And now?
Now it’s a sideshow.
The worst part?
Josie’s gone.
I saw her face right before she slipped out. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. That look in her eyes was enough, like she didn’t recognize me anymore.
That one stings.
But how can I blame her? She doesn’t want to be in the middle of this.
This is a flashbulb.
A highlight reel.
A fucking hashtag.
I slam a plate down on the pass harder than I mean to. “Pick up on twelve!”
No one moves fast enough.
Nova’s plating like a machine, Wes is sweating bullets, and Gracie’s got this pale look like she’s one more TikToker away from throat punching someone.
And still, they keep coming.
“Is he here?”
“Can we get a picture?”
“Tell him I brought my original jersey!”
Some jackass is narrating a livestream over the pass. “Yeah, it looks like Knox isn’t doing so well now that his little girlfriend is gone.”
I drop my knife.
Pick it up.
Breathe.
Focus.
But my hands are tight. My skin itches with the heat of it, the wrongness of all of this. This isn’t what I came here to do. It sure as hell isn’t what Josie signed up for.
I bark out, “Wes, take over for five.”
He nods and doesn’t ask. I’m grateful for that.
I shove through the back door and let the cold hit me like a slap.
The air is crisp, sharp enough to cut. I bend forward, hands on my knees, and try to remember how to breathe.
It wasn’t supposed to go like this.
I kick the dumpster hard. Metal clatters against brick. It doesn’t help.
I scrub a hand down my face and try to clear the buzzing in my head.
