As the door swings open and the night air hits us again, I tighten my grip on her hand.
I hear him before I see him. Nick’s voice cuts through the night, loud and wild, carrying way farther than it should. Tourists slow on the sidewalk. A couple near the street actually stops.
“What the hell are you doing?” he yells. “Sadie—seriously?”
I keep us moving, my hand firm around hers, my body angled so I’m between them. My heart is pounding now, not from fear—anger. Controlled, but sharp.
Then he says my name.
“Nah—what the hell are you doing withNBA loser Colson Burke?” he shouts. “What is he even doing here?”
That’s when I stop. Not because of the insult. Because Sadie’s grip tightens, like the words landed somewhere that hurts.
Nick staggers closer, frantic energy pouring off him. Too loud. He smells like alcohol when the wind shifts. “You really just replace me withthis?” he keeps going. “You think this is better?”
Birdie bursts out of the restaurant behind him, keys in her hand, voice already raised. “Nick! Stop it! You’re done. Right now.” One of the bartenders comes outside with her, following close behind.
I turn fully toward him, planting my feet. “Hey,” I say, calm but unmovable. “Enough.”
He jabs a finger in my direction. “You don’t get to tell me—”
“Shut the fuck up,” I cut in. “You’re drunk. You’re embarrassing yourself. Go home. Sleep it off.”
People are definitely watching now. A group across the street has gone quiet. Someone pulls out a phone.
Nick laughs, unhinged. “You think you’re tough because you’re Colson Burke? All washed up?” And then he shoves me.
It’s nothing but words. Intentional. When I don’t react, he does it again.
Everything in me wants to react. Wants to end it. My fists clench on instinct. But I don’t.
I take one step back, putting even more space between him and Sadie. “Do not touch me again,” I say, low and clear.
He keeps yelling, like volume equals control. “Colson! You hear me? You think you’re something?”
I don’t rise to it. I don’t give him what he wants.
Instead, I glance back at Sadie and murmur, “We’re going. Now.”
She nods immediately.
I guide her away, my body blocking his line of sight, my hand steady even though my pulse is hammering. Behind us, Birdie keeps shouting—calling him out, telling him to stop.
Nick’s voice follows us down the sidewalk, chaotic and cracking, echoing off the buildings. When there’s a few seconds of silence and I think we’ve finally lost this asshole, Sadie’s name rips through the night.
Not shouted—tornout of him.
It’s loud and guttural and full of something ugly, something raw enough it makes me flinch before I can stop it. Heads turn again. A couple tourists actually freeze mid-step. I feel Sadie tense next to me, like that sound reached straight into her chest.
Something in me hardens. I stop walking and turn back around.
Nick is still yelling, backing toward us, arms wide like the whole street owes him attention. Rage is rolling off him now, unchecked. This isn’t confusion or heartbreak—it’s entitlement.
I step toward him. Not fast or threatening. Controlled.
He’s still spiraling. “You hear me? You think you—”
When I’m right in front of him, I put my chest to his. “Hey.” My voice cuts through it and it’s raw like gravel.
