I trust them both. Rodriguez texted me immediately. Marnie explained. I believe every word.
But that doesn’t stop the ugly twist in my gut every time I see it. Doesn’t stop me from noticing how good they look together, how easy, how uncomplicated.
Doesn’t stop the voice in my head whispering that maybe she’d be better off with someone whose brother didn’t kill himself, someone who doesn’t have five years of guilt and trauma weighing him down, someone who can take her to dinner without worrying about career implications.
Someone easier than me.
It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid.
But knowing doesn’t make it stop.
“You good?” Dex asks, dropping into the seat next to me on the bus.
“Fine.”
“You’ve been staring at your phone for twenty minutes. That’s not fine.”
I lock my screen. “Rodriguez told me what happened. It’s nothing.”
“Then why do you look like you want to murder something?”
Because I do. Just not Rodriguez. Not Marnie.
The anger isn’t at them—it’s at the situation. At Winters who’s definitely seen this by now and is already planning how to use it. At the internet tearing Marnie apart in the comments. At myself for feeling jealous when I have no right to be.
“I’m fine,” I repeat. “Just thinking.”
“About how to destroy Winters?”
I look at him. “How’d you know?”
“Because you get this expression when you’re planning something. Like you’re solving a problem.” He leans back. “Also Brody mentioned you’ve been making calls. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what you’re doing.”
“Winters is going to use that photo. I’m making sure when he does, I have ammunition.”
“That’s very you. Turning jealousy into strategic warfare.” He grins. “It’s actually kind of healthy. Growth.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“Cap. You’ve looked at that photo a hundred times since we got on this bus. You’re jealous. You’re just channeling it into something productive instead of spiraling.”
“Fuck off.”
“There he is.” Dex stands. “Go win us a game. Then go destroy Winters.In that order.”
We’rein Dallas and I play the most focused hockey I’ve played all season.
Every shift is calculated, controlled, perfectly executed. Two assists. Zero penalties. Completely locked in.
“You’re terrifying like this,” Dex says after the second goal. “What’s going on in that head?”
“Just playing hockey.”
“That’s not ‘just’ anything. That’s you in kill mode.” He glances at me. “This about the photo?”
“This is about winning.”
But he’s not wrong. I am in kill mode.
