Page 65 of Spinner's Luck

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

THE MUSIC BLARED, the bonfire crackled hotand bright, and laughter sounded all around, but it all felt muted, distant, like I was stuck in a dream I couldn’t wake from. My focus was locked on Spinner, slouched in a chair with a bottle of whiskey in his hands and Ashlynn draped all over him.

At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Spinner never came out to these bonfire parties—not since I’d been around. But there he was, and something about the way he sat, shoulders slumped, whiskey swaying in his grip, made my stomach twist painfully.

I leaned against the wall, watching from the shadows, my arms crossed tight over my chest. Anger, hurt, and something far more fragile churned inside me as I tried to make sense of it. He looked... different. Like someone I didn’t know.

Before I realized it, my feet had carried me into his line of sight.

Our eyes met, and he smirked, his gaze cold and cutting. I read him like a book, this was no accident. He was doing this on purpose, trying to hurt me.

Well, fuck this.

He wasn’t getting the satisfaction of watching me break.

“Spinner,” I said, stepping up to his side, my voice cutting through the noise, the heat of the fire scorching at my back. The conversations around us quieted instantly, all eyes turning toward us like they’d been waiting for this showdown.

His dark eyes locked onto mine, and for a second, I thought I saw something flicker in them—something raw and sad. But it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a bitter smirk.

“Well, if it ain’t the star of the shitshow,” he drawled, words dragging with just enough slur to confirm what I already knew. “You showin’ up to cause trouble, or just watch it burn?”

My jaw clenched, but I kept my voice even. “You’re drunk.”

“No shit.” He tipped the bottle toward me before taking another long swig.

Ashlynn giggled, her fingers trailing up his arm as she leaned closer, the smug look on her face grating on my already frayed nerves. Like she thought she’d won something.

“He’s not that drunk,” she purred.

I ignored her, my focus locked on him. “So, are we over, or is this just your idea of foreplay?”

His laugh was rough and bitter, cutting through the night like broken glass. “What do you think?”

“If you wanted to make a spectacle, you could’ve sold tickets. A simple ‘we’re done’ would’ve worked just fine—not that I give a damn.”

His expression darkened. Like hell he believed that.

He stood abruptly, the motion so sudden it sent Ashlynn stumbling. He loomed over me now, whiskey bottle dangling from his hand. His expression twisted with hurt, shadowed by betrayal and something that cut deeper than anger, like he was trying to hold himself together and falling apart all at once.

“That so?” he bit out through gritted teeth.

I straightened, meeting his gaze head-on. “Believe it or not, my world spun just fine before you showed up, and it’ll keep spinning long after you’re gone.”

“Really?” he snapped, yanking Ashlynn closer like she was a goddamn shield. “You think I don’t see it? The secrets, the games. You’ve been playin’ me this whole time.”

My breath caught. The accusation hit hard, mostly because he was so fucking wrong. Still, I refused to let him see it.

“Believe what you want,” I said flatly. “I’m over it. Over you.”

For a moment, he just stared at me, his jaw tight. Then, without a word, he turned to Ashlynn, pulling her against him.

“Come on,” he said loudly, voice laced with cruelty. “Let’s go somewhere private.”

Ashlynn’s face lit up like she’d just won a damn prize, and she clung to his side, throwing me a victorious glance.

My chest tightened painfully, but I stayed rooted, forcing my expression to remain cold and indifferent. As they turned to leave, I stepped forward, voice steady despite my heart thumping out of my chest.

“Hold on.”

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