“Fine then.” Her chin lifts, defiant. “Say it.”
The challenge in her voice drags me backward in time—beer, music, her mouth on some idiot, my jealousy turning me mean.
My throat burns.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
Sloane stills like she didn’t expect the direct hit.
I push anyway. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. After that party.”
Her eyes narrow. “The attention comment.”
I nod once, jaw tight. “Yeah.”
“You meant it,” she whispers.
“I did,” I admit, and honesty tastes like blood. “And I didn’t.”
Her brows knit. “What does that even mean?”
It means I wanted to hurt you because I couldn’t admit I wanted you.
I take a shaky breath.
“I said it to hurt you,” I confess.
Sloane flinches like the words land physically.
Guilt claws up my chest. “But I didn’t say it because you deserved it,” I add fast. “I didn’t say it because I actually thought you were trying too hard for attention.”
“Then why?” she demands, voice hoarse.
I force it out. “Because I was jealous.”
The room goes razor-thin.
Sloane’s lips part. “Jealous?”
“Of him,” I say. “Of anyone who could touch you. Of anyone who could make you laugh and not have to earn it.” My breath shakes. “Jealous that you were trying to get my attention, and I—” I swallow hard. “I wanted it.”
Sloane’s eyes flash, wet and furious. “So you punished me.”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “I did.”
Her voice drops to something small and devastating. “You made me feel disgusting.”
The words punch straight through me.
“Because you wanted me,” she adds, quieter, like she hates that it’s true.
My throat tightens so hard it hurts. “I know.”
“You don’t get to say that like it’s romantic,” she whispers.
“It’s not,” I say, voice breaking. “It’s ugly. It’s the worst part of me. But it’s the truth.”
Silence hangs between us, heavy as a storm cloud.
