My temper flares again.
“She’s not your property.”
“She’s my sister!”
“And she’s her own person,” I snap.
Amelia grabs my arm, grounding me.
“Stop,” she whispers.
Kamden looks at her one last time, hurt bleeding through the anger.
“You better not let him break you,” he says quietly.
Then he turns and walks away.
The stadium lights feel colder now.
I turn to Amelia slowly.
“You okay?” I ask.
Her eyes are glassy but steady.
“No,” she says honestly.
I slide my hand into hers.
“Neither am I,” I admit.
But I don’t let go.
NINETEEN
Amelia
I don’t remember driving home.
I remember gripping the steering wheel too tight. I remember the stadium lights shrinking in my rearview mirror. I remember the sound of Kamden’s voice. Angry, sharp, wounded, playing on repeat in my head.
You were supposed to be smarter than this.
That one hurt the most.
By the time I get to my apartment, my chest feels hollowed out.
I kick off my shoes by the door and drop my purse on the counter. The silence is deafening. No stadium noise. No Wilder’s steady voice. No adrenaline.
Just me.
And the wreckage.
I sink onto the couch and press my palms into my eyes, trying to stop the tears that won’t stop coming.
I love Wilder.
That hasn’t changed.
