Page 83 of Shut Up and Score
“That night on the app a few weeks ago,” he says, voice too even. “You said it. About how it’s easier to shut down than risk getting hurt. I didn’t understand it then. But I do now.”
The world narrows. My vision tunnels.
App.
Shut down.
You said it.
The breath catches in my throat.
No. No, no, no. Fucking no.
That’s not possible.
Unless—unless GoldenSpiral23 isn’t some shy guy behind a screen. Unless it’shim.I blink. Stare at him as though I’ve never seen him before. Or as if I’m finally seeingallof him.
Colton frowns. “What?”
I don’t answer. Because I’m pretty sure I’m going to throw up. The memory of that conversation washes over me, as my anger at him builds.
Colton doesn’t look confused. He looks steady. Controlled. Like heplannedthis. He lifts a brow, lips quirking just slightly. Is that fucking amusement?
“What?” he asks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I can’t speak. My chest is tight, my lungs have forgotten how to work. And then he says it. The final nail in the coffin. Voice casual. As if it means nothing, like it isn’t a fucking grenade.
“Maybe you’re the one that’s afraid of something real.”
The world tilts. My stomach plummets.
Because that’sword-for-word.That’s the message I didn’t respond to last night. The one that’s been haunting me, sitting there while I try to pretend I don’t care. And now it’s coming out ofhismouth. Hismother fuckingmouth. I see red.
Colton watches me. He knows exactly what he just did.
And hewantedme to know.
“You son of a bitch,” I whisper.
He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t even blink.
“You’ve been messaging me this whole time.” My voice rises, louder with each word. “You knew it was me, and youkept going.You lied.”
“I didn’t lie,” he says calmly. “I just realized it too. I didn’t know how to tell you.”
I laugh, sharp and bitter. “Oh,congratulations.This is you telling me?”
“I meant everything I said on there,” he says, stepping closer. “Everything.”
I shove him.
Hard.
He stumbles back a step, cleats scuffing the turf. His expression flickers—shock, maybe, or something worse. Something similar to guilt.
Good.
Because I’m already closing the distance.
