Page 16 of Manic

I need protection for me and my daughter.

Fuck.

I push my thoughts aside, focusing on the present.

For the next hour, we’re slammed, and we’re close to closing for the day.

Overall, I’m thrilled with how well our trial run has been going.

I shout, my voice carrying over the buzz of conversation. "Iced vanilla latte for Tor!"

The moment the name leaves my lips, my heart stutters.

Time seems to slow as I look up, my eyes locking with a pair of familiar bottle-green ones.

Tor.

He's standing there, his dark hair a little longer than I remember, his broad shoulders filling out a worn leather jacket.

The skull tattoo peeks out from his collar, a stark reminder of our shared past.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, mirroring my own shock.

I can't breathe.

My lungs refuse to cooperate as I stand there, frozen, the cold drink sweating in my hand.

This isn't how it was supposed to happen.

I had a plan—settle in, reach out carefully, control the narrative.

But now he's here, and all my carefully laid plans are crumbling around me.

His deep voice carries a mix of disbelief and something else I can't quite place. "Meghan?"

I force myself to move, to speak. "Hey, Tor. It's... it's been a while."

As I hand him the drink, our fingers brush, and I'm catapulted back fifteen years.

To stolen moments, passionate nights, and the gut-wrenching decision that tore us apart.

"Yeah, sure," he says, his eyes never leaving mine. "But, fifteen years is more than a while."

I swallow hard, acutely aware of the bustling cafe around us, of Tindra in the back, of all the secrets I'm still keeping. "I... I was going to reach out. To you and the club. I just needed some time to?—"

"To what?" Tor interrupts, his voice low but intense. "To disappear again?"

The accusation stings, but I can't deny its validity. "No," I whisper. "To figure out how to explain everything."

Tor's eyes soften slightly, and he licks his lips before taking a sip of his latte. The familiar gesture makes my heart ache.

"Mmm, I see. So, how've you been, Meghan?" he asks, his tone gentler now.

I exhale, grateful for the shift in conversation. "I've been okay. Busy, you know? Getting the cafe up and running, settling in..." I trail off, not wanting to reveal too much too soon.

He nods, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "It looks good. The place, I mean."

We fall into an easy rhythm of small talk, discussing the weather, the changes in Tallahassee over the years.

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