“I want you to stop saying ‘good luck.’” Chappell reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Sabrina’s face. “I want you to admit that luck has nothing to do with it. You’re just scared.”
Sabrina closed her eyes. For a second, she let herself feel it—the want, the grief, the stupid, stubborn love she’d been choking down for months. Then she opened her eyes and stepped back.
And Sabrina stood alone in the vanilla-and-burnt-sugar silence, wondering why that phrase finally sounded like a goodbye she wasn’t ready to say. Sabrina Carpenter Good Luck- Babe- -Chappell...
Chappell didn’t flinch. She just smiled—sad, knowing, infuriating. “Good luck, Babe.”
That was the problem. Sabrina never asked her to leave. Not the first time, not the fifth, not the tenth. She just kept pretending that Chappell’s hands on her skin didn’t feel like coming home. She kept telling herself it was just a phase, just a fling, just something she’d grow out of. “I want you to stop saying ‘good luck
Sabrina finally looked up. Her eyes were calm, but her jaw was tight. “Bold assumption.”
But here they were. Again.
“No,” Chappell agreed, voice dropping. “You’re the one who kept saying good luck, babe like a curse. Like I was the one who’d end up alone.”
Chappell tilted her head. “You haven’t asked me to leave yet.” For a second, she let herself feel it—the
“You look busy,” Chappell said.
“What do you want me to say?” Sabrina whispered.