Page 81 of On the Breakaway

Then voices sound from the hallway outside.

We both jolt backward like kids being caught with their hands in the cookie jar. I drag a hand through my hair, picking back up the case of beer.

She straightens, all softness disappearing as she points her usual glare back in my direction. “I’m serious, Grayson. I want them back.”

“If you want them, Chaos,” my eyes drag slowly down her body before returning to her face, “you’ll have to come get them.”

She glares at me like she wants to stab me and storms back into the house.

When the door slams behind her, I drop my head back against the wall.

It’s like she’s a drug. I know she’s a bad idea. The kind that burns your life down while you convince yourself you’re in control.

I’m still sitting here thinking about taking another hit.

17

Avery

By midnight, Wyatt’s house looks thoroughly wrecked.

The music has lowered to a lazy background hum, and empty bottles crowd every counter. Someone is asleep face-down on Wyatt’s sectional while half the hockey team argues about whether cereal counts as soup, which is surprisingly a very hot topic.

All night, I’ve bounced from conversation to conversation without having to face Grayson again. That doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed him, though.

I’ve watched him refill drinks, clean up spills, take plates from people’s hands, and make sure Wyatt doesn’t completely disappear into the woods to avoid hosting his own party.

Every time I accidentally look at him, he’s doing something… considerate. It’d be easier to ignore if it weren’t the exact opposite of what I expected.

Has he always been this way?

I’m leaning against the back door, talking to Liam while he explains why men should not be trusted if they own more than one chain necklace.

“It’s a character flaw,” he says seriously.

“You say that while wearing two rings.”

“That’s fashion. It’s different.”

I snort into my drink.

“So then this guy says to me,” Liam continues dramatically, “bro, crypto is about community…”

The back door slides open.

Sloane pokes her head inside, eyes landing on me.

“Avery.”

Her tone makes me straighten. “What?”

“I need help.”

“With?”

“Harper.” She starts dragging me toward the back door.

Liam raises his beer behind us. “Thoughts and prayers.”