Song:
"Best of Me" - Corey Harper

I waited till I'd eaten before I said anything, which meant a long silent ride for Baker and me.

We stopped at our favourite artisan cafe and ordered soup, sandwiches, and one lavender-infused latte I couldn't recreate or find anywhere in the city.

Steam curled from the mug in my hands, filling my senses with its soothing scent.

I loved the character of this sweet little haven tourists flocked to, with its handwritten chalk menu and all the artisan trinkets and handcrafted tables.

Outside's cold had seeped into my bones, but I'd hardly noticed with the tea and a warm bowl of soup Baker purchased for us.

He sat across from me–unsure where to begin.

From the beginning, I thought but wouldn't pry, especially when I was wrangling with my emotions.

We'd just left Baker's father's house. Baker's sober father.

I stirred the hearty bowl of mouth-watering chicken soup: a classic and our favourite.

I took a bite, unaware of the bustle around us or of Baker and the wary eye he kept on me, that is, until he said, "He's been sober for three years." Breaking the cone of silence, we lingered in.

I didn't know what to say without being cruel, so I kept my mouth shut. I couldn't understand what would've prompted him to speak to the monster that caused so much pain in Baker's life.

Baker had blamed him for his mother leaving. Blamed him for the drinking Neil drowned himself in after he was laid off from a job he had for nearly ten years. Blamed him for not getting off the couch and looking for work. It's why his mother finally had enough. It was what—according to Baker—drove her to abandon him.

I remained quiet as he finished his bite, giving me a minute to enjoy one of my own, but I couldn't. Not with the unease I held in my stomach. "I reached out," Baker confided, when I didn't comment, "after my last bender."

"When was that?" I asked, lifting a hearty spoonful of chicken and noodles to my mouth.

"Last August. After Sofia."

His honesty had me near choking, that and Sofia's name. It left a bad taste in my mouth, not because I hated her, but because I'd said some terrible things I didn't mean, like calling her pass-around and referring to Baker as a castoff.

He paused for a beat—spooning his soup. "I needed help, so Paul suggested I reach out."

I chewed slower at the mention of my father's name.

"He brought me over the first few times. But after that, I was on my own."

"That must've been hard," I said, seeming indifferent, but deep down, I couldn't understand why my father would bring him there when my father had been the one to rescue him from that hell hole.

"It was my choice, Hadley," Baker said, sensing the tinge of anger. "I was ready."

He explained his situation. How he tried to stop drinking, but he couldn't say no for the life of him.

"But you haven't stopped," I countered. "You were drinking at the cabin." When we were playing cards.

"Non-alcoholic beer," he responded flatly. "Nate shoved a case under Luke's boot before they left."

I blinked, thinking back and remembering seeing it, but didn't think to question it.

Baker went on. "I peel off the labels," he muttered quietly, in hopes no one at the tables closest to us would hear, "before anyone notices."

My brows pinched together. "Why not just say no?" I asked, having no idea why he'd go through all the trouble.

"Come on, Hadley," he said, easing back in his chair. "The second I tell someone I don't drink, they wanna push it on me. It's happened more times than I care to admit."

I could hear the resentment undergirding his words, and as much as I wanted to deny his claim, I couldn't. I'd seen the way people our age acted firsthand.

Just one. I heard it all the time as a bartender. Just one beer. One shot. One glass of wine.

One would turn to two. And two to four. Until they were so shitfaced, they couldn't stand.

"It doesn't tempt you?" I asked, more curious now.

He shrugged, avoiding my gaze. "Sometimes. But it's better than the alternative. At least this way, I can maintain some semblance of a social life. It's hard to have friends when all anyone my fucking age does is drink."

I didn't doubt that. Twenty-three years old and having to deny every party invitation, every bar invite and then having to explain why on top of it. Especially to know nothing twits that could care less because their only agenda was to drown in a sea of alcohol and wake the next day hungover, with bad breath and soul-searing regret. I knew because I had done it.

Baker went on. "We keep it stalked in the fridge at home." As if sensing my next question. "And Alyssa knows to serve me the non-alcoholic stuff at the bar. That's why she comes for our drinks and no one else."

My heart cracked, remembering how efficient she was, and then another thought struck. "I was going to serve you beer."

"I know," he smiled. "It's not hard to exchange."

I was so confused. Why didn't Alyssa say something? Then I realized that she tried, and I quickly shut her down because I was still so angry with Baker. Because I'd cried and pleaded for him to stop drinking, and he wouldn't. Not till I left.

There were nights when I'd beg him to come home or suggest we do something else, like see a movie or go to the cabin.

He'd slough me off or ditch me—leave me waiting like a fucking idiot in a line or at a restaurant table because his one drink with the boys led to one too many, and I'd be called to deal with the mess.

I didn't want to think about it, so I asked, "And that day in the garage? When you offered me a beer?"

"I offered you a beer," he smirked. "I was going to stick to water."

I was at a loss for words. I felt so stupid that I hadn't realized it before when I should have. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He lifted a shoulder, and I waited as he struggled with the words. "I don't want to be like him," he said, referring to his father. "And I didn't want you to think any less of me."

"But I don't," I said, leaving no time between us. "I'm proud of you, Baker. I wish you would have told me sooner."

It was all I wanted. For him to at least try and the fact that he'd kept it from me because I'd think he was broken...

The shift in his shoulders was slight, but I could tell my statement made him uncomfortable, and my heart broke.

I could see why he chose this route. It was easier, and I wouldn't judge him for it. I couldn't even begin to fathom how hard it must have been for him. How lonely he must have felt in his journey to sobriety, but I could see it now.

It was why he'd been so quiet. Why he kept to himself and remained guarded, it wasn't me he was protecting himself from. He was protecting his secret and trying to maintain a facade he shouldn't have to play because he wanted to be accepted.

I wanted to cry. To lash out at everyone who made Baker feel less than because he had a problem he needed help controlling. A problem I realized I didn't know much of.

"I'm sorry," was all I could think to say. "I should have known."

Baker's brows furrowed. "Why are you sorry? You didn't know because I didn't want you to."

But I should've. I knew Baker better than anyone. Or at least I thought I did, but given all I'd learned this evening, I realized I hardly knew anything at all.

My heart hung heavy like a brick. I'd been so concerned with protecting it that I hadn't taken the time to notice all the positive changes in Baker.

"It's not your job to fix me, Hadley," Baker said sternly, knowing precisely what thoughts had crossed my mind. "And I'm sorry that I made you feel like you had to. That I relied on you. I didn't realize how hard it was for you till you left, and by then, it was too late."

My throat stung. It was hard, but I wouldn't show it. Not as couples I didn't recognize continued to pass by.

"I know I hurt you, Hadley," he continued. "And I know you're having a hard time forgiving me. I fucking get it. I still have a hard time trusting my dad."

"But you forgave him," I said, though it was more a question of hope than a statement.

I wanted to forgive. I did. But every time Baker got close, my mind chastised me for being too naïve. Too trusting.

The muscles in his jaw tensed. "I try," he replied. "It's not easy on either of us."

My brows furrowed. Their conversation and lighthearted laughter came so easy. I hadn't seen an ounce of strain.

Baker said, "Every time he sees me, he has to relive the pain he caused and the guilt..." he trailed off as if he were reliving his own. "The way it slams into you... It's triggering for him, just like it's triggering for me when I see you."

My throat bobbed, but I kept my composure. I wouldn't feel that hurt. I wouldn't feel that pain. While mine was minuscule compared to everything Baker had gone through, it didn't mean that it hurt any less, but I could be strong in this moment for Baker. I could be strong right now.

"There are days when I second guess our friendship," Baker went on. "I'm afraid he'll fuck up again. That I'll let my guard down, and he'll hurt me. But I keep working at it."

"Why?" I asked, hot tears brimming.

"Because I have to believe that it'll work. Because if I can forgive him for what he did, maybe someday you'll find it in your heart to forgive me."

A tear I couldn't control slid down my cheek. And another. "I do forgive you, Baker," I said, wiping it away quickly. "It just..."

"I get it."

"I know you do," I said, forcing a smile.

I sucked in a shaky breath trying to compose myself in this ridiculously busy café, but I didn't need to. Not when Baker rose from his seat and slid in next to me, shielding me from nosy stares.

His hand was warm on my jaw, his thumb gentle as he wiped another tear. "I love you, Hadley. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I know."

His kiss was sweet and full of hope that leaked into me.

If Baker could forgive his father, maybe I could forgive him. Perhaps I could look past all the hurt and pain... Maybe.

I stared lovingly into his eyes as he wiped every tear. I loved Baker, and if he were willing to try, then so would I.  

"Where did you want to take me?"

A/N: I won't lie, writing Hadley and Baker characters is so difficult sometimes because they're both so wounded. In different ways, but the pain they've experienced comes from the same place.

Thank you so much for reading <3 I appreciate every single one of you so much! 🤎