Page 20

My palm stings from the force of the slap, but the satisfaction is momentary — a brief flash of power in a situation where I've lost all control. I run down the stairs, desperate to put distance between myself and the chaos I've created. Tears blur my vision, hot tracks cutting down my cheeks as I taste the metallic tang of blood from my split lip.

Surely the slap was enough to stop Cade from following me. The look on his face when my hand connected — shock mixed with something darker — gave me a fleeting sense of victory. But it doesn't matter now. Nothing matters except getting the hell out of here.

Cade Connolly. The biggest asshole I know. The man I hated for a fucking reason. The fucker who stormed into Byron's apartment with the ill intent of humiliating us both. Who taunted and provoked Byron until Byron threw the first punch. Cade… he seems to relish in this emotional chaos. But what did I expect? I saw how he was after the whole Hannah thing. I should've known that he's one for drama.

A girl never learns her lesson…or listens to her gut.

But I'm more upset with myself that I let this happen. I shouldn't have gone to Byron's. I shouldn't have lied. Maybe I should've ended things completely with Cade before it spun so out of control.

Then I think about Byron.

What the hell did I want from meeting up with him tonight? Like what did my dumbass expect?

My tears well up even more as I hop off the last step.

I know why I'm here, even if I won't admit it.

A piece of me wanted Byron to apologize and admit to his faults.

And as for Cade? He's the biggest asshole I know, but at least he goes after what he wants. Whereas I'm a timid little girl who will be pulled in any direction if it means attention.

I'm sick of myself.

Footsteps echo in the stairwell behind me. Heavy, determined. My heart lurches painfully as I reach the landing, risking a glance over my shoulder.

Cade.

Byron rounds the corner right behind him, face flushed with exertion and emotion. Blood smears his knuckles — Cade's blood — and a swollen cheekbone.

Great. They're both chasing after me, and this feels like a sick sign from the universe. Bitch, you wanted attention? Here you go.

"Saylor, wait," Byron calls, voice cracking. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Please, God, I'm so sorry."

Before I can respond, I glance at Cade, his face a battlefield of red marks and swelling. His left eye is already darkening, his bottom lip split and bleeding freely. He stands taller than Byron despite the beating he's taken, an imposing presence even in his injured state.

I press myself against the wall, suddenly feeling trapped. This isn't real. Can't be real. These two men — best friends until I came between them — standing before me with blood on their faces, in their clothes, demanding... what? Forgiveness? Explanations? Decisions?

My throat constricts, chest tightening with panic. I want to run. Need to run. This version of reality — this nightmare I've constructed with my lies and my desires — is too much to bear.

"Get back in your house," Cade says to Byron, his voice deadly quiet. "Now."

"Fuck off," Byron responds without looking at him, attention fixed solely on me. "Saylor, please. Come back inside. Let me help clean you up. We can talk—"

"Talk?" Cade interrupts with a harsh laugh. "Think you had enough talking before I arrived."

"This is none of your business," Byron snaps, finally turning to face him.

"She's my business," Cade says, the simple declaration sending a shiver down my spine despite everything.

"Stop it," I manage, my voice raw from crying. "Both of you, just stop."

Their argument halts abruptly, both turning to face me. The contrast is striking — Byron's expression open, pleading, desperate; Cade's controlled, intense, his eyes communicating a clear message: Tell him. Tell him the truth. Now.

My lip throbs painfully as I gather myself, the physical pain nothing compared to the emotional devastation I'm about to inflict.

"I came here tonight to apologize," I tell Byron, each word careful, measured. "For everything that happened between us. For how it ended."

Byron nods, a flicker of hope in his eyes that tears at my heart. "I know. And I meant everything I said. We can fix this, Say. Start over."

Fresh tears spill over, impossibly hot against my cold cheeks. "Thank you for acknowledging all the things that bothered me in our relationship. It means more than you know to finally feel heard."

I take a shaking breath, steeling myself for the final blow. "But it's too late, Byron. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

The hope in his eyes dims, replaced by a dawning realization. He glances at Cade, then back to me, the pieces finally clicking into place.

"It's him, isn't it?" he asks quietly. "You and this… fuck."

I can't speak, can only nod, the smallest movement serving as the final nail in the coffin of what we once were.

Cade stands silently, his expression unreadable save for the faintest suggestion of satisfaction around his eyes. He doesn't gloat, doesn't move to claim me physically, but his presence speaks volumes. This is what he wanted — the truth, laid bare, no more secrets.

"I can't believe this shit. You let me believe I had a chance."

"I didn't mean to," I whisper, the excuse sounding pathetic. "I just wanted closure. Wanted to apologize properly."

"By lying to me?" The betrayal in his eyes is unbearable. "By pretending everything is fucking fine ten minutes ago, and then…" He jerks his head toward Cade.

"I'm sorry," I repeat, the words so inadequate against the magnitude of the pain I've caused. "I never meant for any of this to happen."

Byron stares at me. "This is fucking bullshit!" He turns to leave and then he says to Cade, "I never want to see you again."

"I should go," I whisper, unable to bear another second of this confrontation.

"Saylor—" Cade starts, taking a step toward me.

"No." I back away, hand raised to ward him off. "I need to be alone."

Without waiting for a response, I turn and continue down the sidewalk, half-expecting one or both of them to follow. But no footsteps echo behind me this time. No voices call my name.

This night air hits my tear-stained face like a slap, shockingly cold after the heated tension of the stairwell. I walk blindly, no destination in mind beyond away. Away from Byron's apartment. Away from Cade's knowing eyes. Away from the wreckage I've created with my indecision and my lies.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it. I can't face anyone right now — not Cade, not Byron, not even Mina or Chloe with their well-meaning concern. I need silence. Space. Time to process the magnitude of what just happened.

The campus is quiet at this hour, most students either at parties or tucked away studying. I find myself at the edge of the pond near the science building, the water still and dark, reflecting the half-moon above. I sink onto a bench, suddenly exhausted, the adrenaline crash leaving me hollow and weak.

My lip continues to throb, a constant reminder of the physical altercation I witnessed and caused tonight. I touch it gingerly, fingers coming away with a fresh smear of blood. It seems fitting somehow, this physical manifestation of the emotional damage I've inflicted.

The truth is a bitter pill: I created this situation. Every step of the way, I made choices that led to this exact moment. Sleeping with Cade after breaking up with Byron. Continuing to see him secretly. Lying to both of them when honesty would have saved so much pain.

And for what? To avoid discomfort? To maintain some illusion of control?

My phone buzzes again, persistent. With a sigh, I pull it out, expecting to see Cade's name on the screen. Instead, it's Mina.

You okay? It's getting late.

The simple concern breaks something inside me. A sob escapes, then another, until I'm crying openly on the bench, alone in the darkness.

When the tears finally subside, I text back: Coming home. Need ice cream and a shoulder.

Her response is immediate: Both ready and waiting.

I rise from the bench on shaky legs, turning toward home — toward the comfort of friendship without expectations or demands. Tomorrow will require decisions, explanations, choices. But tonight, I just need the simplicity of being held while I fall apart.

As I walk, a strange sense of lightness begins to grow beneath the guilt and regret. The truth is finally out. No more lies, no more secrets. Just the consequences of my actions, painful as they may be.

Maybe that's the first step toward healing — acknowledging the damage done and accepting responsibility without excuses or deflection. Not running away but walking steadily forward into whatever comes next.

One painful, honest step at a time.