Across the room, my dad laughs at something one of the players says, his arm clapping another on the back. He doesn’t see me. Not yet.
But he will.
And when he does, nothing will ever be the same.
Chapter Three
Triston
The music is too loud, the laughter too sharp, and the strobe lights scattered through the house feel like a personal insult. I don’t belong in this crowd. I’ve never liked parties, not really—not unless Andrew dragged me into one, grinning like an idiot, insisting I lighten up for once in my life.
But Andrew isn’t here.
He hasn’t been for a year. And the only reason I’m here tonight is because of her.
Sammie Michael.
From the shadows of Wayne’s living room, pressed back against a wall of fake cobwebs and orange streamers, I let my eyes follow her. Every move. Every flick of her hair, thenervous sweep of her hands across her costume, the shy way she pretends to laugh when a group of teammates pass her. She doesn’t know how bad she gives herself away. She doesn’t realize I can read her like a book.
She’s searching for me.
Even if she doesn’t admit it to herself, every tilt of her head, every glance at the darker corners of the room is for me.
And God, I replay that hallway moment from earlier like it’s seared into my veins. The way her breath caught when I leaned in, the tremor in her body when I whispered against her ear. The shiver that wasn’t just fear—it was craving. I saw it. I felt it. She might try to convince herself she doesn’t want this, but her body doesn’t lie.
The burn in my chest won’t settle. I drag a hand down my face and push away from the wall, weaving through the crowd toward the makeshift bar Wayne set up in the dining room. Plastic cups, cheap beer, bottles of whiskey and vodka. I pour two fingers of bourbon into a red cup, throw it back, and welcome the fire in my throat.
I need it.
Because if I don’t cool the storm inside me, I’ll do something reckless.
“Knight!” Someone shouts behind me, clapping my shoulder hard enough to make me stagger. It’s Burke, one of the defensemen, grinning in his skeleton mask. “Didn’t think you’d show. You look like you’re at a funeral, man.”
I force a smirk. “Just getting started.”
He laughs and moves on, oblivious. I take another sip, slower this time, eyes snapping back to where Sammie stands by the fireplace. She’s in conversation with one of her friends, a girl from school I vaguely recognize, but her body language is closed off. Arms folded tight. Eyes darting, again and again, toward the hallway I’m standing in.
That’s when it happens.
A guy steps up to her. Not a teammate, just some college kid Wayne must’ve let in dressed in a vampire cape. Fake fangs flashing as he leans too close to her. I see his lips move. I don’t have to hear the words to know what he’s saying:Dance with me.
My chest seizes.
She shakes her head. I see it—the quick decline, her hand waving it off. She’s polite, but firm. The guy tries again, leaning closer.
And that’s when I nearly snap.
The bourbon sloshes in my cup as my hand tightens. Heat floods me, a boil rising fast, too fast, until it feels like my skin might rip open. My jaw locks, teeth grinding, and I can’t breathe past the roar in my head.
How dare he?
How dare he ask her, touch her, evenlookat her like she’s available?
She’s not. She’s mine.
I grip the edge of the counter until the cheap wood creaks. Every instinct in me screams to cross the room, shove him against the wall, and make sure he never forgets who Sammie belongs to. I want his blood on the floor, his eyes wide with fear as he realizes the mistake he made.
But I don’t move. Not yet.
