He promised me he wouldn’t drink. Swore he wouldn’t be like his dad.
Either it was all a lie or he decided drinking was worth losing me. I choke on another sob. Lydia’s hand rubs circles between my shoulder blades, the only thing keeping me from unraveling completely.
Because I wasn’t enough.
I’mneverenough.
My fingers dig into my skin, half to hold myself together and half to feel something—anything—other than this. My chest aches like it’s filled with nothing but splintered glass.
I’m never going to be enough for someone.
The words pulse behind my eyes, over and over until they’re the only truth I know.
The shouting spikes. Landon’s voice cracks through the room, sharp and commanding. “Both of you—enough.”
He steps between them, broad shoulders blocking Wesley from taking another step. His gaze is locked on Lane, voice low and hard. “You’re drunk, you’re out of line, and you don’t talk to her like that. Ever. Do you hear me?” He flicks his eyes to Wesley before turning back to Lane. “You put your hands on her. That’s it—you’re done. Out.”
Lane shoves him off and steps forward, getting in Wesley’s face. “If you wanna taste how sweet she is, you’ll just have to wait your fuckin’—“
The crunch of bone is brutal and final. Lane drops, crumpling to the ground, the floor shaking under the weight of him.
One step. Wesley took only one step before striking his fist into Lane’s face.
Silence swallows the room. Cards are frozen, Lydia pauses half a step forward, and Landon’s hand is still suspended where it tried to hold Wesley back. Lane’s ragged breath hisses through his teeth, his blood hitting the floor in soft, ugly drops.
Wesley’s eyes scan over me and his confession pushes into me like pressing on a bruise.It should’ve been me.
And I think, just for a heartbeat, maybe it wouldn’t hurt like this if it had been him. Maybe.
I feel like such a fool. A hopeless fucking fool.
My gaze falls to Lane and my bottom lip trembles. He’s on his knees, groaning, one hand clutching his nose as blood runs down his wrist. I search for the boy who asked me to dance, who whispered endlessly that he wanted to savor me, to make me feel special.
He’s not here.
Maybe he never was.
One month.
For one month, I was happy.
I had a boyfriend—arealone.
I felt wanted. Desired. Loved.
Thought I hadeverythingI’d ever wanted.
And now it’s gone.
The room feels too big and too small all at once. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. My feet are rooted to the floor and I press my palms flat against the wall, grounding myself, trying to feel anything that’s real.
Sounds blur together: Landon’s low, sharp warning as he pulls Lane off the floor. Lydia’s whispered curse. Wesley’s steadying breaths. Emmett mutters something I can’t make out as Lane groans again, staggering to his feet and clutching his bleeding nose—so much blood.
Wesley’s fists are clenched at his sides, his chest heaving and eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing he can see.
But I can’t move. I’m caught between wanting to scream and needing to curl into a ball and cry.
The weight of it all presses down, thick and heavy. I shut my eyes against the spinning room, trying to slow the thudding in my ears.
