My pulse stumbles. “What are you doing here?” I shout over the bass rumbling through the walls.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. He just looks at me with his jaw set, eyes dark, like he’s already decided he’s not leaving until he gets whatever he came for.
The air feels too small between us. I can still taste the adrenaline from the bar as the heat of his stare clings to my skin.
“What are you doing here?” I ask again, louder this time. “I’m working. Whatever this is, it’ll have to wait until I’m off.”
“Okay,” he says, steady. “Then I’ll wait.”
The words shouldn’t sting, but they do. I blink, thrown off. “Clay, I won’t be off for hours—”
“I’m not in a hurry.” His voice is low, threaded with something that sounds a lot like promise. “If I have to wait, I’ll wait.”
My breath catches. There’s no heat in his tone, but it’s there in his eyes. They burn in a way that used to undo me without a word.
Kylie’s whistle cuts through the tension, sharp and shrill. She’s standing in the doorway, motioning me back toward the bar with a look that saysMove it.
“I gotta go,” I mutter, crouching to grab a bag of ice from the freezer. My voice comes out too tight. “I can’t do this right now.”
I try to step past him, but he doesn’t move. The scent of his cologne hits me, and for a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe.
“Move,” I say, quieter now, but he’s already watching me.
His gaze drags over me, tracing every inch I try to hide. My chest aches with everything I want to say but can’t risk letting slip.
I don’t know why he’s here. I don’t know what he wants. But I can feel the tension in the air. It’s the same pull that ruined us once already.
And I’m not sure I can survive it again.
Not tonight.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Clay
The air cools around me, calm after the chaos of the bar. Tessa is still inside while the rest of the world celebrates the new year.
I lean against the side of my truck, hands shoved deep into my pockets to keep from going back inside after her. The cold cuts through my coat, biting at my fingers, but I don’t move. The door hasn’t opened yet, and until it does, I can’t convince myself to walk away.
It’s closing in on three in the morning, and I’m still here. Still waiting.
I should’ve left hours ago—should’ve gone home, buried myself in drills, game film, anything that doesn’t have her name attached to it. But I couldn’t. Not after seeing her. Not after the way that guy’s hand landed on her arm while I stood there holding myself back by a thread.
The door swings open, spilling light and noise into the dark. And then she steps out.
Her breath fogs in front of her, cheeks flushed from the cold and the hours. Her hair’s slipping loose, strands falling against her face. She looks worn down from her long shift, but she still manages to knock the air out of me.
I straighten before I can stop myself. She spots me instantly. I see the flicker in her eyes, the way her lips press together, and the way her chin tips up like armor snapping into place.
“Tess,” I say, voice rough.
She keeps walking. Not a glance.
I push off the truck, shoes crunching against the thin layer of salt on the sidewalk. “You’re really not gonna talk to me?”
Her pace picks up, shoulders stiff, but she doesn’t say a word. When she reaches the curb, that’s when I notice the car idling under the streetlight.
She reaches for the handle, opening it enough to catch a glimpse at the person inside. Summer, of course.
