Page 40 of Witch's Promise

With a sigh, Sean began to get ready. He showered, scrubbing away the last traces of the previous night's fight. As the hot water pounded against his skin, he tried to wash away the doubts and fears that clung to him like a second skin. It didn't work, of course. It never did.

Dressing was a careful process, each item of clothing chosen with painstaking deliberation. Dark jeans, a crisp button-down shirt, the leather jacket that had seen him through more fights than he cared to remember. It was armor, in its own way. A shield against the vulnerability he was about to expose himself to.

As Sean gave himself one last once-over in the mirror, he couldn't help but think of all the ways this could go wrong. All the ways he could fuck it up, hurt Gabe again, prove once and for all that he didn't deserve a second chance.

But Katelyn's words echoed in his mind, a counterpoint to the familiar litany of self-doubt. You deserve happiness too. Don't sabotage yourself.

"Fuck it," Sean muttered, grabbing his keys and wallet. He was going to do this. He had to.

The walk to Petal Pushers was mercifully short. The cool autumn air nipped at his cheeks, carrying with it the scent of fallen leaves and woodsmoke. It was a smell that always reminded Sean of home, of the Salem he'd known before everything had gone to shit.

The bell above the door chimed softly as Sean pushed his way inside, the familiar scent of flowers washing over him. It was a comforting ritual, one he'd performed countless times over the years. His eyes automatically sought out the pristine white tulips nestled in a corner display.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite customer," Mrs. Landry called out, emerging from behind a veritable wall of sunflowers. Her smile was as warm as ever, though Sean caught the flicker of concern in her eyes as she took in his appearance. "The usual, I presume?"

Sean managed a small smile in return, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Not today, Mrs. L. I need something... different. It's for a party."

Mrs. Landry's eyebrows rose in surprise. "A party, you say? Well now, that is different. Special occasion?"

Sean hesitated, the words sticking in his throat. How could he explain the significance of this moment? The weight of history and regret that hung over it?

"It's... it's for someone I used to know," he said finally. "Someone I hurt. I'm trying to make it right."

Understanding dawned in Mrs. Landry's eyes. She nodded, a determined set to her jaw. "Say no more, dear. I know just the thing."

Sean watched as she bustled about the shop, pulling flowers from various displays with practiced ease. Her hands movedwith a grace that spoke of years of experience, weaving together a bouquet that was somehow both elegant and unpretentious.

When she presented him with the finished product, Sean felt his breath catch in his throat. It was beautiful. Soft shades of blue and purple, accented with sprigs of white. It spoke of new beginnings, of hope and possibility.

"It's perfect," Sean said, his voice rough with emotion. "How much do I owe you?"

Mrs. Landry waved him off. "Consider it a gift, dear. For new beginnings."

Sean opened his mouth to protest, but the look in Mrs. Landry's eyes stopped him. Instead, he simply nodded, cradling the bouquet carefully in his arms.

Sean clutched the bouquet to his chest as he swung his leg over his motorcycle, the familiar rumble of the engine doing little to calm his frayed nerves. The address Gabe had given him was burned into his memory, each turn and street name a mantra he'd repeated to himself on the ride over. He couldn't fuck this up. Not again.

The wind whipped through his hair as he navigated the winding streets of Salem, each mile bringing him closer to a confrontation he'd both longed for and dreaded for years. The bouquet, safely tucked into the saddlebag, felt like a ticking time bomb. A peace offering? An apology? Fuck if he knew anymore.

As Sean turned onto Gabe's street, his breath caught in his throat. The houses here were a far cry from the modest neighborhood they'd grown up in. Each property seemed to sprawl for acres, manicured lawns and wrought-iron gates screaming of old money and even older secrets.

The address matched the one scrawled on the crumpled piece of paper in his pocket. Sean pulled up to the curb, killing the engine and taking a moment to gape at the house - no, the fucking mansion - before him.

It was an imposing structure, all red brick and white columns, with windows that gleamed in the late afternoon sun. The driveway was packed with cars, everything from sensible sedans to flashy sports cars that probably cost more than Sean had made in his entire life.

He retrieved the bouquet from the saddlebag, wincing as he noticed a few petals had been crushed during the ride. Fuck. Of course he'd manage to screw up even this small gesture.

The walk to the front door felt like a death march, each step bringing Sean closer to a reckoning he wasn't sure he was ready for. The sounds of the party drifted through the air - laughter, music, the clinking of glasses. It was the sound of happiness, of normalcy. Everything Sean had convinced himself he didn't deserve.

His finger hovered over the doorbell, doubt gnawing at him like a rabid dog. What the fuck was he doing here? He didn't belong in this world of wealth and success. He was a fuck-up, a washed-up fighter with more baggage than a goddamn airport carousel.

The chime was barely audible over the noise of the party, and for a moment, Sean thought about bolting. He could hop on his bike, tear out of here, pretend this whole thing had never happened. It would be easier that way. Safer.

But then the door swung open, and all thoughts of escape evaporated like mist in the morning sun.

Chapter 12

Gabe

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