Chapter Four: The Apology
1439 Words
Travis didn't sleep. He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows shift as the city lights flickered through the windows. His penthouse was too big. Too quiet. Too empty.
He kept thinking about her—the way she'd looked at him in the diner. Furious. Defiant. Like she couldn't decide if she wanted to kill him or kiss him.
He’d never met anyone like her.
He checked his phone: 4:47 a.m. He knew where she worked. Her shift started at seven. He knew he shouldn't go.
He got dressed anyway.
Jules was at the hospital, sitting beside her father’s bed, watching his chest rise and fall. The machines beeped in a slow, steady rhythm. She’d memorized every sound in this room — every alarm, every warning.
Emmet was asleep, his face pale, his hands thin and veined, the skin almost translucent.
She hadn't eaten in two days. Couldn't afford to. The money from the diner went straight to the hospital, the rest to the landlord. She was behind on everything.
A nurse walked in and handed Jules a note.
“Someone left this for you at the front desk.”
Jules opened it. A piece of paper—no name, no signature. Just a phone number.
Her heart stopped. She knew who it was.
She stared at the number for a long time, wanting to throw it away, forget she'd ever seen it. Instead, she folded it carefully and put it in her pocket. She didn't know why.
Travis sat in the diner. Same booth. Same corner. Same view of the door. He'd been there for an hour. His coffee was cold. He didn't care.
He told himself he wasn’t waiting for her — he was just thinking, clearing his head.
He was lying.
The door chimed. He looked up. It wasn’t her.
He looked back down at his coffee, feeling something he hadn’t felt in years. Disappointment.
Jules walked into the diner at noon, late, looking terrible—dark circles, pale skin, hair a mess. She hadn't slept. She hadn't eaten.
Maya grabbed her arm the second she walked in.
“What the hell happened to you?”
“Nothing.”
“You look like death.”
“Thanks.”
“Seriously. Did you eat?”
“No.”
“Jules.”
“I’ll eat later. I have to work.”
She tied her apron and walked to the floor. She saw him — in the corner booth, same as before. She froze.
He looked up. Their eyes met. She felt her stomach flip and hated that he had that effect on her.
She walked to his table.
“You need to stop coming here.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. “I don’t know.”
“That’s your answer for everything.”
“I know.”
She sat down across from him, too tired to fight.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“I wanted to apologize.”
“For what?”
“For the hospital. For pretending I didn’t know you.”
She stared at him. “That’s it?”
“I’m not good at this.”
“At what?”
“Apologizing.”
She laughed, hollow. “You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been told.”
“I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“Is that a good thing?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know yet.”
They talked. She didn't know why she was still sitting there—she had work to do, tables to serve. No time to waste. But she couldn't get up.
He told her about Dimitri — how he was annoying but loyal, the only person Travis trusted.
“He’s like a brother,” Travis said. “The only one I’ve ever had.”
“What about your real brother?” she asked.
He hesitated. “I don’t have one. Just a sister.”
“You didn’t mention her.”
“I don’t mention her to anyone.”
She caught something in his voice — protectiveness, fear. She didn’t push.
She told him about Maya — how they’d been best friends since high school, how Maya was always there no matter what.
“She’s the only one who’s ever stuck around,” Jules said. “Everyone else leaves eventually.”
“Your father stayed.”
“He had no choice. He’s stuck with me.”
“That’s not true.”
She looked at him. “You don’t know me.”
“I know enough.”
“You know nothing.”
"I know you haven't eaten in days. Running on fumes. Scared. Angry. Drowning."
She stared at him, her jaw tightening. “You don’t know anything.”
“I know you’re too proud to ask for help.”
She stood, her chair scraping against the floor. "I don't need your pity. Your charity. Anything from you."
“Jules—”
“Don’t.” Her voice was shaking. “You saved my life. Then you threatened to kill me. Then you pretended I didn’t exist. Now you’re here, acting like you care. You don’t get to do that.”
“I’m not acting.”
“Then what are you doing?”
He didn’t answer.
She walked away and didn’t look back.
Travis watched her go. He sat in the booth for a long time, coffee cold, not caring. He'd messed up. Pushed too hard. Made her angry.
But at least she was feeling something. At least she wasn't indifferent.
He left a hundred-dollar bill on the table and walked out of the diner, telling himself he wouldn’t come back.
He knew he was lying.
Jules was in the back, her hands shaking. Maya found her.
“Okay. What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“That wasn’t nothing. That was something. He said something, and you walked away. What happened?”
Jules didn’t answer.
“Jules.”
“I don’t know what he wants.”
“Maybe he just wants to know you.”
“He’s dangerous.”
“So?”
“So I can’t afford to get involved with someone like him.”
"Someone like who? Rich? Hot? Someone who looks at you like you're the only person here?"
Jules’s face went red. “He doesn’t look at me like that.”
“Yes, he does. He’s been looking at you like that since the first time he walked in.”
Jules shook her head. “You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me.”
She couldn’t. She couldn’t tell Maya about the alley, the blood, the threat. She couldn’t tell anyone.
“It’s complicated,” she said.
“It always is.”
Maya walked away. Jules stood alone in the back and pulled the phone number out of her pocket, staring at it.
She should throw it away. Forget about him. Focus on her father, her bills, her life.
She put the number back in her pocket. She didn’t know why.
That night, Jules sat in her apartment. Couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat. Couldn't stop thinking about him.
She stared at the phone number. Shouldn't call. Should throw it away. Forget about him.
She dialed the number anyway.
It rang once. Twice.
He answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
His voice was deep, rough, like he hadn’t slept either.
“Travis?”
“Jules.”
She didn’t know what to say.
He waited.
“I don’t know why I called,” she said.
“Neither do I.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been told.”
She laughed — small, real.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
“For walking away. For yelling at you.”
“You had every right.”
“I know. But I still shouldn’t have—”
“Jules.”
She stopped.
“Don’t apologize for being angry,” he said. “It’s the most honest thing about you.”
She was quiet for a moment. “You’re strange,” she said.
“I’ve been told.”
“I don’t know what to do with you.”
“Neither do I.”
She laughed again.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For calling. For being… I don’t know. For being you.”
“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
“It is.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Goodnight, Jules.”
“Goodnight, Travis.”
She hung up and stared at the phone.
She didn’t know what she was doing.
She was falling for him.
She was terrified.
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