I press my palm flat against my chest, like I can force myself to feel something normal. Something that makes sense. Something besides the scorching heat of jealousy.
This is what I prepared for, right? I knew she deserved better. Better than me. Better than the self-loathing, fucked-up bastard who wore the face of her trauma every single day. Hell, Iamher trauma.
So why does it feel like something just caved in?
And out of everyone—
Ryder?
When I hear footsteps in the grass, coming closer, I don’t wait to see who it is. I turn, bolting out of there. Because I can’t stand here and watch it. The aftermath. There’s probably a flush in her cheeks I’ve been yearning to be the cause of. Her lips are probably a swollen, bitten mess because of… him.
Fuck. I definitely can’t stand here and pretend I’m okay.
Did his hands tangle in her soft, thick waves? Did he grab her waist—pressing her soft body against him?
Bile rises in my throat and I’m stumbling over my feet as I sprint. I make it to my office—my sad excuse of a living space—and shut the door behind me like that’ll fix anything. Like it’ll quiet the noise in my head.
It doesn’t. Because the truth sits there, ugly and unavoidable.
I lost her.
And the worst part?
I never even fucking had her to begin with.
??????
“You even listenin’?”
His lips move. Those same fucking lips. The ones Bel said were on Charlotte just last night.
God.
How the hell am I supposed to work with the fucker when that’s all I can see?
“I am,” I bite out, forcing the words past the acid crawling up my throat. “Just… how efficient would the protocols be?”
It’s a useless, mindless question. A pathetic attempt to sound like I give a damn about anything other than the image stuck in my head. Image I didn’t even actually see.
Ryder frowns at me, catching the edge in my tone. “I’m coordinating with Bug on this, Ruin,” he says evenly. “The armories…” His voice dips lower, more serious now, “will be protected at all costs.”
I nod, eyes glued to my laptop. Anything to avoid looking at him. Anything to stop myself from doing something I won’t be able to take back.
A heavy knock lands on my door.
“Yeah,” I call out.
Scar strolls in, his gaze immediately catching on the couch—my bed. His grin spreads mercilessly.
“Christ, Ruin.” He chuckles. “That even comfortable?”
I roll my eyes, snapping my attention back to the screen. Words blur. Numbers mean nothing.
“Hey,” he continues, dropping into the chair beside Ryder. “Why don’t you move upstairs? The room opposite Charlotte’s old one is empty now.”
Ryder goes rigid.
“Nah, I’m good,” I mutter at the same time he blurts—
