Chapter 9 - The Last Time Sterling Asked Me to Stay
Sterling was sentenced on a Thursday morning under a sky so blue it felt almost offensive.
The judge spoke for a long time.
About responsibility.
About the years between an accident and a confession.
About the difference between panic in a single moment and deliberate choices made afterward.
About cooperation that mattered but did not erase harm.
I listened with my hands folded in my lap.
Adrian sat two seats away.
Donna sat behind us.
Tegan was not there. Her own case had been resolved separately, with her cooperation and delayed confession weighed against her role in hiding the truth. She had moved to Denver and, through her attorney, sent Adrian a final letter he had not yet decided whether to read.
Raymond's case was still moving through court.
For once, everything did not have to end on the same day.
When it was Sterling's turn to speak, he stood.
He looked thinner.
Less polished.
No carefully styled hair. No watch. No expensive jacket.
Just a dark suit and a face I knew too well.
He apologized to Adrian first.
Not generally.
Specifically.
"I saw your motorcycle go down," he said. "I knew I had hit you. I was afraid, and I left. The next morning, I learned you were alive. Every day after that was a new chance to tell the truth, and I chose myself instead."
Adrian did not move.
Sterling continued.
"I told myself my uncle had handled it. What I meant was that he had hidden it. I let other people carry the consequences of my fear."
Then he apologized to Tegan.
To his mother.
To Corbin.
Finally, he looked at me.
My heart beat faster, but I stayed still.
"I used someone I loved as a shield," he said. "I entered her life because I was afraid of what her connection to Corbin could mean for me. Then I loved her, and instead of telling her the truth, I used that love as another reason to keep lying. When I thought she might leave, I tried to embarrass her into coming back. She did not deserve any of it."
The courtroom was silent.
I did not cry.
Not then.
The judge imposed the sentence.
I will not pretend the number felt magical.
No amount of time could return four years to Adrian.
No sentence could put a guitar back into the future he once imagined.
No punishment could give me back the version of my relationship I thought I had.
But consequences existed now.
The truth was recorded.
That mattered.
Afterward, I walked toward the parking garage alone.
I had almost reached the elevator when Donna called my name.
I turned.
She hurried toward me.
"He's being transferred in a few minutes," she said. "He asked me not to pressure you."
I waited.
"But?"
Donna looked embarrassed.
"But he asked whether, if you happened to still be here and if you wanted to, he could say goodbye."
I closed my eyes.
For months, I had imagined the final conversation.
In some versions, I told him exactly how much he had destroyed.
In others, I walked past without a word.
Sometimes I forgave him.
Sometimes I hated him.
Reality offered none of those clean endings.
"Where?" I asked.
Donna pointed toward a secured hallway near the courthouse side entrance.
A deputy stood several yards away.
Sterling waited beside him.
His hands were cuffed in front of him.
The sight shocked me.
Not because I believed he was innocent.
Because once, those hands had washed dishes beside mine.
Once, those fingers had traced circles over my palm while we watched television.
Now metal separated them.
I stopped several feet away.
Sterling looked at me.
"Thank you for coming over."
"I almost didn't."
"I know."
He swallowed.
"You look good."
I almost laughed.
"Don't."
"Right. Sorry."
Silence stretched between us.
Finally, he said, "I meant what I wrote."
"I know."
"Did you read it?"
"Once."
He nodded.
"That's probably enough."
"It was."
His eyes dropped.
"Is Corbin on tour?"
There was no jealousy in the question.
At least none I could hear.
"Yes."
"You two together?"
I considered telling him it was none of his business.
It was.
But I no longer needed every answer to be a boundary demonstration.
"We're figuring it out."
Sterling gave a faint smile.
"He always scared me."
"I know."
"Not because he was your ex. Not really."
"I know that now too."
He looked toward the deputy, then back at me.
"I used to think if Corbin came back into your life, everything would unravel."
"It did."
He winced.
"Yeah."
"But not because he took me from you."
"I know."
"You lost me before I walked into that dance studio. You just didn't know it yet."
He nodded slowly.
His eyes filled.
"Do you think there's any version of this where, years from now, you forgive me?"
There it was.
The question I had known would eventually come.
I thought about Tegan.
About Adrian.
About Donna.
About the ring.
About the photograph taken across the street.
About the man who had kissed my forehead after I already knew he was lying.
"Maybe," I said.
Sterling looked surprised.
"Maybe?"
"Forgiveness isn't the same as access."
His face changed.
I continued.
"I may forgive you because I don't want to carry you forever. That won't mean you get to come back into my life."
A tear slipped down his cheek.
He wiped it away awkwardly with his cuffed hands.
"Fair."
The deputy stepped closer.
"Time."
Sterling nodded.
Then he looked at me one last time.
"I am sorry."
This time, I believed him.
That did not change the ending.
"I know," I said.
He waited, perhaps for more.
There was no more.
The deputy guided him away.
Sterling took three steps, then turned.
"One thing."
The deputy sighed but allowed it.
Sterling looked at me.
"You were never the safe choice because you were less alive. I was just too afraid to live honestly."
My throat tightened.
Then he was gone.
I stood in the hallway until the door closed behind him.
Outside, my phone rang.
Corbin.
I answered.
"Hey."
His voice came through a storm of backstage noise.
"How did it go?"
"It's over."
He was quiet.
"You okay?"
I thought about the question.
Then I smiled.
"I think I am."
"You want to tell me about it?"
"Later. Aren't you supposed to be playing a show?"
"Soundcheck."
"Then go work."
"Bossy."
"Consistent."
He laughed.
"I come home in eighteen days."
My heart did something embarrassingly young.
"I know."
"You're counting?"
"My phone has a calendar. Don't flatter yourself."
"Seventeen days and eleven hours, actually."
I laughed.
"You are impossible."
"Historically, you like that."
"Historically, I made poor decisions."
"See you soon."
"See you soon."
I ended the call and stepped into the sunlight.
For the first time, leaving Sterling did not feel like walking away from my future.
It felt like arriving inside it.
Eighteen days later, Corbin's flight landed at 4:35 p.m.
I told myself I would not wait inside baggage claim like a woman in a romantic comedy.
I lasted seven minutes in the parking garage.
Then I went inside.
The terminal doors opened.
Passengers streamed through.
Families waved signs.
Children ran toward grandparents.
Business travelers stared at phones.
Then Corbin appeared with his guitar case over one shoulder.
He saw me.
Stopped.
Smiled.
I forgot every sensible thought I had prepared.
I walked toward him.
He dropped his duffel.
"Hi."
"Hi."
"You came inside."
"Don't make this annoying."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
I kissed him.
Right there beside a luggage carousel displaying an advertisement for dental implants.
Nothing about it was cinematic.
Everything about it was perfect.
When we pulled apart, he touched my cheek.
"Still not your boyfriend?"
I pretended to think.
"You missed my birthday."
His eyes widened.
"Your birthday is in March."
"Testing you."
"Cruel."
I smiled.
"Ask me again after dinner."
He picked up his bag.
"What kind of dinner?"
"One where you tell me whether you actually want a relationship with a woman who owns a calendar."
"Terrifying."
"And who expects phone calls when plans change."
"Oppressive."
"And who will not tour-manage your feelings for you."
"There goes my entire retirement strategy."
I took his free hand.
"Still interested?"
He looked down at our joined fingers.
Then at me.
His expression softened.
"More than I was before I left."
This time, when we walked away holding hands, there was no Sterling watching from across the room.
No Tegan.
No performance.
May you like
No revenge.
Just two people who had once loved each other badly, standing at the edge of a chance to do it better.
