And watching her like this—easy in her own skin, fitting back into this life—makes the ache in my chest sharper than it's been in years.
The music shifts. Faster. She spins with Addie, both of them laughing, and I grip my beer harder.
That's when some guy cuts in. Someone I vaguely recognize from town—doesn't matter who. His hand catches her waist, slides lower to her hip, and she laughs, tipping her head back.
It's nothing. Friendly. The kind of thing that happens a hundred times on a dance floor.
She's not mine. Never really was. Won't be in a few weeks when she goes back to Denver.
My jaw locks anyway.
Knowing that doesn't stop the heat that flares when his hand lingers.
I grip my beer hard enough the glass might crack.
Then her eyes find mine across the room.
She goes still. Just for a second. Like she's been caught.
Or like she was looking for me.
Something passes between us. Electric. Unmistakable.
The guy says something. She nods but doesn't look at him. She's watching me watch her, and the air between us feels charged even with twenty feet and a dance floor in the way.
I don't look away.
Neither does she.
My pulse pounds harder than the music warrants.
Then someone pulls her into another spin and the moment breaks.
But when I look back, she's still watching me over her shoulder.
Chace's voice echoes in my head:You're not in the game. I've never known you to sit on the sidelines.
Fuck it. He's right.
Five years I've spent convincing myself I'm fine with absence. Fine with the distance. Fine with wanting someone I can't have.
And maybe in a few weeks I'll have to go back to that.
But tonight—
Tonight I'm done pretending.
I set my beer down.
She's on the dance floor, breathless and flushed, laughing. I start across the room.
The crowd shifts. Bodies move between us. But her eyes find mine through the noise.
She goes still.
I don't look away. Don't slow down. Just keep moving toward her.
The music pounds. People brush past. But the space between us narrows with every step.
