Beneath the Leather

Chapter 9: The Ride Home

Jazmine stepped out of Lucky’s, the crisp night air hitting her like a cold wave. The music, laughter, and chatter of the bar were behind her, but the echoes of what she’d seen lingered. Devon with Liz—laughing, leaning close, touching, joking. Her chest ached, and a hollow emptiness spread through her.

Tasha trailed behind her, linking arms briefly. “You okay?” she asked, concern in her voice.

Jazmine shook her head, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine,” she lied, though the words felt hollow. Every step toward the street, toward the taxi stand, felt heavier than the last.

The city lights blurred around her. She barely noticed the honking cars or the neon glow of late-night diners. All she could think about was Devon—how different he had seemed with Liz, how casual and comfortable, how… close.

By the time she climbed into the back of a taxi, her hands were trembling. She clutched her purse to her chest, trying to steady her breathing. “Home,” she murmured to the driver, barely aware of the traffic weaving around them.

The ride was quiet except for the hum of the engine. Jazmine stared out the window at the dark streets, the city feeling alien and distant. She ran scenarios through her head—none of them good. Maybe I’m overreacting… maybe it’s nothing… but what if it’s not? The thought made her stomach churn.

When the taxi pulled up outside her apartment, she didn’t even wait for the driver to finish speaking. She paid quickly, jumped out, and practically ran up the steps to her door. The hallway smelled faintly of cleaning solution and the lingering scent of neighbors’ dinners, but it felt suffocating rather than comforting.

Inside, the apartment was silent, heavier than usual. Devon wasn’t there, of course. He hadn’t said if he would be, and the curt text he’d sent earlier—“Not coming home tonight. Need some time to myself. Don’t wait up.”—still stung like salt in a wound.

Jazmine dropped her coat on the chair, kicked off her boots, and sank onto the couch. Her hands covered her face, and she exhaled slowly, trying to release some of the tension coiling inside her. But the images from the bar kept replaying: his easy laughter, the way Liz had brushed her hand against his arm, the tilt of his head as he listened to her.

She reached for her phone, thumb hovering over Devon’s name. She wanted to text, to ask if he was okay, to probe for some reassurance—but she stopped herself. She didn’t trust the answers he would give. She didn’t trust him anymore—not fully.

Instead, she curled up on the couch, the apartment dark except for the glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds. Her thoughts raced, looping endlessly. Something’s off. Something is very, very wrong.

She finally closed her eyes, trying to convince herself to sleep, but the knots in her chest wouldn’t loosen. The bar, the laughter, Devon’s casual closeness with Liz—they all pressed against her like a weight she couldn’t shrug off.

And in that silence, in that uneasy dark, Jazmine realized she couldn’t ignore the feeling gnawing at her. Something was coming. Something she wasn’t ready to face yet—but she knew, deep down, that when it arrived, nothing would be the same.