Page 179 of Broken Pieces
“I want to tell Zane first.”
Her brows lift. “Oh?”
I shrug, trying to play it off. But the truth is, he’s the first person I want to tell.
Cassie’s expression softens instantly. All that sass melts off her face like butter on a hot plate. “He’ll be proud of you, too, Sky. Even if he just grunts and walks off, that’s Zane-speak for I’m fucking proud.”
“I hope so.” A smile tugs at my lips.
“You know what else I hope?” Cassie says, grinning. “That I get to be there the first time he walks in and sees you in a paper hat and apron while flipping patties.”
“Shut up.” I laugh, shaking my head.
“No, seriously. It’s gonna be the highlight of my entire year. I might film it. Could put it on TikTok. Caption it “bad boy gets emotionally wrecked over girl in food service uniform.”
I roll my eyes, but my cheeks ache from smiling.
For the first time in a while, things don’t feel so impossible.
We turn down a quieter street with empty lots and boarded-up windows.
Cassie’s in the middle of some wild rant about how soft serve machines are government-controlled sabotage when I hear footsteps behind us.
Then a voice.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Skylar.”
My stomach drops hard.
I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. Liam. That smug tone is carved into my bones from years of ignoring it.
Cassie goes rigid beside me. “Ignore them.”
I try.
But the footsteps keep coming.
Louder.
Closer.
Fast enough to make my pulse pound in my ears.
“Keep walking,” Cassie mutters.
I do.
“Not gonna say hi?” Liam calls out, with that fake fucking charm, the one he puts on when there’s an audience. “Hey, don’t walk away from us. So, you’re gonna act all stuck-up now that you’re flipping patties?”
Then another voice sounds behind me.
Bryce, the guy who’d laugh at his own dick pic, is trying to outgross the rest. “Heard they’re making her wear a tight little uniform. Bet she bends real easy over the fryer.”
Laughter follows. Not the kind that fades quickly, it’s cruel.
I grab Cassie’s hand without thinking, fingers clenched tight around hers as we pick up the pace. Our sneakers slap against the concrete, rhythm quickens, hearts thudding harder in our chests with every footfall behind us.
We cross the street without checking for traffic, instincts kicking in.
