Everything Falls Apart

Dakota lay on her back, chest still rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. Lauren was beside her, one arm draped loosely across Dakota’s stomach, her face half-buried in the pillow. The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing slowly returning to normal.

Then the air between them shifted.

The pressure dropped. The hair on the back of Dakota’s neck stood on end, and a low, heavy tension settled in her chest.

“I’m listening,” she said, her voice small.

Lauren leaned over and pressed a kiss to Dakota’s forehead. It felt like a goodbye.

“You know I love you, right?”

Dakota nodded, bracing herself. “I love you, too.”

Lauren bit her lip, the way that usually made Dakota’s stomach flutter. Tonight it just made her stomach drop.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Lauren said quietly. “Dakota—”

“Then don’t,” Dakota said, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “Let’s just go to sleep. Everything will be better in the morning. I’ll be better. You’ll see.”

It was starting to rain.

Lauren reached over and gently wiped the rain from Dakota’s cheeks with her thumb. “Sometimes honesty hurts,” she said, “but it hurts so much less than deceit.”

Dakota was frozen. The rain was falling harder now, blurring Lauren’s face until she could barely make out her expression.

“I think we’ve come as far as we can,” Lauren continued. “Our paths are diverging.”

“Please,” Dakota whispered. The word cracked in the middle. “Please don’t do this.”

Lauren kissed her again, soft and lingering, like she was trying to soften the blow. It didn’t work.

“You have a bright future ahead of you,” she said. “Your path leads to someone else. Someone so much better than me.”

Dakota turned onto her side, putting her back to Lauren. She couldn’t let her see her face. Couldn’t let her see how completely she was falling apart.

It was impossible to imagine anyone better for her than Lauren. The thought didn’t even make sense.

“What’s her name?” Dakota asked. Her voice was flat. Empty.

Lauren was quiet for a long moment.

“You don’t know her,” she finally said. “And for the record… nothing has happened between us. Yet.”

Yet.

The word hit Dakota like a lightning strike.

She felt it crack through her chest and down into her stomach. Her hands curled into the sheets.

“But you want it to,” she said.

“Yes.”

The rain was coming down hard now. Dakota could barely breathe through it.

She stared at the wall, eyes burning, and tried to remember how to exist in a world where Lauren was already looking at someone else. Already imagining a life that didn’t have Dakota in it.

She could feel Lauren’s hand hovering just behind her back, close enough that the warmth of it almost touched her skin, before it slowly pulled away.

She just closed her eyes and let the storm roll in.

Dakota kept her back to Lauren, staring at the wall. The rain hadn’t stopped. It was still falling somewhere behind her ribs.

She thought about the women who had come before Lauren. Not many, but enough. She thought about Jules, the one right before her. That breakup had been loud — screaming matches in the street, doors slamming, both of them saying vicious, unforgivable things. That had been mutual destruction. They had torn each other apart at the same time.

But there had been others. Quieter ones. Ones where Dakota had been the one to end it. She had stood in kitchens and living rooms and said the words. I don’t think this is working anymore. I think we want different things. I’m sorry. She had watched their faces change. She had watched them try to hold it together in front of her.

Had they felt like this afterward?

Had they gone home and sat in the dark afterward, trying to figure out how to breathe around the hole in their chest? Had they replayed every moment, wondering what they could have done differently? Had they felt small? Replaceable?

Part of her almost wished this had been more like Jules. At least then she could have fought back instead of standing here feeling like something essential was being carved out of her chest.

Dakota swallowed. Her throat felt raw.

“How long?” she asked. Her voice came out thin.

Lauren shifted behind her. “Not long. I’ve only known her for—”

“No.” Dakota’s voice cracked. She swallowed hard and tried again. “How long do I have left here?”

The silence that followed was worse than anything Lauren could have said.

Lauren’s voice was careful when she finally answered. “As long as you need. I’ll help you find somewhere. We can figure it out together.”

Dakota almost laughed. Together. Like they were still a team. Like Lauren wasn’t the one holding the knife.

She pushed the blankets off and stood up. Her legs felt unsteady. She started pacing, moving from the bed to the window and back again, arms wrapped tight around her middle like she was trying to hold herself in one piece.

She was an actress. That was the whole point of what she was trying to do with her life. She was supposed to be good at becoming what people needed. She was supposed to be able to read a room, read a person, and give them what they wanted to see.

So why hadn’t she been able to do it for Lauren?

Why couldn’t she have just done her makeup the way Lauren liked without turning it into a whole thing? Why did it always have to be a fight? Why couldn’t she have just worn the fucking dress?

She stopped at the foot of the bed, breathing hard.

“I’m going to sleep on the couch,” she said.

Lauren sat up. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

She grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and walked out of the room before Lauren could say anything else.

The couch was too short. Dakota curled onto her side anyway, pulling the blanket up over her shoulder. She stared at the dark ceiling of the living room and listened to the building settle around her.

She didn’t sleep.

After what felt like hours, she gave up. She stood, dropped the blanket on the couch, and walked back down the hall. The bedroom door was still open. She hesitated in the doorway for a moment, then stepped inside.

It felt like surrender.

She climbed back into bed on her usual side.

Lauren didn’t say anything. She just reached out, wrapped an arm around Dakota’s waist, and pulled her in close, the same way she always had.

Dakota let herself be pulled.

She stayed rigid for a long time, eyes open in the dark, listening to Lauren’s breathing even out behind her. Only when she was sure Lauren had fallen back asleep did she let herself cry.

She cried quietly, trying not to wake her. Shoulders shaking, face pressed into the pillow, trying to keep the sound trapped in her throat. The tears came hot and steady, soaking into the fabric beneath her cheek.

Lauren’s arm stayed around her waist the entire time.

Dakota cried until she couldn’t anymore. Then she closed her eyes and let exhaustion pull her under.

It took less than two weeks.

One of Jess’s roommates moved out suddenly, and they needed someone to cover the rent. The room was small, but so was Dakota’s paycheck. It worked out.

On the last day, Dakota stood in the hallway. Everything she owned fit in the carry-on suitcase at her side. Lauren held the door open, one hand braced against the frame.

“You going to be okay?” Lauren asked.

Dakota nodded. “Yeah,” she lied. “I’m going to be fine.”

She picked up her bag and turned to leave, then paused. She looked back over her shoulder.

“And hey,” she said, forcing something like a smile, “if it doesn’t work out with this new girl… you know where to find me.”

Lauren’s expression didn’t change much, but she nodded once.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I do.”

Then she stepped back and closed the door.

Dakota stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door. Her chest felt tight. She adjusted her grip on the suitcase handle, turned, and headed for the elevator without looking back.

The Uber driver had given her an odd look when she got in wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and sandals, but he hadn’t said anything. By the time she made it back to the apartment, her hands were still shaking.

Taylor was sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal. She looked up when Dakota walked in.

“Wow,” Taylor said, smiling. “That good, huh?”

Dakota stopped. Something hot flared in her chest.

“I don’t want to fucking talk about it,” she snapped. She stalked past Taylor and into her room, slamming the door behind her. The sound echoed through the small apartment.

Alone, she yanked Lauren’s t-shirt off over her head like it was on fire and threw it onto the floor. She stood there for a second, arms wrapped around herself, breathing hard. Her eyes stung. She wanted to cry — could feel it thick in her throat — but she didn’t have time. She had to get to work. She had to pull herself together.

She took a deep breath, wiped at her eyes, and started getting dressed. Green polo. Jeans. The familiar motions helped steady her hands, even if only a little.

She grabbed Lauren’s discarded t-shirt off the floor on her way out. When she stepped back into the living room, Taylor was still on the couch.

“Hey,” Taylor said carefully. “You sure you’re—”

“I can’t talk,” Dakota cut her off. “The Uber’s waiting.” She threw the balled-up t-shirt at Taylor. It landed directly in her bowl of cereal with a wet splash.

Taylor made a startled sound.

“Tell Jess to stay the fuck out of my love life!” Dakota seethed.

Then she turned and walked out, letting the door slam behind her.

✦   ✦   ✦

Dakota pushed through the front door of the coffee shop and was immediately hit with the chaos of the morning rush. The line was already out the door, and Joan and the other baristas were moving fast behind the counter.

“Sorry I’m late,” Dakota said as she hurried behind the counter and grabbed her apron.

Joan barely glanced up from the espresso machine. “Don’t worry about it. Just jump in.”

Dakota tied her apron and fell into rhythm beside Michaela—pull shots, steam milk, scribble names on cups. The familiar motions were almost soothing. For a few minutes her brain quieted to nothing but coffee, tips, rent.

Michaela leaned over while they worked, voice low but bright with amusement.

“Hey,” she said. “I started Forces of Nature last night.”

Dakota glanced at her. “Yeah?”

“Oh my god, it’s so good already,” Michaela said, eyes wide. “Like, I’m only a few chapters in and I’m already obsessed. But now every time I read Mary I hear your voice. It’s actually kind of distracting.” She grinned, teasing. “I’m really rooting for you and Jane, by the way. Like, I hope they get together. Every time I read Mary’s lines I hear your voice in my head.”

Dakota huffed out a small laugh, shaking her head as she reached for the next ticket. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Michaela said, still grinning. “I’m really rooting for you two.”

Dakota shot her a sideways look, smirk tugging at her mouth. “Talk to me when you get to the first sex scene.”

Michaela’s eyes went wide. “Oh god. I didn’t think about that.” She laughed, a little horrified and delighted at the same time. “That’s going to be so weird.”

Dakota laughed with her, the sound quick and genuine, then wiped her hands on a towel as the line shifted.

A moment later Michaela bumped her elbow gently.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “Can you take this next customer for me?”

Dakota glanced over. There was a woman standing at the counter, maybe mid-twenties, with dark hair and sharp features. She was staring past Dakota, eyes locked on Michaela like she was the only person in the room.

Dakota followed her gaze, then looked back at the woman as she stepped over to the cash register.

“What can I get for you?” she asked.

The woman didn’t respond. She was still staring at Michaela.

“Hey,” Dakota said, louder. “What can I get for you?”

The woman blinked, like she’d been pulled out of a trance. “Oh. Uh… just a cappuccino. Whatever’s good.”

Dakota rang her up. “Name?”

“Luna.”

She made the drink, wrote Luna on the cup, and slid it across the counter. Luna took it without looking at her, then glanced one more time at Michaela before walking away.

Once the morning rush finally died down and there was a lull, Dakota wiped her hands on a towel and turned to Michaela.

“So,” she said. “What the fuck was that about earlier?”

Michaela sighed and leaned against the counter. “That’s Luna. She comes in here a lot. She’s been hitting on me. For a while now. I’ve tried to be nice about it, but she’s not really getting the hint. And it’s starting to make me uncomfortable.”

Dakota frowned. “Uncomfortable how?”

Michaela hesitated. “I told her I have a boyfriend. I told her I’m straight. I’ve tried to shut it down politely, but she just keeps coming back and pushing. And I don’t want to be rude, you know? I’m trying to be a good ally and I don’t want to come off as homophobic or anything, but…” She trailed off, looking frustrated with herself. “It’s just getting weird.”

Dakota felt something hot and sharp flare in her chest.

“There’s nothing homophobic about setting some goddamn boundaries,” she said, voice low and hard. “And if she can’t respect your boundaries, then she’s just another piece of shit.”

Michaela looked relieved, but also a little surprised by how intense Dakota sounded.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Okay. Thanks.”

A few minutes later, Michaela wiped her hands on her apron. “Hey, do you mind if I take my break?”

“Go for it,” Dakota said.

Michaela slipped out the back. A little while later, Joan caught Dakota’s eye.

“Hey, can you take the garbage out to the dumpster?” she asked. “It’s getting full back there.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Dakota grabbed the two big bags and pushed out the back door into the alley. She hauled them over to the dumpster and tossed them in. As she was turning to go back inside, she heard voices.

She followed the sound around the corner of the building and stopped.

Michaela was backed up against the brick wall. Luna was standing in front of her, one hand braced on the wall beside Michaela’s head, leaning in close. Michaela looked tense, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“I’m really not interested,” Michaela was saying, her voice tight. “I have a boyfriend.”

Luna smiled. “He doesn’t have to know.”

Dakota saw red.

“Hey!” she barked, loud and sharp. “Get the fuck away from her.”

Both women turned. Dakota stormed forward and planted herself directly between them, facing Luna.

She turned her head just enough to speak to Michaela without taking her eyes off Luna.

“Go inside,” she said. “I’ve got it.”

Michaela hesitated for half a second, then nodded and slipped back through the door.

Dakota turned fully to Luna.

“She’s straight,” she said, voice low and furious. “She has a boyfriend. What part of that do you not fucking understand?”

Luna’s expression shifted, defensive. “We were just talking. Can’t I just talk to a pretty girl?”

Dakota took one step closer.

“No,” she said. “You were just fucking leaving. Now get the fuck out of here. Before I call the cops.”

Dakota stood there for a second, breathing hard, then turned and headed back inside.

A few minutes later, when she walked back in, the noise of the shop hit her again like she’d been underwater. Michaela’s face shifted from grateful to shocked in the space of a heartbeat.

“Oh my god,” she said. “What happened to your eye?”

Dakota touched her face, winced, and shrugged. Her nose was bleeding. She grabbed a napkin from the counter and dabbed at it, the motion making the bruise under her left eye throb. The skin was already starting to darken, and her shirt was untucked and rumpled.

“It’s fine,” she said, voice a little tighter than she meant it to be. “It’s nothing. You should see the other girl.”

Joan was restocking the pastry case when she glanced up and did a visible double-take.

“Oh my god,” she said, straightening fast. “What the hell happened to your face?”

Dakota touched her cheekbone and winced. “It’s fine.”

Joan was already moving. “Michaela, ice. Now. Dakota, my office.”

Dakota didn’t bother arguing. She followed Joan through the swinging door into the cramped back office. Michaela appeared a moment later with a wrapped bundle of ice and hovered just inside the doorway, twisting the hem of her apron like she was trying to strangle it.

Joan shut the door behind them and leaned against her desk, arms crossed.

“Talk,” she said.

Michaela jumped in before Dakota could open her mouth.

“There’s this girl who’s been coming in a lot,” she said, voice tight and rushed. “Luna. She’s been hitting on me for weeks. I told Dakota about it earlier. And then when I went out on my break, she was waiting for me in the alley. She cornered me against the wall and wouldn’t let me leave. And then Dakota came out and she—she saved me.”

Michaela’s voice cracked on the last word. She looked at Dakota, eyes shiny and miserable.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, quieter now. “This happened because you were defending me. If anybody should be in trouble, it should be me for not handling it better before it got this far.”

Dakota exhaled through her nose and pressed the ice to her face. “We’re friends. That’s what friends do.”

Joan’s expression had gone from sharp to something softer and more tired. She rubbed a hand over her mouth, then dropped it.

“Jesus,” she muttered. She looked at Dakota. “She swung on you?”

“Yeah,” Dakota said. “Sucker punch. I told her to leave Michaela the fuck alone and that I was calling the cops. She didn’t like that answer.”

Joan nodded once, jaw tight. “I’m really sorry that happened. I hope she doesn’t try to pull any lawsuit bullshit, but if she does, we’ve got cameras back there. That’ll be her problem, not yours.”

Dakota gave a small, grateful nod.

Joan studied her for another second. “You want to clock out? Go home and put some real ice on that?”

Dakota shook her head. “Nah. I need the hours.”

Joan looked like she wanted to argue, but she just sighed and nodded. “Alright. But if it gets worse or you start feeling like shit, you tell me. No hero bullshit.”

“Got it.”

Joan opened the door. “Both of you get back out there when you’re ready. And Michaela—breathe. This isn’t on you.”

She left them alone.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Dakota watched the door swing shut, then turned her attention back to Michaela, who was still standing there like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to move.

Michaela stayed where she was, still twisting her apron. Dakota lowered the ice pack and gave her a tired, crooked smile.

“Seriously,” she said. “Stop looking at me like I took a bullet for you. It’s a black eye. I’ve had worse. You actually did me a favor. I was looking for something to hit.”

Michaela’s eyes widened for a second, caught between shock and something closer to relief. She let out a shaky little laugh that sounded dangerously close to a sob. “Okay. I’ll try.”

She hesitated, then added in a quieter, slightly panicked voice, “Just… don’t tell Jane, please. She scares the shit out of me.”

Dakota blinked, then huffed out a short laugh despite herself. “Yeah. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Michaela gave her a small, grateful smile and slipped out of the office.

Dakota stayed where she was for another minute, pressing the ice to her face. The sharp throb across her cheekbone was steady and insistent. It was better than the other ache she’d been carrying since she left Lauren’s apartment — the one sitting low in her chest that kept threatening to rise up into her throat every time she slowed down for more than a second. At least this pain gave her something to focus on. She didn’t have time to fall apart right now.

She stood up, tucked her shirt back in as best she could, and went back to work.

The rest of the shift moved in a blur of orders and small talk, but every time Dakota turned her head too fast the bruise reminded her it was there. Joan checked on her twice without making a production out of it. Michaela kept shooting her these grateful, guilty little looks until Dakota finally mouthed stop it across the espresso machine and they both almost laughed. By the time her shift ended, the ice had long since melted and her face hurt like a bitch, but she still had money coming and that was what mattered.

She clocked out, grabbed her bag, and stepped out into the late afternoon light with her hood up.

✦   ✦   ✦

Dakota stepped out of the coffee shop and into the late afternoon light, hood up, hands shoved deep in her pockets. The bruise on her face throbbed with every step, a steady reminder she didn’t need. She turned toward the theater out of habit, the familiar route pulling her along before her brain caught up.

She walked the six blocks with her head down, the city noise a dull roar in her ears. When she reached the old brick building, she stopped in front of the door and just stood there, staring at the scuffed paint. A couple of her classmates passed by on their way inside.

“Hey, Dakota,” one of them said with a quick wave.

Another gave her a casual “What’s up?” as he pulled the door open.

She managed a small nod and a half-smile, but didn’t move. Inside, she could already hear the low murmur of voices, the scrape of folding chairs, Mr. Harlan’s booming laugh. Embody the role. Tonight’s scene work.

She couldn’t do it.

Not today. Not after the night she’d had. She didn’t have the energy to explain the bruise on her face to anyone.

Dakota turned away without looking back and kept walking, cutting across the street toward the small park two blocks over. The grass was patchy and the benches were covered in graffiti, but it was quiet enough. She dropped onto one near the edge, the wood creaking under her weight, and let out a long breath that fogged slightly in the cooling air.

Her bag felt heavy in her lap. She unzipped it and pulled out the copy of Forces of Nature, thumb running along the edge of the pages. She needed something to drown out the noise in her head. The bruise, the shift, Lauren’s fucking texts still sitting in her phone like landmines. She flipped the book open and started reading.

✦   ✦   ✦

Mary stood up and smoothed her skirt, then gingerly sat on the edge of Jane’s desk where she had been told to sit. The movement made her wince — her ass still stung from the spanking.

✦   ✦   ✦

What was the deal with the spanking thing? Dakota thought.

She wasn’t opposed to a playful slap on the ass now and then, but this was something else entirely.

✦   ✦   ✦

Jane gave her a hard look, then cleared her throat and resumed.

“If we are to continue this relationship—”

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Dakota froze, thumb still pressed to the page. She almost didn’t pull it out. Almost left it there. But habit won. She fished it out, glanced at the screen, and felt her stomach drop.

Lauren.

She hesitated, thumb hovering over the notification. Then she opened it.

The first message was a photo: the dress she’d worn the night before, crumpled on Lauren’s bedroom floor. Next to it, the bra she’d left behind. The caption underneath read:

A second message followed almost immediately.

Then another photo — the coral dress she’d carefully laid out on the bed before everything went to shit.

Dakota stared at the screen for a long second, jaw tight. She closed the app without replying, shoved the phone back into her pocket, and sat there in the fading light with the book still open in her lap.

✦   ✦   ✦

“—we must be better about hiding our feelings for each other,” Jane continued. “Yes, I love you–”

Mary thrilled to the idea, shifting forward on the desk, her breath catching audibly.

Jane gave her a sharp look and raised one finger in warning, settling her back down before she could get carried away. “But I also love my job and have worked very hard to get where I am.”

✦   ✦   ✦

The phone buzzed again.

She sighed and pulled it out. Jess.

A string of question marks and exclamation points followed, the way Jess always did when she was spiraling.

Dakota closed the message without replying and went back to the book.

✦   ✦   ✦

Jane’s voice stayed measured, but her eyes were intense. “And there’s also your academic future to think about. So we can’t be reckless. Not with so much at stake.”

Mary sat there nibbling furiously at her bottom lip, eyes wide and shining, clearly dying to speak but unsure if she was allowed to.

Dakota's phone buzzed a third time.

God damnit.

Jess.

Dakota let out a slow breath through her nose and set the phone face-down on the bench beside her. She picked the book back up.

Jane studied her for a long moment, then finally said, “You may speak.”

“Oh God, Jane—”

Jane stiffened, giving her a hard look.

Mary winced. “Professor. I’m sorry. Professor. I mean, I just—I love you, too! And when you say you love me, when you say we have to be careful, it makes me want to throw everything away just to be with you. I know it’s dangerous, I know we have to hide it, but I can’t stop thinking about you, I can’t stop wanting you, and I—”

✦   ✦   ✦

Buzz.

Motherfucker.

Dakota was ready to throw her phone across the park. She looked at the message and wished she had.

Lauren.

Dakota left the message on read.

✦   ✦   ✦

Jane’s expression softened just a fraction. “And that is why I had to transfer you out of my class.”

The phone started to ring.

Dakota glanced at the screen. Lauren. She sent it straight to voicemail and went back to the book.

Dakota stared at the page for a long second, jaw tight, before she finally gave up. It was almost time for her to get to the studio and she'd barely managed to read two pages with all the interruptions. She closed the book, hailed an Uber, then put her phone on Do Not Disturb and shoved it back into her pocket.

✦   ✦   ✦

Dakota pushed open the door to the studio and stepped inside, pulling her hood back as she entered the booth. She was still half in her own head when Callie looked up from her tablet.

The tablet clattered onto the table.

“Oh my god,” Callie gasped, eyes widening.

Mike glanced up from the control room. “Everything okay?”

Callie didn’t even look at him. “Mike, we’re going to need a second.”

Before Dakota could process what was happening, Callie had grabbed her purse, taken her by the hand, and was pulling her out of the booth, down the hallway, and into the women’s bathroom. Dakota was too startled by the suddenness of it all to do anything but follow, hyper-aware of how warm Callie’s fingers felt wrapped around hers.

Callie pushed the door open, practically shoved Dakota inside, and then rounded on her. Her face was etched with deep concern, and was that anger sparking behind her eyes?

“Who did this?” Callie demanded, voice low but vibrating with intensity.

Dakota was still reeling. “What? What are you—”

“Who hit you?” Callie wanted to know, stepping closer, her hand still gripping Dakota’s like she wasn’t ready to let go. “Was it her? Your ex? What was her name — Lauren? Did Lauren hit you?”

Dakota finally caught up and raised her hands to ward off the barrage. “No. No, absolutely not. That’s not how Lauren ab—” She bit off the rest of that sentence and started over. “Lauren would never hit me.”

Callie stood with her fists on her hips, clearly not satisfied, her jaw tight. “What happened to your face?”

Dakota sighed and told her the story. “There was a girl hitting on a friend of mine. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. So I had to be more forceful about it.”

“And this girl hit you?”

“Yeah. She sucker punched me.”

Callie relaxed a fraction, but her eyes were still sharp, scanning Dakota’s face like she was cataloging every mark. “Well, I hope you got your lick in too.”

“Oh yeah,” Dakota said smugly. “She got hers.”

Callie stepped even closer, lifting Dakota’s chin with her left hand, her thumb just beneath Dakota’s bottom lip. She turned her head this way and that, appraising the bruising with careful focus. Her touch was gentle, but the tension in her shoulders said she was still fighting the urge to do something about it. After a moment she finally let go of Dakota’s hand.

“Hey,” Dakota started.

“Hold still,” Callie said softly, but there was steel underneath it. After a moment she added, almost to herself, “You were quite the heroine.” Then, with a small smirk, “The heroine is supposed to get a kiss when she saves someone.”

Dakota scoffed. “You’ve read too many romance novels, fangirl.”

Callie’s smirk deepened, but her eyes were still flashing with that protective fire. “Well, I can see she didn’t knock the snark out of you. That’s something at least.”

Before Dakota could come up with a response, Callie had already turned to her purse and pulled out a small makeup bag. She took out a tube of liquid concealer and, without asking, began gently dabbing it over the bruised area.

It stung. Dakota winced but held still. She didn’t mind it so much, though. It was easier not to think about how nice it felt to be in Callie’s hands — to be this close to her, to have her touching her like this, like she was something worth protecting.

Callie worked with quiet focus, dabbing the concealer over the bruise with careful, feather-light strokes. “This isn’t quite your shade,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Sorry. You’re a little bit darker than me. I hope this works okay.”

Dakota stayed very still, the sting of the product sharp against her skin. She tried to focus on the discomfort instead of how close Callie was, how gentle her touch was, how different it felt from anything Lauren had ever done.

Callie paused, eyes narrowing. “Oh, you’ve got blood on your hoodie.”

The words pulled Dakota straight back.

Dakota blinked back to the present. “Huh? Oh, yeah. It’s no big deal.”

Callie’s eyebrows shot up. “No big deal? I don’t know if you’ve noticed this or not, but Mike is a nice guy.” Dakota could hear the capital letters in the way she said it. “He’s a genuinely nice guy. If you think I’m overreacting to your appearance, just let him see blood on you. We’ll never get through the session.”

Dakota sighed. Then she grabbed the hoodie by the collar and pulled it off over her head.

Callie looked at her and frowned. “It’s even worse on your work shirt. Please tell me you’re wearing something under that other than a lacy bra.”

This time it was Dakota’s turn to smirk. “Yeah, I’m wearing a t-shirt. But if there’s blood on that, Mike’s just going to have to get over it.”

Callie smiled, stepped in, and pulled the polo off like a magic trick — so fast that Dakota was startled. “Fucking ninjas,” Dakota mumbled to herself.

Callie went back to work, blending with soft fingers. “Okay, yeah. I’m going to have to do your whole face to even this out.” She kept talking under her breath as she went. “I know you don’t wear a whole lot of makeup. I’m trying to keep it close to your natural look.”

She gently brushed the hair back from Dakota’s face and tucked it behind her ear so she could apply the rest of the concealer without getting it in her hair.

The words, the careful attention, pulled something loose in Dakota’s chest.

Dakota blinked back to the present. Callie was stepping back, surveying her work with a satisfied little nod. The makeup was light, minimal, blended seamlessly. Nothing like the heavy, perfect mask Lauren used to insist on.

Callie smiled, soft and a little self-conscious. “I hope it’s okay. I tried to get it as close to your natural style as possible.”

Dakota looked in the mirror. The bruise was hidden. Her face looked like her face.

She glanced down at the hoodie she’d set aside. The same one. The very one that girl had given her all those years ago. She carried it over to the sink and started rinsing the blood out under the cold water, scrubbing gently as the pink ran down the drain.

And just like Callie, that girl had been straight too.

Fuck it.

“Callie, wait,” Dakota said.

Callie turned around. “Hm?”

She took Callie’s hand gently and raised it to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

Was Callie blushing?

Dakota grinned. “There you go, fangirl. Just like the storybooks.”