He doesn’t get to do that.
He sure as hell doesn’t get to stand here and act like he understands any of this better than I do just because he’s loud enough to make his instincts look noble.
“I’d be real careful what you think you understand,” I say.
He smiles.
“About her?” he says. “Or about you?”
I take one more step.
Enough that the room falls another degree quieter.
Around us, nobody is pretending not to watch now.
They’re just pretending not to hear.
Good luck.
My fist is already tight.
His too.
One wrong word and the paperwork Coach warned me about becomes a full-time job for three departments.
And maybe some part of me wants that.
Maybe some part of me would love to hit something simple.
Something that doesn’t feel like Stella.
Or Isa.
Or guilt.
Or choice.
Something with a jaw I can break and a name I don’t care about keeping.
Travers sees it.
Of course he does.
The bastard actually looks pleased.
Then Kane appears out of nowhere and slams an arm across my chest at the exact same second one of Travers’ football guys grabs his shoulder.
“Easy,” Kane says.
Like that’s an option.
“Back up, Travers,” the football guy mutters.
Travers doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
Kane looks from him to me and swears under his breath.
