"So," I drop into the seat next to James, letting tequila fuel the ugliness I've been swallowing all week. "This is getting pathetic, even for you."
"What is?"
"This whole . . ." I wave my hand at him, at the way he keeps checking his phone like she'll text. "Brooding mechanic routine. You haven't come out in months, and now Daphne's back for five minutes and suddenly you're too good for perfectly hot girls?"
I'm being an asshole, and I know it. But watching James pine after Daphne makes me frustrated. Because he's got the balls to put his heart on the line and risk everything. While I pushed Ivy away the second she got too close.
"This has nothing to do with—"
"Please." The word comes out sharp. Because if I'm going to be miserable, at least I can drag him down with me. "You've been whipped since freshman year. One look from Daphne Summers and you turn into . . ." I gesture at him. "Whatever this is."
"Fuck off."
"I'm just saying, she probably has some hot-shot doctor boyfriend back in Cresden." Each word is carefully chosen to hurt, because if I make his pain loud enough, I'll stop hearing Ivy's voice in myhead. "He probably drives a Tesla, and volunteers at animal shelters on weekends."
His hand tightens on his glass, and it's clear I'm taking my own cowardice out on him. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"No? Because this feels exactly like senior year. When you spent three months following her around like a lost puppy before she—"
"Don't."
"Fine." I throw back my shot, letting the burn match the self-disgust churning in my gut. "But when she leaves again—because shewillleave again—don't expect me to pick up the pieces. I'm done watching you destroy yourself over Daphne fucking Summers."
"Nobody's asking you to."
"Right. Because you're fine. Totally fine."
Just like I'm fine.
We're both so fucking fine we're choking on it.
"Drop it."
"Whatever, man. Your funeral. But those girls?" I nod toward the dance floor, where they're still putting on a show neither of us really wants to watch. "They're actually interested. And they're actually here. Unlike some people, who are probably planning their escape back to their perfect city life right now."
He escapes to the bar, and I let him go. Because I'm a shit friend tonight. Because it's easier to be bitter about his drama than admit I had everything I wanted and sabotaged it myself.
"Dance with us!" Charlie tugs at my arm, and I let myself be pulled into the crowd because at this point, I'm desperate enough to try anything.
The music hammers in my head, a generic country remix coating the room in something glossy and empty. Charlie moves against me with the ease of someone used to being watched, her friends shifting into place around us.
Ifall into the rhythm, tracing steps I once knew without thinking. Grab her hips. Pull her close. Whisper something that makes her giggle.
God, I hate myself right now.
"Your place or mine?" Charlie breathes against my ear, and something inside me splinters. Because this—this exact moment—used to be my favorite part. The tipping point.
Now it just feels like a car crash in slow motion.
"I . . ." My voice cracks, and suddenly I can't breathe. Can't pretend. Can't keep playing this part when every cell in my body is screaming that it's wrong. That everything about this night is one giant exercise in proving something I stopped believing in somewhere between sharing a room with Ivy and that damn kiss.
"Bathroom," I choke out, practically shoving her away. "Be right back."
The fluorescent lights hit different now—less exposing, more accusing. I grip the sink, water dripping from my face, and finally let myself confront the truth I've been avoiding all night. I'm not just scared of wanting Ivy. I'm terrified of who I am without her.
The door creaks open and I straighten, but my smile in the mirror looks more like a wound. Because that's what this is. The death of who I used to be, happening in real time in a bathroom while some stranger's perfume fades from my skin.
When I step back into the bar, the girls are gone. James is still at his post, guardian of the whiskey and bad decisions.
