Through the back windows, I could see them on the deck—Tyler, Remy, a couple others I recognized from this morning. And Liam.
Of course Liam.
He had his arm around a girl—brunette, laughing at something, her hand on his chest. They were both flushed and celebrating something. As I watched, she jumped up and he caught her, spinning her around, both of them grinning like they’d just won the lottery.
Beer pong. They’d just won at beer pong.
Something sharp twisted in my chest.
She kissed him. Quick, happy. His hand found the small of her back, holding her close.
Stop looking. Just stop.
But I couldn’t. I watched them through the window—watched the easy way he touched her, the way she fit against his side. The way he looked at her with something warm and unguarded.
The jealousy was irrational. Childish. I had no right to it.
And still it burned.
This is what needs to happen. He’s moved on and you need to move on.
I forced myself to look away and took a long pull from my beer. The alcohol tasted sour.
Cut it off. Sever the connection. Let him go.
“Come on,” Marcus said, already heading toward the back door. “Let’s go say hi.”
“Marcus—”
But he was already pushing through, and the rest of the Kingswell guys followed. I trailed behind, every instinct screaming at me to turn around, to leave, to be anywhere but here.
The back porch was massive—probably thirty feet across, with string lights crisscrossed overhead. People clustered around a keg, around the beer pong tables, bodies pressed close in the cool night air. Music slightly quieter out here but still loud enough that you had to raise your voice.
Marcus walked right up to where the Riverside crew was standing.
“Well, well,” he said, that edge in his voice I knew too well. “If it isn’t Riverside’s finest.”
Tyler’s smile faded. “Marcus.”
“Hell of a race today,” Marcus continued, his tone just on the wrong side of friendly. “Really impressive. Especially that freshman eight. You guys got a good program over there. Real... scrappy.”
Don’t do this.But I said nothing.
“We good here?” Remy asked, stepping forward. He was shorter than Marcus by a good eight inches, but something about his posture said he wasn’t backing down.
“Oh, we’re great. Just making conversation. That cool with you?” Marcus asked.
I put my hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “Marcus. Let’s just—“
He shook off my hand.
“What? I’m being nice.” He took a sip of his beer, eyes still on Remy. “I mean, it’s gotta feel good, right? Big wins. Freshman eight crushing us. Moore here destroying Harrington. Huh?”
Liam’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything. Liam and Marcus had history—bad history from Brackett Lake. I could still remember the heat of Liam’s chest under my palm when I’d stopped him from going after Marcus that day at the marina, the way his whole body had been coiled to strike. I could see it happening again.
Not good.
“You got something to say?” Tyler asked, moving to stand next to Remy.
