It waits until you're stupid enough to hope—until you've convinced yourself this time will be different—and then it shoves your face right back into the dirt.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sierra
Something's wrong.
I noticed it the second the crowd finished cheering.
The way his smile didn't reach his eyes. The way he scanned the crowd, found me, and then?—
Looked away.
Not the slow, deliberate look-away of a man trying to be discreet.
His dismissal came with barbs.
I tell myself it's the morning. The Tara post. His father's words playing on repeat for strangers. The humiliation of riding a mechanical Rudolph while his reputation bleeds out online.
Anyone would be off after that.
But this feels different.
This feels aimed.
And I don’t get a single quiet moment to check on him.
So I do what I do best even as my stomach hollows out with gnawing worry.
Click.
Roman adjusting his tie for the auction preview.
Click.
Caleb hamming it up for a group of women who look ready to drain their savings accounts.
Click.
Nolan standing in the corner, arms crossed, looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else.
Click. Click. Click.
I document everything. The staging area. The decorations. The growing crowd of women clutching numbered paddles like weapons.
Everything except Everett.
Because every time I aim my lens in his direction, he moves. Turns.
Finds somewhere else to be.
And I don't understand why.
An hour ago, we were walking side by side. My hand brushed his. I made a joke about polishing his knob and he looked at me like he wanted to finish that sentence for me.
Now he won't even meet my eyes.
What the hell happened?
