He came down one step, closing the space between us, his voice sharp enough to draw blood without ever rising.
“I didn’t want to be near anything you touched. I didn’t want the memory of you in my room. I didn’t want to wake up smelling your coconut lotion on a pillowcase and spend the whole day wanting a woman who treated me like I was embarrassing for wanting her out loud.”
My throat tightened. I turned it into a smile with teeth. “So you moved into a felony with plumbing because I hurt your feelings?”
His eyes flared, one flash of pure, unguarded pain before it disappeared beneath ice. “You did more than hurt my feelings.”
“You spent all this time making sure everyone knew you hated me.”
“You made it easy.”
“You made it public.”
His laugh was brutal, a single harsh exhale. “That’s rich coming from you.”
The hit landed before I understood it was coming.
Darian. The video. Maddox’s mouth inside The Sin Bin. Easton knew enough now to use the word public like a match near gasoline, and for one second, I hated him so much I could barely breathe, the air turning to ash inside my lungs.
His face changed, just slightly, a flicker of something like regret. Like he knew exactly where the blade had gone and hated that he had thrown it. Then the regret vanished beneath cold anger because neither of us was brave enough to keep anything clean that night.
I stepped closer until our toes almost touched. “Say what you mean.”
“I mean you don’t get to stand here and act shocked that I learned from you.”
My palm twitched with the urge to strike him. “You are such an asshole.”
“Yeah, you preferred me when I was useful.”
“I preferred you when you weren’t cruel.”
“I preferred you when I was still dumb enough to play by your rules.”
The stairwell beneath us shifted, metal groaning, and a raspy voice called, “Wade.”
A man slumped near the bottom landing, half in shadow, one boot braced against the stair and a paper bag tucked beside his coat. His beard was patchy gray, his cheeks red from cold or alcohol, and his eyes sharpened when they found Easton like this was routine. He looked from Easton to me and back again with the delighted misery of someone who had found free entertainment.
“Bad night?” the man asked, his voice gravelly.
Easton reached into his pocket with his good hand, his movements stiff. “You could say that.”
“Pretty girl looks mad.”
“She is.”
“I’m mad because he is bleeding like a stubborn idiot,” I snapped before I could stop myself.
The man barked a laugh that turned into a wet cough. “She yours?”
“No,” Easton said too quickly and too hard, the word a bullet.
I felt it like a slap and smiled as though I didn’t, my lips stretching thin over my teeth.
Easton pulled out a folded bill and held it down. “Get food, Marv. Real food.”
Marv took the money with a shaking hand. “You always say that.”
“You always ignore it.”
