That’s when I hear Miller’s voice, low and careless, from just around the corner near the side entrance. He’s talking to one of the trainers.
“…yeah, we went out a couple times. Didn’t take much. She’s got that whole polished, good-girl thing down, but don’t let it fool you. Once she decides she wants something, that act drops fast. Guess that kind of… initiative works in more than one room. Might explain how she moved up so fast.”
The sound that comes out of me isn’t a thought. It’s instinct.
Before I even register moving, I’m in front of him, my fist in his collar, shoving him hard against the wall. The dull thud echoes off the brick.
“Say that again,” I bite out, voice low and lethal. “I dare you.”
He chokes out a laugh, breath hot with whiskey. “What’s your problem, man?” His grin sharpens, eyes narrowing like something just clicked.
My grip tightens. “You don’t talk about her like that. Not ever.”
“Why? Wait—don’t tell me you’re actually jealous?” He sneers, pushing back just enough to make me see red. “If you want a crack at her, I’m sure she’d be open to it. You just have to know how to ask.”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. My fist is already cocked, ready to fly, when Ethan’s there—his hand clamps around my arm, yanking me back before I do something I can’t take back.
“Jace,” he warns, low but firm. “Not here.” He steps between us.
I try to shove him off of me, my mind set on reaching for Miller again.
“Don’t do this, man,” Ethan snaps, low and dangerous. “You could lose your job.” Pointing at Miller he continues. “That assholeisn’t worth it.”
He swivels, eyes hard on Miller. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you, asshole. If I were you, I’d shut my mouth. Sarah’s a good friend of mine. Keep talking and you’ll wish you hadn’t. I know a lot of people who could make life very difficult for you.”
Miller straightens his jacket, still smirking. “Whatever. Guess I hit a nerve.”
Ethan’s glare is sharp. “Walk away. Now.”
For once, Miller listens. He mutters something under his breath and disappears back inside.
I drag a hand down my face, jaw tight, every muscle still wired.
Ethan waits a beat before asking, “You wanna tell me what the hell that was?”
I shake my head and exhale hard. “Nothing that matters.”
“That’s bullshit,” Ethan says, “but we don’t have time to hash it out. We need to get back inside.”
Through the glass doors, I catch a glimpse of Sarah standing near the stage again, poised and untouchable under the soft light. She doesn’t see me, and maybe that’s for the best.
Because I’m not sure which part of me she’d recognize right now—the man trying to be better, or the one who still wants to break something for her.
By the time Ethan and I make it back inside, the lights have dimmed for the program. The head coach is already at the mic, thanking donors and talking about growth, unity, and second chances. The irony’s not lost on me.
I take my seat again, jaw still tight, hands shoved beneath the table to hide the tremor running through them. No one seems to notice we were gone. Good. Let them think I needed air.
“…we’re not just building a program,” the coach says, voice booming across the hall, “we’re building a community. One that believes in redemption and resilience.”
Redemption. The word lands hard, heavier than it should.
Ethan’s sitting beside me again, his posture easy but his eyes sharp, still watching me like he’s waiting for me to detonate. I keep mine fixed on the stage. Pretend I’m listening. Pretend I’m fine.
Applause ripples through the crowd as the coach finishes. I join in, a beat late. The clapping feels mechanical and hollow, the sound echoing in my chest instead of my ears.
When the lights lift again, I spot Sarah across the room near the event staff tables. She’s talking with Ellie, head tipped slightly, expression calm. Professional. Composed. The picture of everything I’m not.
Her hair catches in the light when she turns. She laughs at something Ellie says, and for a second, it’s like nothing’s changed. The sound hits me somewhere low and familiar, in a place I’ve spent years trying to forget existed.
