hand has ever touched me that didn’t feel awkward, out of place, or unwanted.

Jett climbs into the driver’s seat and starts up the motor. “I don’t know what happened, but I’m here if you want to talk.”

“Thanks.” It’s a sweet gesture, but I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think about it, talk about it, or acknowledge the reality of it. “And thanks for the ride. Willow is supposed to take me to get my car later tonight.” Ugh, should I talk to my dad? I don’t know what to say or if I should say anything. He’s living in a fantasy world too, shielded from the betrayal of somebody we didn’t really know.