Thehallwayspinsbeneathmy feet, closing in, suffocating me until all the air is scooped out of my lungs and I can’t breathe.
Lane’s words echo through me, slicing again and again like he’s still spitting them in my face.
I can’t bring myself to look at him—at any of them. My eyes are cemented to the floor, the scuffed toe of my boot, the splatter of Lane’s blood, Wesley’s shadow as he shifts closer.
Landon’s voice is low and firm when he says it’s time to call it a night.
Lane mutters something under his breath, spitting more blood onto the floor and turning away, his footsteps fading down the hallway.
I don’t take a full breath until he’s gone.
The quiet that follows is thick. My chest burns from holding everything in—like the stupid flicker of hope I’d let myself feel tonight. All of it is collapsing in on itself.
Finally, I lift my eyes, slowly dragging them up from the floor. Wesley is the first one I see—he’s the only one I see. The rigid set of his shoulders. The way his fists clench and unclench at his sides. His jaw is tight, his dark gaze fixed on his bloody hand. I can feel the guilt rolling off him in waves.
Landon shifts on his feet, eyes flicking between me and Wesley. He doesn’t say a word, but I still feel the weight of what he’s not asking. Finally, he gives me a short nod and tips his head toward the main room.
When we step out of the hallway, the air shifts again.
Lydia and Emmett are waiting near the door, flushed and grinning, Lydia’s laugh carrying through the entire bar. Emmett’s arm is draped around her shoulders, both of them so blissfully unaware, so whole. I feel shattered just looking at them.
“Hey! There you guys are!” Lydia beams. Her words are slurred, soft, and warm. She has no idea. Neither of them do.
It takes everything I have left to scrape together a smile.
Landon claps Emmett on his back, squeezing his shoulder and slipping easily back into his carefree role. He drapes his arm around Lydia’s shoulders as the three of them walk out.
Wesley steps past me, holding the door open without a word. I stumble slightly, drunk enough that the world is tilted and fuzzy, but not enough to forget.
The weight of Wesley’s hand around my waist steadies me and I give in to the urge to lean into his touch. But he quickly pullsaway as we emerge in the parking lot, the night air hitting me like ice on my fevered skin.
I can’t tell if I want to scream or laugh or cry. Probably a combination of all three.
They didn’t see Lane in the hallway.
They don’t know what happened in the bathroom. The things Wesley whispered in my ear. I still feel the ghost of his hands on me like they’re branded there—and I’m just supposed to pretend everything is fine.
The ride back is silent and, as if this night couldn’t get any worse, Lydia, Emmett, and Landon all climbed into the back seat, leaving me no choice but to ride up front—right next to Wesley.
His hands tighten on the wheel. I can see it in the corner of my vision—the way his knuckles go white, the way his chest rises like he wants to say something, the way he swallows it back down instead.
I hate that I let Lane get to me. I hate the way his words haven’t stopped replaying on a loop in my head.
Do they get to use you all at the same time?
I’m mortified. He took my worst fears and brought them to life. Is that how Wesley sees me? He’s just getting his turn, and then he’ll toss me to the next in line?
Shame curls hot and bitter in my stomach. Because even worse than Lane’s words is the silence coming from the driver’s seat.
He hasn’t said one word since we left the hallway. I’m desperate for him to break the silence and say something.
God, Ineedhim to.
Need him to tell me Lane was full of shit. To tell me this thing between us is real and not a mistake. To tell me I matter to him.
But he doesn’t. He just turns up the music like it will magically drown out everything else.
The truck hums along the dark road, headlights slicing through the night. My heart aches as I press my forehead to the cool glass of the window, willing myself not to cry.
