Page 101 of Bitter When He Begs

I don’t say anything at first. I’m too busy trying to keep my breathing even, to stop the heat that’s roaring through my chest and climbing up my throat. My fingers twitch in my sleeves, then curl into fists again. My whole body is tight, wired like I could tear this entire building apart with my bare hands and still not burn off the rage.

I sit back slowly and stare at the floor, my thoughts clawing over themselves. I try to stay rational. Try to ask questions. Try to check my tone. But the longer I sit with it, the more it hits me like aftershocks—each one worse than the last.

Liam Callahan.

I’ve smiled at him, sat next to him at parties, and joked with him at the BBQ this past weekend. I’ve heard people call him Blackthorne’s golden boy, team captain, someone you can count on, someone dependable. I never questioned it. Not once. Not even when Nate said something felt off about him.

And now?

Now I can’t even think about his name without my hands itching for violence.

“Thatmanipulative, gaslighting motherfucker,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “Hewantsyou like this.”

He drags a hand through his hair. “I know.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

Nate snorts, the sound bitter and humorless. “Yeah. That’s exactly how I felt about Luca.”

It shuts me up fast.

I blink at him, jaw clenching, and I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to pull me back from the edge before I lose it completely. But the difference is that I never knew about Luca until it was already happening.

Nate? He’s been sitting with this. Carrying it. Letting it eat at him until his ribs caved in under the pressure. And no one knew.

I shake my head. “This isn’t the same.”

“I know it’s not,” Nate agrees, dragging a hand down his face. “But the rage? The part of you that wants to destroy something because someone touched what they shouldn’t have? That part’s the same.”

I look away again, trying to wrestle it back down, but it’s there. That fury. That gut-deep protective and dangerous feeling that makes your vision blur around the edges. Nate is like a brother to me, and to know that Liam has been fucking with him has my blood boiling.

“I should’ve seen it,” I mutter. “I should’ve fucking seen it.”

“You didn’t,” he says simply. “And that’s not on you.”

I don’t know if I believe that. I don’t know what I believe right now.

All I know is Liam Callahan is lucky I’m not the kind of person who acts on impulse. Because if I was, I’d already be halfway across campus looking for his smug fucking face, ready to carve the truth into his skin with my fists.

Instead, I sit there beside Nate, still shaking, still boiling, still trying to keep my voice even, especially when he begs me not to tell Luca about this.

But one thing’s for sure—I’m never going to look at Liam the same again.

Sage

Thesun’sbrutaltoday,not hot enough to be unbearable, but just relentless enough to bake the metal bleachers and make me question why I didn’t just wait in the shade.

I’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes, knees pulled up, hoodie sleeves bunched in my fists, prescription sunglasses low on my nose as I watch the team run drills like they’re being chased.

I don’t know half the rules of football, but I’ve watched enough practices now to recognize when Luca’s in charge of the rhythm. He leads without trying to. When he barks a call, the field answers. When he moves, the defense pivots. When he pauses to say something to Coach, everyone listens.

It should be illegal for someone to look that good drenched in sweat and attitude.

He’s in compression shorts and the sleeveless practice tee he’s wearing is stuck to his chest in a way that should be classified,the fabric dragging across every ridiculous line of muscle like it’s trying to show off.

His damp hair is pushed back messily, strands falling over his forehead like some kind of moody football prince cover model. There’s a smear of sweat on his neck. I want to lick it. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, and his thighs flex under his compression gear and—God help me.

He says he’s not cocky, but his biceps are literally glistening in the sun like a thirst trap sent straight from hell. I pretend I’m not watching like a creep, but I am. Unapologetically. My man is hot as fuck.

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