Her nose scrunches with affection.
Then she reaches for a fry the moment they’re set in front of her, and I just watch. The way she licks the salt from her skin. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear like she doesn’t know I’d sell my soul to keep her this close.
She’s mine. She chose me.
So why am I still holding my phone like it might bite?
On a whim, I glance back down at the app and type his name before I can stop myself.
Alex Anderson.
The guy who had her for years before I ever even knew her name.
The newest post loads. He’s sitting on a sandy beach, the ocean sprawled out before him, the sunrise kissing the water just right.
The caption is vague. Some bullshit about healing.
But there it is:liked by theannaliseadams.
A shot of insecurity trickles through me.
I lock my phone and flip it over, pressing my palm to the screen, hoping that’ll smother the flicker in my chest.
Across the table, Annie is laughing at something Rock texted to the group chat.
I try to let it go. Try to remind myself that it’s just a like. Just a photo. Just a guy she doesn’t love anymore.
But my mouth is faster than my sense. “You still talk to him?”
Her laugh fades as she looks up. “What?”
“Alex,” I say, tone neutral. “Do you still keep in touch?”
She blinks, like I’ve caught her mid-step. “No. Why?”
“Just noticed you liked his latest post.”
She frowns, chewing the inside of her cheek. “Oh. Yeah. I was trying to be supportive.”
That should be enough. Itisenough. Still, my voice dips with vulnerability. “So you’re still following him?”
Her frown deepens with confusion. “I guess,” she says quietly. “He was such a big part of my life for so long. And it felt kind of mean to dig the knife in deeper after everything, you know?”
I nod, every muscle cinched tight, doing my best to act like it doesn’t matter. Like it didn’t just throw a wrench in the peace I’ve been clawing toward all week.
She leans across the table, brow furrowed. “Chase, look at me,” she murmurs. “It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter. I loveyou.”
I believe her. But belief doesn’t quiet the ghosts. And it won’t stop the pounding in my skull that comes every time the stage lights fade.
So I make the same silent promise I’ve been making night after night: keep the pain hidden. Keep her safe when the darkness takes over.
Because I’d rather wreck myself in silence than risk her seeing me as someone she can’t trust to love her right.
When she turns back to her fries, I unlock my phone again, scrolling to distract myself and quiet the noise.
That’s when I see it.
Not on Annie’s feed. Not even from someone I follow. Just a headline buried beneath a few swipes of the explore page:
