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I felt it in my ribs, in the spaces between them where I had let her in without realizing. The sharp sting of something I wasn’t ready to call rejection.

“Iris…”

I stepped closer before I could stop myself, the distance between us narrowing. But she didn’t meet my eyes. She stared at the ground like it held all the answers we didn’t have, like if she focused hard enough, she could pretend none of this was happening.

I wanted to push. I wanted to demand answers.

But some part of me knew that if I pushed too hard, I’d break whatever fragile thing we had left. I’d turn this into something ugly.

And I wasn’t sure I could handle that.

So instead, I lingered. Close enough to feel the heat of her skin, close enough that I could hear her breathing—shallow, uneven.

My heart dropped.

Not because she said no, but because of how she said it—soft, broken. Like it hurt her just to get the words out. And that? That twisted something deep inside me, something raw and unrelenting.

“Why?” My voice came out rougher than I meant it to, but I didn’t care.

She wouldn’t look at me. Her eyes were glossy, the sheen of unshed tears catching in the harsh fluorescent light. Fuck. I felt like I was missing something huge, like a conversation was happening beneath the surface that I wasn’t a part of.

“I’m going to the bonfire.”

The words landed like a fist to my ribs.

The bonfire. The team. Chris.

My jaw locked so tight my teeth ached. Of course, he’d be there. That fucking kid.

But it wasn’t just him. It was her voice—unsteady, wavering like she was barely keeping herself together. It was the way she blinked too fast, like if she didn’t, she might lose the battle against the emotions building inside her.

And the worst part? I hated that it hurt her to say no to me. That it felt like a loss to her, too.

“With him?” I bit the words out, low and sharp.

Iris tensed. And maybe if I were a better man, I’d have backed off. Maybe I’d have let her go without pushing. But the image was already in my head—Chris standing too close, flashing that easy fucking grin, whispering something in her ear while she laughed like nothing had ever happened between us.

Like I hadn’t had my hands on her. Like she hadn’t moaned my name in the dark.

No.

I couldn’t fucking stand it.

“Iris.” I took a step closer, closing the space between us, forcing her to feel me there—to see me.

She finally met my eyes, and the weight of it hit me harder than any slap shot ever could. I searched her face, desperate for something, anything to tell me this wasn’t slipping through my fingers. That she wasn’t about to walk away from this—from us.

“Knox…”

She said my name like it meant something. Like it carried weight. Like she knew exactly what she was doing to me.

And I didn’t know what pissed me off more—the fact that she was still planning on going, or the fact that it was killing her too.

Her breath hitched—barely—but I caught it, and it tore through me like a blade. Whatever this was between us? It wasn’t fucking simple. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t something she could just shake off like a bad play on the ice.

I felt it. The way her eyes glimmered, the way her chest rose and fell too fast, like she was struggling to hold herself together. She was breaking apart, right in front of me.

And I hated it.

I stepped in, lowering my voice because I wasn’t angry anymore. I was something worse. I was terrified.

“You don’t have to do this, Iris.” My words were slow, deliberate. Begging. “You don’t owe him anything.”

Her eyes flared—anger, fear, something darker lurking beneath the surface. But she swallowed it all down, jaw tightening like she was bracing for impact. “You don’t get to decide that.”

The words hit like a punch to the ribs, knocking the breath from my lungs.

I exhaled slowly, trying to push back the frustration clawing at my throat. “I’m not trying to control you, I just?—”

“I have to go.” She cut me off, voice cracking just enough for me to hear what she didn’t say— I don’t want to .

But she still said it. She still chose to go.

The words settled between us like a gaping wound, raw and irreversible. My heart pounded, each beat a goddamn warning—this wasn’t just about Chris. This wasn’t about some fucking bonfire.

This was about us.

And she was running.

I took a step back, my chest going tight, my hands curling into fists at my sides. This was it. The moment where I should have said something—done something—but I didn’t.

Because what the hell was the point? I couldn’t force her to stay. I couldn’t make her choose me. And for the first time in my life, I felt completely fucking powerless.

I watched as she walked away, her shoulders squared like she was bracing for impact. She didn’t look back. That part stung the worst—like I didn’t even deserve a final glance, like what we had meant nothing.

The air in my lungs turned sharp, cutting through me like glass. Every muscle in my body screamed at me to call her name, to make her turn around and face this—to face us. But I knew better. Pushing her now would only send her running further.

Then I saw him.

Chris.

His voice drifted down the hall, casual as ever, too fucking easy. My jaw locked so tight it ached as I watched him slide into her space like he belonged there. Like he had any fucking right.

And then she laughed.

Not the kind that lit up a room. Not the kind that made my chest tighten for all the right reasons. This one was forced. Thin and hollow.

But it didn’t matter. Because she still gave it to him.

Something dark and primal coiled inside me, burning through my veins like wildfire. He didn’t know. He didn’t know how her body had fit against mine, how she had gasped my name like it was the only thing that mattered. He didn’t know how she tasted.

And the worst part? He thought he could have her.

I saw it in the way he leaned in just a little too close, in the way his stupid, easy grin never faltered. My fingers twitched at my sides, itching to wipe that smug look off his face.

But then Iris glanced at me.

Just for a second.

And I saw it—the way her posture tensed, the slight hesitation in her movements. She wasn’t choosing him because she wanted to. She was choosing him because she thought she had to.

I turned away, the sound of their conversation a dull roar in the back of my head. My pulse hammered as I forced myself to breathe, to shove the anger down before it consumed me completely.

I was losing her.

I fucking knew it.

I wanted to stop her. To grab her wrist, pull her into me, and make her listen.

“Just come on,” I’d say. “We’ll figure this out.”

But as she turned away, the words lodged in my throat like a blade. Her shoulders squared like she was preparing for a hit—one I couldn’t shield her from. And when she smiled for Chris, easy and practiced, like the last few weeks had meant nothing—fuck, that cut deeper than I was ready for.

I should’ve done something. I should’ve pulled her back. Demanded she look at me the way she used to. But what if I did? What if I forced her to choose, laid everything bare between us—the wreckage we’d created, the pull we couldn’t fight—and she still turned away?

What if, when given the choice, she didn’t choose me?

My fists clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms as jealousy twisted inside me, dark and ugly. Chris stood there, all easy confidence, offering something I never could. Something safe. And what if that was what she wanted? What if she decided that the thrill of us wasn’t worth the fallout?

I wouldn’t blame her.

But I sure as hell wouldn’t forgive her either.

Rage boiled in my gut—not just at Chris, but at myself, at this entire goddamn situation. At her. For pretending. For acting like what we had wasn’t real.

If love was supposed to be easy, I wouldn’t have wanted her in the first place.

And maybe she’d convinced herself that I was the problem. That I was nothing more than chaos wrapped in a jersey, something she could walk away from without a second thought.

But I wasn’t that easy to forget.

And if she thought she could erase me just like that?

She was fucking wrong.

I tore out of the parking lot, tires screeching against pavement, hands gripping the wheel so tight my knuckles went white. My pulse pounded like a war drum in my ears, drowning out the hum of the engine, the quiet night, the rational thoughts I should’ve been holding onto.

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.