Page 147 of Shots & Echoes

Then I saw him.

Chris.

His voice drifted down the hall, casual as ever, too fucking easy. My jaw locked so tight it ached as I watched him slide into her space like he belonged there. Like he had any fucking right.

And then she laughed.

Not the kind that lit up a room. Not the kind that made my chest tighten for all the right reasons. This one was forced. Thin and hollow.

But it didn’t matter. Because she still gave it to him.

Something dark and primal coiled inside me, burning through my veins like wildfire. He didn’t know. He didn’t know how her body had fit against mine, how she had gasped my name like it was the only thing that mattered. He didn’t know how she tasted.

And the worst part? He thought he could have her.

I saw it in the way he leaned in just a little too close, in the way his stupid, easy grin never faltered. My fingers twitched at my sides, itching to wipe that smug look off his face.

But then Iris glanced at me.

Just for a second.

And I saw it—the way her posture tensed, the slight hesitation in her movements. She wasn’t choosing him because she wanted to. She was choosing him because she thought she had to.

I turned away, the sound of their conversation a dull roar in the back of my head. My pulse hammered as I forced myself to breathe, to shove the anger down before it consumed me completely.

I was losing her.

I fucking knew it.

I wanted to stop her. To grab her wrist, pull her into me, and make her listen.

“Just come on,” I’d say. “We’ll figure this out.”

But as she turned away, the words lodged in my throat like a blade. Her shoulders squared like she was preparing for a hit—one I couldn’t shield her from. And when she smiled for Chris, easy and practiced, like the last few weeks had meant nothing—fuck, that cut deeper than I was ready for.

I should’ve done something. I should’ve pulled her back. Demanded she look at me the way she used to. But what if I did? What if I forced her to choose, laid everything bare between us—the wreckage we’d created, the pull we couldn’t fight—and she still turned away?

What if, when given the choice, she didn’t choose me?

My fists clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms as jealousy twisted inside me, dark and ugly. Chris stood there, all easy confidence, offering something I never could. Something safe. And what if that was what she wanted? What if she decided that the thrill of us wasn’t worth the fallout?

I wouldn’t blame her.

But I sure as hell wouldn’t forgive her either.

Rage boiled in my gut—not just at Chris, but at myself, at this entire goddamn situation. At her. For pretending. For acting like what we had wasn’t real.

If love was supposed to be easy, I wouldn’t have wanted her in the first place.

And maybe she’d convinced herself that I was the problem. That I was nothing more than chaos wrapped in a jersey, something she could walk away from without a second thought.

But I wasn’t that easy to forget.

And if she thought she could erase me just like that?

She was fucking wrong.

I toreout of the parking lot, tires screeching against pavement, hands gripping the wheel so tight my knuckles went white. My pulse pounded like a war drum in my ears, drowning out the hum of the engine, the quiet night, the rational thoughts I should’ve been holding onto.

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