I blinked, stunned.
When he finally walked back to me, he had a tired smile on his face.
“They said they’ll find the guy by tomorrow,” he said.
“They’ve seen this scam before. Someone like that doesn’t get far.”
Dean looked at me for a second before clearing his throat. “Listen… you can stay in my hotel room tonight.”
I blinked.
“Seriously?”
“There are two beds,” he said quickly.
“And you don’t have your passport or money. It’s late. You need a place to sleep.”
“Fine.
But no weird stuff.”
“I’m not a creep, Susan.”
We left the station and rode in silence.
His room smelled faintly like clean sheets and coconut soap.
Dean sat on the other bed and looked down at the floor. The silence stretched between us like a tight rope.
Finally, he spoke.
“Why are you so angry with me?”
I let out a dry laugh. “Are you really asking that?”
“Yeah.
I want to understand.”
“You left Jolene,” I snapped.
“She’s been sleeping in my guest room, crying into her pillow every night. You broke her.”
“I didn’t leave without saying anything. I told her the truth.”
I frowned.
“What truth?”
Dean leaned forward, bumps on his knees.
“That we were growing apart. That we were holding on just because we used to love each other. But that wasn’t enough anymore.
It hadn’t been for a while.”
I folded my arms. “So you got bored. Decided to chase someone new.”
“No,” he said quietly.
“I fell for someone else.”
That stopped me cold.
My chest tightened.
“Who?” I whispered.
He didn’t look away.
“You,” he said.
“You’re kidding,” I said.
“I’m not,” Dean replied quietly.
“It wasn’t planned. I didn’t mean for it to happen. But every time I saw you… it was different.
I felt seen. I could breathe around you.”
“So what, Dean? You blow up your marriage and now you confess all this to me like it’s some kind of rom-com ending?”
“I didn’t say it hoping for something.
I told you because I needed to be honest. For once in my life, I wanted to say the truth.”
Because the truth is, there had always been something. Small sparks I never dared to feed..
I hated it.
And I hated myself for not hating him enough.
“I need to sleep,” I said quietly. “We’ll deal with this tomorrow.”
In the morning, the police called. They had my things.
I packed up without speaking to Dean.
I couldn’t look at him—not without wanting something I wasn’t ready to want.
Back home, the air felt colder. Quieter. Jolene was still staying at my place.
Later, I opened my phone and found Dean’s contact.
I stared at it for a long time.
Then, against everything I thought I knew, I typed:
“How about coffee sometime?”
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was selfish.
But maybe it was honest.
