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He nodded slowly, as if he’d expected this all along. “Have a good night, Jess.”
I scoffed. “What, are you dismissing me?”
“You spent the last five minutes telling me to move,” he said, turning back to get a beer of his own. “I moved. You’re right. I shouldn’t start shit. I made that mistake last time.”
Mistake.So it had just been a mistake to him.
All the furious words that wanted to pour out of my mouth wouldn’t come. My chest ached, and my hands shook. He was right, but I could never,everadmit that to him.
I walked away before any more foolish words spilled out of me. I’d ghosted them. Me. It had been my choice, and I wasn’t taking it back now.
9
Jessica
“Okay, wow, what the hell happened?” Danielle was staring at me as I sat beside her, her expression torn between horror and disbelief. “Were they bothering you, Jess? That looked so creepy, I had to tell the guys to go check on you.”
“I’m fine,” I said sharply. I was painfully aware of everyone looking at me. Alex was glaring at me from the other side of the fire, Nate and Matthew were giving me major side-eye.
But beyond the fire, on the other side of the clearing between the trees, Manson, Lucas, Vincent, and Jason were staring too.
The subject was dropped, but my brain couldn’t let it go, not even after I’d finished my drink and gotten another. My gaze was continually drawn by those four men standing in my peripheral vision. They didn’t seem to give a damn I was there anymore, but that only irritated me more.
I kept catching brief pieces of their conversations even from a distance, their voices standing out to me. I desperately wanted to know what they were saying.
Were they talking about me? God, how pathetic was I to even wonder?
I shoved myself up from my chair, cutting Danielle off in the middle of whatever she was saying. “I have to go pee. I’ll be rightback.”
I walked away from the fire, toward my parked car and then beyond it, looking for some privacy in the trees. At least it was quieter out here, save for the boom of the fireworks overhead. It gave me a chance to think.
What the hell did Manson mean, calling what we’d done a “mistake”? It shouldn’t have mattered, but what he’d said was getting under my skin. He was mad it hadn’t worked out, but so was every other guy I’d ever rejected. Why did I care?
I hurriedly did my business and cleaned up. I didn’t feel ready to go back to the bonfire and put on a fake give-no-fucks smile. I couldn’t do it. I leaned my back against one of the trees, taking a deep breath.
This was a temporary drama. I was only going to be in Wickeston for a few more months. Once Smith-Davies brought me on full time, I was out of here.
But that didn’t make me feel any better. It didn’t feel like solving the problem, only running away from it.
I tipped my head back in frustration, arms folded tightly. This was bullshit. Since when was I afraid of facing anyone and telling the truth?
Probably since Manson had made me realize thatmytruth was frightening and confusing.
There was a massive boom overhead as colorful sparks lit up the sky. The party was getting rowdy, people were shouting and there was a sound of breaking glass. Part of me wanted to sneak away and go home.
I peered around the tree as footsteps rapidly approached, gazing into the dark. It was Manson, but he hadn’t seen me yet. He stopped about ten yards away with his back to me. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily as he gripped it.
He looked frustrated. Almost anxious. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one bothered by all this.
He took his knife out of his back pocket as he stood there, idly flipping it open and closed. It was an unusual weapon, or at least I thought so. It was a butterfly knife, so the blade tucked into the handles and had to be flipped open. But Manson made it look easy, like it was second nature.
He played with it for a while without much focus, staring off into the trees. But he must have made a mistake, because when he flipped the knife around again, the blade caught his finger and sliced it open.
He hissed, and I gasped, and he immediately turned around. He slowly bent down, picking up the knife from where he’d dropped it. Blood dripped down his finger as he looked at me, his expression guarded.
“What are you doing out here?” he said.
I shrugged. “Same thing as you, I guess. Except I didn’t cut myself.”
