Page 170 of Shots & Echoes

And I needed her to hate me.

Because if she hated me, she’d let go. She’d move on. She’d stop clinging to something that was always destined to ruin her.

I ran a hand through my hair, tugging hard at the strands, as the words I’d have to say formed in my mind like a script I was rehearsing for my own execution.

“You need to focus on your game.”

“You’re getting too distracted.”

“This was never serious.”

Each sentence felt like a blade to my ribs, but I would say them, anyway. I would watch the light in her eyes flicker, watch her walls slam into place, and I would take it. I would let her break me.

Because the alternative?

Was watching her lose everything she’d worked for because of me.

A bitter laugh scraped its way up my throat. She’d probably run to Langley after this. And I’d have to watch, wouldn’t I? Watch her try to replace what we had with someone easier. Someone who didn’t come with baggage and broken edges.

It would kill me.

But it would be for the best.

I inhaled sharply, pushing down the ache threatening to claw its way to the surface.

Love was never meant to be easy for me.

It had never come without bloodshed.

And this?

This would be my final sacrifice.

I stared at my phone, thumb hovering over the screen, hesitation clawing at the edges of my resolve. Just do it. Before I could think better of it, I typed the words:

Come over.

The second I hit send, my chest tightened, my mind already second-guessing itself. This was a mistake. Or maybe it wasn’t. Either way, it was too late.

The response came faster than I expected, my screen lighting up with her reply:

On my way.

A sharp exhale left my lips as I dragged a hand through my hair. Relief? Dread? Maybe both.

Minutes passed in slow motion, my body wound tight as I waited. I paced. I ran a hand over my face, trying to ground myself against the suffocating weight pressing down on my chest.What the fuck are you doing?

When the knock came, it was soft—hesitant, like she was giving me an out. But there were no outs left.

I opened the door.

Iris stepped inside, and for a moment, everything else faded. The home felt warmer with her in it, the tension in my body unraveling just enough to make me think,Maybe we can have this. Maybe we can keep it.

Her smile was soft—relieved—like she had been waiting for me to let her back in. And for a split second, I wanted to believe in that. I wanted to sink into it.

But I knew better.

Because even as she moved closer, even as her presence settled around me like something safe and familiar, reality clawed at the back of my mind. This was temporary. This was borrowed time.

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