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But I wasn’t thinking straight.

All I saw was her.

Iris—standing there, breath unsteady, eyes shining with something too raw to name. The way she looked at me, like she wanted to stay, like she was fighting herself just as hard as she was fighting me.

And then? She turned away.

Walked away.

It was like a blade straight to my ribs, twisting deep, cutting sharp. I clenched my jaw so tight it ached, forcing down the frustration clawing up my throat.

She didn’t mean it. She couldn’t have.

“She’ll come back,” I muttered, the words barely more than a growl as I slammed my foot down harder on the gas. “She always does.”

But then the doubt crept in. What if this time, she didn’t?

The thought sent something wild and reckless through my veins. My chest felt too tight, my breathing too uneven, the whole fucking world tilting under the weight of what I didn’t want to admit.

She had someone else waiting for her. Chris. That smug bastard with his easy charm and bright fucking smile, standing too damn close, making her laugh like he had a right to.

The image burned in my mind like gasoline on an open flame.

My fist slammed against the steering wheel, the pain barely registering over the anger flooding my system. It should be me. I knew it, she knew it. Every damn time she let me touch her, every time she gasped my name like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth—she fucking knew it.

And yet, she was still trying to pretend.

My foot pressed harder on the pedal, the streetlights blurring past as I tried to outrun the sick feeling settling in my gut.

Because if she chose him? If this time, there really was no coming back?

I wasn’t sure I’d survive it.

Chapter 27

Iris

The summer dusk wrapped around the bonfire, flames flickering and crackling like laughter from my teammates. Their voices danced through the air, mingling with the smell of roasted marshmallows and the faint sound of music drifting from a portable speaker. It should have felt perfect—this was everything I had worked for: the jersey, the team, the chance to be just a normal college girl for once.

But as I sat on a log, the warmth of the fire at my back, I felt numb. The excitement that buzzed around me fell flat against my skin. I watched as my friends tossed jokes back and forth, their smiles brightening with each shared moment, but I struggled to join in. Every laugh felt like a distant echo.

Brooke nudged me, her grin wide and infectious. “Come on, Evans! Get in here!” She motioned toward a group playing beer pong. They were competitive and carefree, just enjoying life like we were supposed to.

I forced a smile in response but didn’t move. The weight of my thoughts anchored me down. Knox’s face loomed large in my mind—the way he had looked at me earlier that day, that fierceprotectiveness mingled with something darker I couldn’t quite grasp. My heart raced even now thinking about it.

“You good?” Brooke asked, concern flickering in her eyes as she studied me closely.

“Yeah,” I lied, even as a knot twisted in my stomach. “Just... tired.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, she hopped up to join the game while I remained behind, half-listening to their chatter.

As another teammate cheered loudly after scoring a point, laughter erupted again around me, but it only deepened my sense of isolation. In this moment where everything seemed to align perfectly for everyone else, I felt utterly out of place.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that Knox was still too close yet impossibly far away. A part of me wanted to run to him—to bridge that distance—but another part reminded me just how much risk lurked beneath our connection now.

And so I sat there in silence while everyone else celebrated what felt like an impossible dream—a dream that was starting to slip through my fingers like sand on a summer breeze.

I sat on the log; the fire crackling in front of me, but I felt numb. Chris leaned in, his hand resting on the small of my back. It felt like a brand rather than a comfort. Every laugh that bubbled up from my teammates felt forced, as if I were playing a part in some scene that didn’t belong to me.