Todos os capítulos de After Hours: Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

She told herself she wasn’t going to go.All morning, she stayed curled up on the couch with a half-cold cup of coffee, scrolling through the same three apps like they might distract her from her nerves. The garage wasn’t even far. Ten minutes, tops. Less if she hit green lights.But for a while, it felt impossibly far away.Because if she went… it meant something.It meant she believed him.Believed there was a reason he’d left that bay door open. That maybe, finally, they were on the edge of something real—messy or not.It meant she was willing to give him a chance.And she wasn’t sure if that was brave or stupid.But then ten o’clock hit and she was still thinking about it, still pacing her kitchen in a T-shirt and shorts, and she realized—she had to know.Even if it hurt.She didn’t dress up.Didn’t try too hard.Just jeans and a white tank, hair pulled back in a low knot, no makeup. She didn’t want to look like she was trying to prove something. She just wanted to show up, just b

Johnny's POVHe hadn’t planned to stay late.In fact, he wasn’t even sure why he showed up at all—except for the tiny hope that maybe, just maybe, Alli would be behind the bar tonight. It was Friday. Her first shift back after nearly a week of silence.He’d spent five days saying nothing.No texts.No calls.No begging.Just silence for silence.But that didn’t mean she’d left his mind. If anything, her absence carved her deeper into his thoughts. And tonight… he just wanted to see her. Just see her. Prove to himself she was real, that this hadn’t all been one long fantasy spun from sweat and guilt and late-night what-ifs.So he showed up at The Hollow a little after nine, trying to look like it was just another Friday.It wasn’t.He sat in his usual seat, heart in his throat, and waited.But she wasn’t there.The girl behind the bar wasn’t Alli. Blonde, tall, maybe twenty-five, and clearly new to the crowd. She poured drinks like she was filling orders at a fast food joint—quick, no

She shouldn’t have gone back inside.The music was too loud. The air too thick. Her stomach twisted from too much tequila, too much regret, too many feelings she thought she’d buried hours ago. Her friends were still at the booth, one deep in some guy’s lap, the other halfway to blackout.Alli stood there like a ghost of herself.Wobbly on her heels, numb in all the wrong places, replaying the way Johnny looked at her outside like she was both his punishment and his prayer.She shouldn’t have come back in.She should’ve gone home.She should’ve—The door swung open again.She didn’t have to turn around.She felt him.Johnny.The way the bar went quiet for half a beat when he stepped in like a storm that decided not to wait anymore.He moved through the crowd like it parted just for him—tall, broad, wearing that old leather jacket that still smelled like motor oil and cedar smoke and a thousand bad decisions.She tried to walk.She really did.She made it maybe three steps toward the b

He was elbows deep under the hood of an old Ford pickup when his phone started buzzing on the workbench.Again.And again.At first, he ignored it. It was Friday morning—calls meant bad brakes or blown hoses. But by the third buzz in under two minutes, something twisted in his gut.He wiped his hands on a rag and grabbed the phone.3 new messages.Rick:Bro. You see Layla’s Instagram?Jules (from the bar):Damn. So that’s why she was acting weird last week. You good?Sara (mutual acquaintance):So… uh… Layla really did it, huh?He frowned.Swiped to open Instagram.And froze.There it was.Layla Williams – @LaylaLuxe_A full-face selfie. Flawless. Not a tear in sight. Glossy lips. Sunglasses. The kind of photo you post when you want to look sad but untouchable.The caption made his jaw tighten.“Sometimes the hardest thing to do is walk away from a life that no longer fits the woman you’re becoming. After years of silence, I’m choosing myself. Separation isn’t failure—it’s freedom. #F

Alli’s POVThe door clicked shut behind him, soft and final.Johnny stood there just inside her apartment, the tension in his shoulders shifting—not gone, but looser. Different. Like maybe he could finally exhale.Alli didn’t say a word.She couldn’t.Her heart was still lodged somewhere between her chest and her throat, choking her with every heavy beat.He’d just blocked Layla. Right in front of her. No hesitation.And now he stood there, in her space, eyes locked on hers like there was no one else in the world.“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, stepping closer. “I just needed…”His voice faded, rough and unfinished.But his eyes?His eyes said the rest.She swallowed hard. “You just needed what?”His hand came up—hesitating for a second—then brushed a piece of hair back from her cheek. His fingers lingered there, warm and calloused, and she swore she stopped breathing.“This,” he said. “I needed this.”And then he kissed her.Not soft.Not tentative.He kissed her like