So did Brett.
His gaze dropped, and he laughed softly.
“There it is,” he said. “Go ahead. Make the call.”
“I’m not scared of you.”
That was true and not true at the same time.
I wasn’t scared of Brett. Not exactly.
I was scared of what my body remembered when men blocked my path. I was scared of hands grabbing. Voicescornering. Laughter turning cruel. A night tipping from ordinary to dangerous before anyone else noticed.
I was scared of being back in that old version of myself where survival was a room with no doors.
Brett stepped closer.
Lily moved with me, shoulder brushing mine.
One of the girls behind him crossed her arms. “Can we not do this here?”
“Oh, now you want privacy?” Brett snapped. Then his eyes came back to me. “My sister lost Princeton because of you.”
“No,” I said. “Your sister lost Princeton because she drugged, harassed, and threatened people, then laughed about it in writing like an idiot.”
His face went red.
That felt good.
Dangerous, but good.
“She was a kid,” he said.
“So was I.”
The words landed.
For half a second, no one answered.
Then Brett’s mouth twisted. “Yeah, well, you always did know how to look innocent after ruining everybody else’s life.”
Lily made a sound. “Wow. That is a fascinating amount of projection for someone wearing loafers without socks.”
“Shut up,” he snapped.
“Make me,” Lily said sweetly.
My head turned.
“Lily.”
“What? I’m from Idaho. Men named Brett don’t scare me. We have bulls.”
That should not have been funny.
It was.
The laugh almost made it out.
