Page 103 of From the Wreckage

He slings an arm around my waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like I’m a prize he’s earned, and the crowd only cheers louder for him.

Students call his name, teammates shove beers into his hand, and a few girls in glittery tops gush about his performance on the field. But no matter how many people swarm him, Joey doesn’t let me go. His grip on my hip is possessive. A silent claim.

My skin crawls, but to everyone else, it looks like we’re the picture of campus royalty—the golden boy quarterback and the girl he’s draped over.

I try to edge away. Meghan’s voice cuts sharply in my ear again, all sugar on the surface. “Relax. People are watching.”

Watching. My pulse spikes. The noise, the lights, the press of bodies. It all feels suffocating.

“Let’s grab drinks,” Joey says after downing the beers in his hand, steering me inside like I’m part of his entourage. The crowd parts for him, and Meghan follows close, smiling at everyone like she belongs here more than I do. Sophie and Melissa follow behind her, grinning at me like I’m part royalty. They are more Meghan’s friends than mine, so they don’t even know Joey and I broke up. Unless Meghan told them, but that’s doubtful. She’s too “Team Joey” for that.

The kitchen is pure chaos. Students line up in front of a keg. Red cups are stacked high, bottles of liquor lined across the counter, and there’s some type of red punch in a bowl. Sticky puddles are on the tile from the spilled beer and punch. Music thrums through the walls, bass rattling the glass panes of the cabinets.

Joey finally lets me go, just long enough to pour something dark and fizzy into two cups. He flashes me that practiced smile.“Don’t worry, it’s just soda. You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to.”

I hesitate, my arms crossed tight, every muscle tense. “I’m fine.”

He shrugs, playful, lifting his cup like a toast. Then Meghan distracts me, leaning in close, whispering something about a guy across the room checking her out. I turn my head, scanning where she gestures, just for a minute.

When I glance back, Joey’s hand is already lowering, too quick, too smooth, as he stirs the drink with a casual swirl of his finger.

“Here.” His smile never falters as he presses the cup into my hand. “One sip won’t kill you.”

The words crawl over my skin. A joke to anyone else. But to me, they feel like a threat.

My throat is tight. My palm sweats against the plastic cup.

And I know—Iknow—I should put it down and walk away.

But judging from the look on his face, I wouldn’t get far.

“Come on, Bri. Lighten up.” Joey winks at me, then grabs another cup and pours punch into it. He hands that one to Meghan.

Meghan clinks her cup against mine. “Cheers.” Red liquid sloshes dangerously close to the rim, but she doesn’t care.

Joey’s eyes stay locked on me, unblinking. Waiting.

I lift the cup, my stomach knotted so tightly it aches. The smell hits first—sweet, sharp fizz mixed with something underneath I can’t place. I’m not a drinker. I’ve only ever had a few glasses of wine or beer, never anything stronger.

My pulse spikes, warning bells going off, but Meghan and Joey are watching. And I feel the weight of all these strangers in the house, their laughter echoing down the hall.

One sip. Just one. That’s all I’ll take. Enough to keep them off my back.

The rim of the cup is cold against my lip. I swallow fast, the liquid burning with carbonation as it slides down. It’s sweet and strong. My tongue tingles from it. Or maybe it’s my nerves.

Joey’s smile widens, satisfaction flashing in his eyes before he takes his own sip. “There you go. Not so bad, right?”

I force a thin smile, setting the cup down on the counter like I’m done. But his hand is there instantly, sliding it back toward me, his fingers brushing mine.

“Don’t let it go to waste.”

The bass shakes the floor. My chest feels tight. Meghan throws her arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer, her laughter shrill in my ear.

Meghan and Joeyconvince me to drink enough that I finally let them drag me onto the makeshift dance floor. Sophie and Melissa offer to hold our cups. Joey hands his and mine to them, then tugs me forward. Meghan follows, weaving us into the crowd.

Joey stays close but doesn’t grind against me, and slowly, my guard lowers. Meghan spins in front of me, laughing, her hand catching mine as she twirls me beneath the flashing lights. “See? Isn’t this fun?” she yells over the music.

I’m warmer now, a little looser from the alcohol. My pulse beats with the rhythm, and a laugh bursts out of me—real and startling. For the first time all night, I almost feel free. Almost happy.