Page 12 of Mine To Hunt

Ryan throws his hands up. “Not feeling well?” He snaps, pacing a tight circle in front of the coffee table. His voice bounces off the walls. “That’s your excuse?”

I flinch.

“You could’ve at least informed me, Iris!”

“I know…”

“Do you have any idea how that looks?” He cuts in, pointing at himself. “Me sitting there like some chump while you’re off doing whatever.”

“I wasn’t…”

“An hour.” He continues, his voice rising. “I waited an hour.”

He drags a hand through his hair, pacing again.

“I checked my watch every five minutes, thinking maybe you got held up in class or something.”

My fingers twist together.

“But nothing.” He says bitterly. “No call. No message.” He stops pacing and looks straight at me. “So what exactly am I supposed to think?”

His words lash out, each one landing like a slap, and I flinch hard, my body curling inward as the volume makes my ears ring. The fear from the texts surges back, mixing with this fresh wave of guilt and hurt, because part of me knows he's right. I should've said something. But the rest of me is too raw to defend it properly.

“I know.” I whisper. “I messed up.”

My voice trembles as I slowly uncurl from the couch, reaching a hand toward him.

“It was stupid. The stress from classes and… everything else.” I swallow. “Please, Ryan. Just sit down. We can talk about it.”

But he doesn’t sit. He stops pacing instead and glares down at me, his chest rising and falling as he tries, and fails, to rein in his temper.

“Talk?” He says sharply.

My hand slowly lowers.

“That’s all you ever want to do lately. Talk about your feelings. Your assignments. Like the world’s ending over a bad grade.”

“That’s not what I…”

“I waited, Iris.” His voice cuts through mine. “I sat there looking like a fool.”

The room feels smaller somehow.

“You owe me an explanation.” He says coldly. A beat passes. “Not excuses.”

The accusation stings deeper than it should, stirring the anger I've been swallowing all day, and before I can stop myself, I grab my phone from the cushion beside me, pulling up the photo that arrived this afternoon. My thumb swipes to it, the image filling the screen.

His arm around that woman's shoulders, her hand on his knee, that easy smile on his face. I thrust it toward him, my voice cracking with the hurt I've been carrying.

"Then explain this, Ryan. What is this? Some random photo of you getting cozy with another girl? Because if we're talking about looking like fools, this makes me one."

His eyes widen for a split second, surprise flashing across his face before it hardens into defensiveness, his jaw clenching as he snatches the phone from my hand. He stares at the screen, scrolling like he can delete the evidence with a glare.

When he looks back up, his voice drops low and sharp. “Where did you get this?”

His eyes flash with anger. “Who sent it to you? This is bullshit. Probably some edited crap from a jealous extra on set trying to stir drama.”

I push myself to my feet. My legs are unsteady, but the betrayal that’s been festering since I first saw the photo keeps me upright.