Page 75 of Tuned To Break
The silence that follows is brutal. Exposed. The kind that scrapes bone.
Jake steps in, voice quiet but firm. “Maybe this would be better somewhere else.”
“There’s nowhere else,” I say, shaking. “This is it. This is the moment. Because he made his choice, and now I’m making mine.”
I turn, my heels biting into the concrete.
“Stella—” Chase calls.
“I’m going home,” I say. “Jake, you’re welcome to join me. I’m done for the day.”
The sobs hit in the car.
They start small, tight hiccups and trembles. By the time Jake slides into the driver’s seat beside me and takes the keys from my hands, I’m shaking.
“I’ll drive,” he murmurs. No argument. No questions.
The ride is silent, except for the occasional sniff I can’t suppress. Jake’s hand stays curled around my thigh the entire way. A grounding weight. A reminder I’m not alone, even when it feels like everything just busted open.
At my house, I barely make it through the door before I collapse into him.
The tears are ugly. Loud. Shoulder-shaking sobs that pour out from places I didn’t realise were still raw.
Jake just holds me. Strong arms, steady heartbeat. His shirt soaks through, but he doesn’t flinch. He just strokes my hair and lets me fall apart.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper eventually. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Don’t be.” His voice is quiet thunder. “Don’t ever apologise for feeling.”
“But I lost it. In front of everyone.”
“They’ll understand. You’ve held that in for too long.”
I pull back enough to see his face. “I just… I’ve been carrying this for so long. Not knowing and wondering what I did wrong.”
Jake cups my cheeks, his thumbs brushing away tears I didn’t know were still falling.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says. “He failed you. You survived anyway.”
“I don’t feel strong.”
“You don’t have to feel it to be it. You’re the strongest person I know.”
Something inside me softens—the part that’s always braced for disappointment, for abandonment. Jake doesn’t pull away. He holds me like I’m something fragile and sacred. And I believe him. Just for a moment, I let myself believe it.
“I love you,” I whisper.
His mouth finds mine—gentle, sure, warm. When he pulls back, his eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them.
“I love you too,” he says. “More than I knew was possible.”
I bury my face in his chest and breathe him in—grease, cologne, and home.
And for the first time in six years, I let myself believe that maybe… just maybe… I’m not alone anymore.
“Come on,” Jake says softly, linking our fingers. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He doesn’t rush me. Just leads me through the quiet of my house, hand firm but gentle. Like he knows I’m holding it together by a thread and refuses to let me snap. In the bathroom, he starts the shower—lukewarm, just how I like it when my chest feels tight and my skin’s too full of emotion to handle heat.
