The street outside the arena is busy, lined with shops and restaurants. It smells like coffee and that bakery across the way that always has a line out the door. People wander in little clusters, jackets open, sunglasses on.
We turn the corner onto a block I know by heart. I have jogged this route a hundred times. I have never had my feet stop this hard before.
My body just shuts down.
One second I am walking. The next, I am a statue on the sidewalk.
Dex takes another step before my lack of movement trips him. He stumbles. “What the fuck, Bryce?”
I do not answer. I cannot.
Because through the big front window of the corner café, I see Annabelle.
She is at a table by the glass. Her hair is pulled back, a few strands falling around her face. She is in one of those soft sweaters she likes, the kind that makes her look unfairly cozy.
Across from her sits Mark Cummings.
Even from here I recognize him. Sharp jaw, careful hair, that polished smile that never quite reaches his eyes.
My stomach drops to the sidewalk.
Colby follows my gaze and goes still. “Oh, shit.”
Dex squints. “Is that… yeah. That's him.”
And right now he is sitting across from Annabelle like they're on a date.
Mark leans forward, elbows on the table. His hands move as he talks, animated, almost pleading. His face is soft in a way that looks painfully familiar.
Annabelle’s shoulders are straight, chin lifted. Her fingers are fidgety.
From where I am standing, I can’t see her eyes. I can only see the two of them together.
The noise on the street fades. All I can hear is my own heartbeat in my ears.
“She can talk to whoever she wants,” I say. The words scrape on the way out.
Dex glances at me. “Yeah. She can. Still do not like his face, though. He has a very punchable face.”
“I agree,” Colby says. “Deeply punchable.”
Eli steps up beside us, following our line of sight. “Oh. Wow. Okay. That is a plot twist.”
Inside the café, Mark reaches across the table.
His hand closes over Annabelle’s.
I feel that contact like a punch to my ribs.
Annabelle does not yank away. Not immediately. She goes still, like she is bracing.
My brain floods with worst case scenarios. Maybe she misses him. Maybe this is her closure and his second chance rolled into one.
I hate that the thought even exists in my head. I hate how much I believe it might be possible, just for a second.
“Do we go in there?” Dex asks, voice low.
“No,” I say.
