He smirked. “How’s that working out?”
I didn’t answer. My eyes drifted toward the dance floor — bodies pressed close, lights flickering across faces I didn’t recognize, people touching like it was the easiest thing in the world.
The music was supposed to drown out thoughts, not amplify them.
You don’t belong here.
The thought came like muscle memory. I belonged on the field, bleeding for a goal, chasing something that mattered. Not sitting here pretending I cared about fake smiles and drinks that tasted like regret.
And definitely not thinking about a woman who deserved someone who knew how to show up.
I drained the rest of my glass, let the burn hit, hoping it would wash her out of my head. It didn’t.
Adam reappeared through the crowd, a little too bright-eyed, grinning like he’d just solved world peace. “Come on, Mason. Dance floor’s calling your name.”
“I’m good.”
He ignored that completely, grabbing my arm. “You’re coming. Don’t make me drag you.”
“Adam—”
Too late. He yanked me out of the booth, laughing as the crowd swallowed us both.
For a few minutes — maybe more, maybe less — I let it happen. Movement, noise, heat. It was easy to lose time when everything blurred like that.
The bass rattled my chest; sweat slicked my skin. Someone shoved a drink into my hand, and I didn’t ask what it was. For a while, it worked. No Ellery, no field, no headlines. Just static.
A woman caught my arm, smiling up at me through the flashing lights. She said something I couldn’t hear, laughter spilling into the music. Her hand trailed down my sleeve, slow and deliberate.
I smirked back — polite, automatic — but it didn’t reach anywhere close to real.
There was nothing there. No spark. No pull. Just noise pretending to be connection.
You’re losing your edge, Mason. That voice again, sharp and familiar. That’s all this is. You’re just… distracted.
I nodded at the woman, stepped back with some excuse she didn’t bother to hear, and pushed my way through the crowd.
The air outside hit cold against my face, cutting through the fog in my head. The bass was still pounding inside, muffled through the walls.
I didn’t say goodbye to anyone. Didn’t text, didn’t explain.
Just walked until the noise faded, the night pressing quiet around me.
Because if distraction didn’t work, there was only one thing left — distance.
Chapter 11
Ellery
By mid-morning, my desk looked like a small paper hurricane had landed on it. Banners, vendor quotes, schedules—every surface in the office had surrendered to chaos. One week until the gala, and somehow, it still felt possible. Frantic, but hopeful.
I had Cam on speaker while flipping through invoices, trying to sound calmer than I felt. “If we can confirm the silent auction donors by Thursday, that’ll?—”
“Ellery.” His voice cut through mine. Something in his tone made my stomach drop before I even knew why.
I straightened, pen pausing midair. “What happened?”
He hesitated. “I’m sorry, Ellery. The sponsor’s pulling out. Their board voted last night—they’re reallocating funds to a different program.”
