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JAC0B

I shouldn’t be out. My eyes ache with exhaustion, my head pounds like someone’s taken a club to it, and all I really want is to crawl into bed—or maybe schedule a lobotomy and ask if they can cut out the gnawing hollow in my chest while they’re at it. But no. Here I am, at The Red Devil on a Monday night, trying to convince myself that being here is living my life.

It’s not. It’s fucking enduring.

“Hey, Jacob!” Malik yells over the music.

I turn my head, already regretting it, when my headache spikes. “What?”

He’s grinning like he’s found gold at the end of a beer-sticky rainbow. “You see that girl over there?”

“Which one?”

“The one in red,” he says, pointing toward the dance floor. “She’s looking at you like she’d sell her mother to get you into bed.”

I glance at where he’s pointing, finding the girl in question. She’s pretty. Not a hardship to look at. But nothing about her—or anyone tonight—gets my pulse racing. Since running into Riley, I haven’t been able to focus on anything else.

She has a box of my dad’s things.

Just thinking about it makes my throat tighten. Why did she have to tell me? How the fuck am I supposed to forget about him when people keep dragging him back into my life?

‘Are you Drayton’s kid?’ they ask. ‘Your dad was a beast on the ice.’ They tell me I must be so proud to follow in his footsteps. What I want to say is no. No, I’m not proud. I don’t want to be anything like him—not angry, not resentful, not so obsessed with hockey that he couldn’t enjoy the rest of his life or the people in it.

But no one knows that. They don’t know the twisted scowl he wore at home or the snarling voice that made my stomach churn whenever he called my name. They don’t know that the man everyone worships as a tragic hero, a hockey great, was driving that night because of me.

“Yo, Jay!” Malik waves a hand in front of my face, yanking me back to the present.

“What?” I snap, the pain making my words harsh and clipped. Malik doesn’t notice over the music.

“You should go over there,” he says, nodding toward the girl in red. “Make her night.”

He’s got that look—the one that says he won’t let this go until I give in. Malik’s the ultimate wingman: overly enthusiastic, totally relentless, and completely convinced that sex is a cure-all for everything. I’m partly responsible because he wasn’t like this when we met. My influence has been nothing but corruption.

“Catch you on the flip side,” I mutter, pushing off the barstool, limbs moving automatically like a windup toy.

I weave through the crowd, dodging spilled drinks and elbowing my way past a guy wearing way too much cologne. By the time I get to her, she’s smiling like I’m exactly who she’s been waiting for all night.

“Hey,” I say, flashing her a practiced grin. “You look like you’re having a good time.”

It’s the kind of nothing line that works nine out of ten times—I’m lucky that way—and tonight’s no different. She leans in closer, her perfume sweet but cloying, and we start talking—small talk, surface-level stuff I barely register. She’s into me. I can tell by the way her fingers skim my arm and the way she laughs a little too loudly at my half-hearted jokes. I’m not even trying, but it doesn’t matter.

When I bend to kiss her, I’m not expecting fireworks. I’m not expecting anything, really, but a few moments where I forget. But I sure as hell don’t expect the explosion of light and color that fills my vision a second before I hit the floor.

My shoulder slams against the sticky tiles, knocking the wind out of me. For a second, I don’t register what happened. Then I blink up, and find a massive guy towering over me, framed by the flashing lights of the club.

“Keep your fucking hands off my girl,” he growls. His voice is low, menacing, and right before the lights narrow to a pinpoint, I think, what the fuck is this guy’s problem ?

***

“Fuck, man. Jay, wake the fuck up.”

Malik’s voice is sharp, cutting through the haze as I blink back into consciousness. His face is way too close, his big hands tapping my cheeks like he’s trying to start a broken engine.

“That’s it,” he says, relief flooding his voice. “Stay with me.”

“What the fuck…” I groan, my head pounding like someone’s playing drums against my skull.

Malik hauls me up, one arm under my shoulders, supporting my weight like I’m a rag doll, as I wince, struggling to keep my eyes open. The headache, that was a solid 9 before, is like a nuclear explosion in my brain. Around us, some of our teammates form a barrier, keeping the curious—and the bouncers wrestling the goliath who hit me—at bay.

“Fucking asshole,” Malik shouts, his voice grating against my headache, making me cower with pain.

I manage to shuffle toward the exit, my legs barely cooperating. The cool air outside hits me like a slap, and I take a shaky breath, stalling Malik before he drags me further. “What the fuck happened?”

“You got clocked,” he says, shaking his head. “Dude sucker-punched you out of nowhere.”

I touch my temple gingerly, wincing at the tender spot. “Why?”

“Said you were hitting on his girl.”

I blink at him as the memory comes back in bursts: the girl, the kiss, the sudden pain. “She was all over me.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Malik says, scowling. “Guy was probably her ex or something. Either way, total dick move. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I mutter, even though my head is spinning so much I can barely stand.

He stares at me like he doesn’t believe me. “Maybe I should take you to the hospital.”

“Nah, man. Just get me home.”

He sighs, pulling out his phone to order a cab while still keeping a steady hand on my shoulder. “I swear, if you fall over, your brothers are gonna kick my ass.”

“Where’s Shawn?” I ask, swaying slightly.

“He went home. Don’t you remember?”

“Right. Fuck.” Stupid fucker couldn’t wait another hour. And Hayes? Where was Hayes? He hasn’t been the same since Riley came back into our lives.

Malik steadies me as I wobble, muttering under his breath about reckless idiots and Monday-night drama. I’m woozy as hell, but it’s not like I haven’t felt this kind of pain before.

But the humiliation? That’s a whole different story.

And the worst part? Riley’s face flashes in my mind. Not the girl in red. Not the guy who hit me. Just Riley.

Because no matter how hard I try to forget her, she’s the one thing I can’t push out of my head.