Page 51 of Shots & Echoes

I shoved my hands into my pockets, fingers twitching with the need to do something—grab her, pull her back, erase the fact that she’d ever looked at him like that. The ache in my fists wasn’t from the gym, wasn’t from any fight I’d had before. It was from this. From knowing she was with someone else.

Someone who made her laugh.

Someone who made her feel safe.

Someone who wouldn’t fucking ruin her career.

Good for her, I told myself.Smart choice.

But the words felt like acid on my tongue.

Chris Langley had always played it safe. A nice guy. A team player. The kind of guy fathers didn’t mind their daughters bringing home. He was everything I wasn’t—clean, easy, predictable. A safe bet.

And I hated him for it.

I exhaled slowly, fighting to keep my expression blank, fighting the urge to move. But then I saw it—the way his hand brushed her arm. Just a fleeting touch, but long enough to make sure I saw it.

The knot in my gut wrenched tighter.

He could have her. Could be what she needed. Could fit into her neat little world without leaving bruises behind.

And me?

I was all sharp edges and wreckage.

This was supposed to be temporary—a job, a distraction. A way to prove I could do something right for once without dragging someone else down with me.

But Iris Evans had fucked that up. She’d slipped under my skin, twisting things around until I felt raw and exposed, like she’d reached into my chest and left her mark on the inside of my ribs.

She deserved better.

Better than me.

Better than a guy whose name was still synonymous with disgrace.

But even as that thought ran through my head, another voice whispered louder.

I want to break that perfect little world of hers.

The intensity of it startled me. Possessive. Obsessive. Too much like something dark creeping in where logic used to live.

Because it wasn’t just about wanting her. It was about wanting to see her burn for me.

And that realization? That was fucking dangerous.

I leaned against the boards, grinding my teeth, breathing slow through my nose as I watched Chris lead her away.

And for the first time in a long time, I wanted to hit something just to feel the pain.

That smile on her face—light, easy, like nothing had happened between us.

Like she hadn’t stood in front of me just yesterday, her wrist in my grip, her breath hitching, her body burning with the same tension that had been choking the air between us.

She wanted me then. I know she did.

And now?

Now she was pretending. Pretending she hadn’t felt it. Pretending she wasn’t fucking running from it.

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