Low blow.
I laugh. But it’s not funny anymore.
“You’re such a fucking dictator.”
“And you’re a liability.”
That one lands hard.
I step back, grab my shirt from where the blonde dropped it, and pull it on.
“Fine. Whatever. I’ll crash at your place.”
“No.”
I stop and look at him.
“What?”
“You’re not bringing this to my place.”
“Are you serious right now?”
“You’re not crashing with me anymore.” He turns and walks away. Nolan follows.
I stand there. Dripping. Pissed. Humiliated in front of everyone.
The blonde touches my arm and says something.
I don’t hear it.
I pull away, running my fingers through my wet hair.
I don’t want to go home.
My apartment’s too quiet. Too empty. The couch where Sienna used to sit. The counter where she left her coffee mug. The bed where she told me I wasn’t enough.
I’ll spiral if I go there.
I pull out my phone and call Zephyr.
No answer.
Call Jax.
Straight to voicemail.
I try Zephyr again and leave a message.
“Yo. It’s me. I am… coming over. Don’t care if you’re sleeping. Need a place to crash.”
I hang up.
They don’t judge me. They’re my boys. I can always crash there.
I order an Uber and wait outside on the curb. The party’s still raging. Bass thumping. People screaming.
I don’t look back.
