Vale laughed once, ugly and sharp. “What do I care? Were you going after her this whole time?”
The circle had gone almost silent.
My name sat in the air like a match.
Drew shoved against the hands holding him. “Funny question from a guy who was still looking at Stella every time Isa turned her back.”
Stella went very still.
I felt it even before I looked at her.
The words hit her like a physical thing.
Her face didn’t crumple. Girls like Stella didn’t do that in public. But something in her eyes cracked open for half a second before she shut it down.
Tristan saw it too.
His anger shifted.
Not gone.
Redirected.
He looked at her, and the whole beach seemed to hold its breath.
“Stella is the love of my life,” he said, voice low but clear. “That doesn’t mean I don’t care what happens to Isa.”
Oh.
Okay.
There it was—the cleanest, cruelest truth of the whole ugly mess.
I did not want him anymore.
Not the way I had.
But hearing it still felt like stepping barefoot onto glass.
Stella looked away first.
Drew’s face twisted.
“Please,” he said, dragging the word through his teeth. “If you care about her so much, maybe look at your own face in the mirror, Vale. You hurt her before I ever touched her.”
Tristan lunged again.
Kane swore and drove a shoulder into him, holding him back. “Enough.”
“Don’t talk like you saved her,” Tristan snapped at Drew. “You don’t get to use my mistakes as your opening.”
“My opening?” Drew barked. “You think she’s a play call? You think I saw you fumble and ran a route?”
“That’s exactly what you did.”
Drew surged again, and the linemen nearly lost him.
Dante got in front of his chest, both palms up. “Drew. Back off.”
