It’s been four days since I put him on his ass, and my knuckles are still bruised enough to remind me it actually happened.Every time I flex my hand, it hurts.
Jace has been trying to talk to me ever since, cornering me in hallways, blowing up my phone, and acting confused about why I won’t give him the time of day.
Honestly, I’ve had enough listening to his bullshit voice.He said what he did and fucked everything up.End of story.
I’m home alone, slumped on the couch, phone glowing in my hand as I scroll through nothing, trying to drown out the silence that’s louder than anything.
All I want is to talk to Red.Tell her it's not what she thinks.I’ve tried everything—texted her more times than I want to admit, called until it just rang out and went straight to voicemail.I swear to God, I would’ve walked the highway barefoot if I thought it would make her hear me out.
But she won’t.
And that’s on me.
I hate myself in a way I didn’t know was possible.This isn’t the usual guilt or regret I can fuck away or joke about.For the first time in my life, I don’t want to be Reece the player.I don’t want the looks or the rumors or the easy girls who don’t ask questions.I don’t want another mouth on my cock or another warm body that doesn’t matter.
I just want Red.
It fucking hurts in that rip-your-chest-open, can’t-breathe, punch-to-the-gut kind of way, because she doesn’t want me anymore.
And I can’t blame her for it.
Because if I were her?
I’d hate me too.
The knock hits hard.It’s sharp.With no patience behind it—just fists and fuck-you energy—I haul myself off the couch, already pissed and muttering curses under my breath.If that’s Jace, he can go choke on his own ego.One more word out of his mouth, and I’ll make sure he never says a fucking word to me again.
I yank the door open, prepared to unload.
But it’s not Jace.
It’s Noah.
And my chest hurts the second I see what he’s holding.
My jacket.
The same one I wrapped around her that night at the party.She was freezing, but too damn proud to admit it.Arms crossed, nose pink, teeth probably chattering behind that stubborn silence.She wore it like she didn’t need it, but, fuck, she looked good in it.Too good.I remember thinking I wanted her to keep it.Thought maybe it meant something if she did.
Guess not.
Now it’s back in Noah’s hands, folded in a way that feels final, as if she couldn’t bear to see it in her room for another second.
Noah doesn’t say a word.He simply holds it out, and I take it, with every part of me screaming at the weight of what it means.
She’s fucking done.
I take the jacket, fingers curling around it as if it still holds a trace of her.It doesn’t.It’s just fabric now.Cold.Weightless.
When I step back, Noah walks in without asking.He heads straight for the couch, drops onto it, legs sprawled, arms draped over the back.I follow more slowly, dragging my feet, each step a reminder of what’s missing, as if my body has forgotten how to move without her.
Noah doesn’t say anything at first.Just watches as I sit down on the couch beside him.He shifts in his seat before reaching into the front pocket of his hoodie.
He pulls out something small, clenched in his fist, then slowly opens his hand, fingers uncurling one by one.
My ring is sitting in his palm.
The one I used to spin on my thumb when my thoughts got too loud.When I couldn’t sit still, breathe, or deal with the way she made everything feel too real.
