That earns a round of laughter. Quinn chuckles softly from his spot beside Daniel, and I swear they both try a little too hard not to touch. It’s subtle—the way Quinn leans just slightly closer when Daniel speaks, the way Daniel’s foot taps against Quinn’s. I don’t call it out. I recognize the signs of a secret not ready to be shared.
We all carry them, in one way or another.
I let the rhythm of the group settle around me—Eli arguing about darts strategy with Max, Colton retelling a story that gets more ridiculous every time he drinks, Will offering running commentary as though he’s announcing the Olympic games. It’s comfortable. Familiar. But there’s a buzz beneath my skin that doesn’t quite go away.
Because I saw him.
Because he’s here.
Because I followed him and he didn’t send me away.
I sip my beer slowly, watching the game, letting myself drift just a little. My body’s here with them—my friend group, my people—but part of me is still back in that break room with Silas. Sitting on a couch with ripped vinyl, breathing in old regrets and newer truths.
He looked good. Tired, but good. That quiet, coiled energy still wound tight beneath his skin. But something in his eyes had shifted. Less haunted. Less lost.
I didn’t go back there for closure. I don’t think I needed it.
I just…wanted to see if he’d smile.
And he did.
I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know if there even is a next. But I know this—he does still care, and that’s something.
“Earth to Maddox,” Eli says, waving a hand in front of my face.
“Huh?”
“You’re up,” he says, motioning toward the dartboard.
“Right. Prepare to be dazzled.”
I push off the wall, grab the darts, and line up my shot. The darts hit the board with a solidthunk. Just left of the bullseye.
“That’s how you do it,” Will cheers from behind me, raising his glass.
Micah whistles low. “Somebody’s still got it.”
I smirk as I step back from the board and hand the darts off to Quinn, who looks mildly terrified to go next. Daniel claps him on the shoulder in encouragement. “Just aim and pray, bro.”
Quinn gives him a dry look but steps up anyway.
I lean back against the edge of the table top, watching the way everyone settles. The night is loud and easy and familiar. Except...it’s not. Not really.
Because across the bar, Silas moves behind the counter again—towel slung over one shoulder, sleeves pushed up, hands deft as ever. The lights catch his cheekbone, his forearm, those tattoos running all over his arms, the smooth line of his jaw. He doesn’t look over this time, but I can feel him. Ialwayscould.
Micah notices me staring. “So,” he says casually, “how was your little reunion in the back?”
Everyone quiets. Even Quinn freezes mid-throw.
“Did you seriously just call me out like that?” I laugh, then glance around at all of them—my people, my friends who’ve seen me gutted and stupid and still helped me hold the pieces together.
Micah shrugs, unrepentant. “What? Weallsaw the heart-eyes when you came back.”
Ty snorts into his beer. “Pretty sure you were glowing.”
“I wasnotglowing,” I protest, but the smirk pulling at my mouth doesn’t help my case.
Quinn tosses his next dart and mutters, “You kind of were, dude, and I don’t know the history there.”
