Chapter 3
1547 Words
~ Becca ~
I woke up feeling like someone had shoved a handful of gravel down my throat. My head hurt. My eyes felt swollen. And for a second, I forgot why.
Then everything rushed back the cheap motel, the sound of Stephen’s voice, Brielle’s laugh, my aunt’s stupid perfume soaked into her skin, the sheets I bought with my money under their bodies. And the look on his face when I told him I was done.
It hits all over again.
I lay there staring at the ceiling fan spinning like it had somewhere better to be. The room was dim, the curtains still pulled shut, a slice of sun sneaking through the edges like it was trying to check if I was still alive.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I didn’t want to look, but I already knew who it was. Only one person blows up your phone right after ripping your heart open.
I reached over and flipped it.
Seven missed calls.
Four texts.
One voicemail.
All from Stephen.
I didn’t open anything. I just stared at his name until it blurred.
He thought he owned me.
He really thought I’d come crawling back.
He didn’t even deny it. He just looked at me like I was being dramatic for not wanting to share a boyfriend with my own cousin.
I threw the phone facedown and dragged myself out of bed.
The cold hit first the motel AC was always turned to “Antarctica.” I grabbed my hoodie from the chair, slipped it over my tank top, and shoved my feet into sneakers. I needed coffee, air, anything that wasn’t that room.
I opened the door, and the hallway smelled like bleach and old carpet. The vending machine hummed like it was tired of being there. I stepped outside and squinted at the morning sun. The street was already alive cars honking, people rushing, a stray dog sniffing a trash bag. The world kept moving like it didn’t care.
I wished I could keep moving like that too.
As I crossed the street toward the coffee shop, my phone buzzed again. I glanced.
Not Stephen this time.
Nate.
My brother.
I sighed and answered. “What?”
“You alive?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.
“Barely.”
“You coming home today? Or should I tell Mom to plan your funeral?”
I snorted. “Tell her to put roses. At least I’ll look classy dead.”
“Becca.” His tone dropped. “I’m serious. You good?”
I swallowed. “I’m fine.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I learned from the best,” I said, deadpan.
He didn’t laugh, which meant he wasn’t in the mood. “Come home today. We need you here. And Dad”
“What about Dad?”
“He’s asking questions. And before you freak out, I didn’t tell him anything. But I can’t stall forever.”
“I’ll be home,” I said. “I just needed air.”
“Good. And Becca?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t go soft. He doesn’t deserve it.”
I inhaled sharply. “I know.”
We hung up.
Inside the café, the smell of espresso and cinnamon hit me instantly. A barista with red braids smiled at me. “Rough morning?”
“You have no idea.”
“Caramel latte?”
“Extra caramel,” I said. “And a chocolate croissant. The ugly one in the back.”
She laughed. “You got it.”
I slid into a booth while she worked. The shop was warm, soft music humming low, people murmuring, typing, sipping. Normal. Peaceful. Everything my life wasn’t.
My phone vibrated again, but I ignored it.
When the barista brought my drink, I thanked her and wrapped my hands around the cup, letting the heat sink into my skin. I took a long sip, feeling the sugar hit my bloodstream.
Okay. Breathe.
I needed a plan. Or maybe I needed to sit there until my brain started working again. Either one.
I was halfway through my croissant when someone slid into the seat across from me.
I jumped.
“Easy,” a voice said.
I blinked and my heart landed somewhere near my shoes.
Jace.
Stephen’s older brother.
Tall, broad shoulders, black T-shirt stretched across his chest, messy dark hair like he just rolled out of someone’s bed. He looked like trouble served in a human body. Trouble that smelled good.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice coming out sharper than I meant.
He leaned back, draping one arm over the booth like he owned the place. “Saw you walk in.”
“Why were you near my motel?”
“Didn’t know you were staying there. Calm down, I’m not stalking you.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You didn’t have to.” He smirked.
Ugh. He had Stephen’s smirk.
But better.
Sharper.
More dangerous.
“What do you want, Jace?”
“Checking on you. Heard the screaming match last night.”
I stiffened. “You were at the house?”
“Yeah. Walked in on a whole show. Mom crying, Aunt Denise yelling, Brielle pretending she’s innocent”
“She’s not.”
“No shit.” He tapped the table. “Then Stephen stormed out looking like someone punched him.”
“Should’ve been me,” I muttered.
Jace grinned. “Honestly, I thought you did.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint.”
“You didn’t.” His voice dropped lower. “You actually impressed me.”
That threw me.
I stared at him. “Why?”
“You didn’t cling. You didn’t cry. You didn’t beg. You told him off and walked. Most girls don’t do that with him.”
“I’m not most girls.”
“I noticed.”
My cheeks warmed, which irritated me more. He had no right looking at me like that. None.
“Well,” I said, standing up, “thanks for the unwanted analysis. I’m going home.”
Jace stood too. “Good. I’ll drive you.”
“No.”
“Becca.”
“I said no.”
“I heard you. I’m ignoring you.”
I glared at him. “You’re annoying.”
“And you’re tiny. You can’t stop me.”
“I’m not tiny,” I snapped.
“That hoodie is swallowing you alive.”
I rolled my eyes. “Jace, I don’t want a chauffeur.”
“Tough. You’re getting one.”
He was impossible.
But the thought of taking the bus with my suitcase…
And the walk back to the motel…
And the way my chest still hurt…
“Fine,” I muttered. “But you’re not coming inside my room.”
“Not unless you beg.”
I stared at him blankly until he snorted.
“Relax, I’m kidding. Come on.”
The drive was quiet at first. His truck smelled like cedar and leather, and the windows were cracked just enough for the breeze to hit my face. My body finally unclenched.
Halfway down the highway, he spoke.
“You know he’s not taking this well.”
“Good.”
“He’s… spiralling.”
I squeezed my cup. “Not my problem.”
“He says you blindsided him.”
I laughed, short and cold. “Oh, that’s rich. I walked in on him. In my house. With my cousin. On my couch. How is that blindsiding?”
Jace didn’t answer.
“He thinks he can fix it,” he said instead. “He thinks you’ll listen.”
“Well, he’s wrong.”
“Good.”
I turned to him. “Why do you keep saying that?”
He shrugged, eyes on the road. “Because Stephen gets everything handed to him. He’s the golden boy. Nothing ever sticks to him. He messes up, everyone forgives him. He acts out, Dad covers it. He cheats, they blame the girl.”
“And you blame him?”
“Yeah,” he said simply. “I do.”
I had no answer.
When we pulled into the motel lot, he parked but didn’t turn off the engine. “I’ll help you grab your stuff.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Didn’t ask if I had to.”
He got out before I could argue.
Inside the room, he didn’t say anything. He just grabbed my suitcase from the corner, zipped it, and lifted it like it weighed nothing. I picked up the small bag with my charger and toiletries.
As he carried my things to the truck, something in my chest loosened. Not because of him. But because I realized something:
This wasn’t the end.
This was the start.
When I shut the truck door after climbing in, he glanced at me again. “You okay?”
“No,” I said honestly. “But I will be.”
He nodded once. “Good.”
As he pulled onto the road, I looked straight ahead, the wind blowing my hair back, the sun warming my arm through the glass.
Stephen thought he broke me.
He didn’t.
He woke me up.
And This was the moment my revenge really began.
- Writer
