Page 46

SANJANA

Every Wednesday, everyone headed to the Nest. It was our own little Crowsfell tradition.

Far less twisted than The Hunt, and one of the only things that still felt halfway normal after the past few days.

We’d just pulled out of the campus parking lot, the field lights glowing behind us like a stage.

I drove for once. Roxxi rode shotgun. Layla was in the backseat, arms folded, chin tilted toward the window.

I didn’t remember inviting her to ride with us, but my mind had been too distracted to notice much, and I wasn’t petty enough to tell her she couldn’t come.

She hadn’t said a word since we left the locker room.

Beside me, Roxxi was unnervingly quiet too.

Ari, Cloe, and Olivia were already on their way.

Brit had gone with her boyfriend, Ethan, one of the wide receivers, and a friend of Ryder and Cade.

Ashton had his own car full, saving me from a confrontation I wasn’t ready for.

So that left just the three of us. Rolling out together in a car thick with unsaid things.

Halfway there, Layla finally spoke. Her voice was tentative, small. “I know I’ve been acting weird lately. I’ve always kind of felt like the outsider in the group, and it’s starting to get to me.”

Roxxi didn’t lift her head to acknowledge her.

Layla went on. “You guys have been close for years. A family with history. I don’t have that or the money. It’s not an excuse, but I get jealous.”

I felt her gaze pressing into the back of our heads, searching for understanding.

“I wasn’t trying to start anything,” she added, softer. “I just didn’t know how to deal with feeling left out.”

Roxxi laughed. “Why does it always come back to that with you?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this right now,” I suggested.

“Oh, we’re doing it,” Roxxi quipped. “Layla, how do you have relationships with anyone? I’m genuinely curious how you make it through a single day at Crowsfell.

Everyone has money, even you. I have more, that’s what it boils down to, right?

” She turned in her seat to address her head on.

“I’m not going to apologize for being born wealthy.

I’m not sorry for being a materialistic bitch.

I like luxurious shit and spoiling myself and my friends. ”

She stopped and took a breath.

“I’m also humble enough to live in an off-campus house with three other girls and love it, eat a biggie bag deal when I’m hungover, and go thrifting because it’s fun.

” She paused and, when Layla made no attempt to interrupt, kept going.

“You’re the one who keeps acting like there’s a divide.

You treat it like we’re different, and you’re the one above it all.

And you say you’re our friend— Sanj’s friend—but then you pull petty, underhanded shit because you’re insecure.

That’s not friendship, Layla. You don’t get to twist your wrongs into misunderstandings. ”

“I don’t try to--.”

“Let me finish, this next part is important. Are you listening?”

I caught Layla’s nod in the rearview.

“Good, because I want you to know that I’m not accepting that gaslighting-ass apology.”

Layla didn’t respond, sinking deeper into the seat, as if she made herself small enough, she could disappear. I kept my eyes on the road, unsure whether I was more relieved or rattled. I hadn’t realized how much Roxxi had picked up on, or how much I’d needed someone to say all of that out loud.

The rest of the ride passed in heavy quiet, the radio filling the void.

As I pulled into the parking lot of the diner, I saw we were cutting it close.

Rows of gleaming luxury cars already claimed most of the spaces, peppered with a few modest rides wedged in between.

The whole polaroid incident had derailed everything.

The Nest was always packed, but since it was Wednesday, that was to be expected.

It had become the unofficial post-practice hangout for Crowsfell’s elite—football, hockey, basketball, and almost every other athletic organization except for our swing band.

That was more than enough to draw the rest of the university like moths to a flame.

No one liked to admit it, but clout ruled here just as much as it did in high school.

It hadn’t died out. It merely got more expensive.

I’d never fed into the stereotypes. Layla had called us the ‘ It ’ girls the other day.

I hated the label as much as Roxxi did. I didn’t want to be known for who I chose to befriend or what I had in my bank account.

When things flipped, and they always did, I didn’t want to be remembered as a stuck-up bitch who peaked at twenty and fell off hard.

We rolled past a line of familiar cars.

Ryder’s truck stood out instantly. It was polished to a gleam, recently washed and waxed, if I had to guess.

A few spots down was Cade’s Hellcat. Next to that, Nick’s vintage Mustang, restored down to every last chrome detail, a total showstopper.

Ashton’s car was near theirs. Further over, I spotted Cloe’s Range Rover.

Her dad surprised her with it when we graduated from high school.

He was one of Hemlock’s top surgeons, and honestly, one of the kindest men I’d ever met.

He raised her alone after her mom passed, and he never remarried, always saying just because the love of his life wasn’t here with us, didn’t mean she was gone or that he could ever move on to another.

It explained a lot about my best friend.

Cloe was ambitious, loved few but loved hard, had high standards, and chose to be single for those same reasons.

I eased into a spot near the back and cut the engine.

Voices and laughter drifted from the rear patio, mingling with music.

We got out and headed for the diner’s entrance.

I glanced through the windows and spotted a few of our people in our usual corner booth.

Cloe and Ari were on one side, Rook and Xander near the wall.

Ashton sat at an adjacent table with Dougie and, if I remembered right, a guy named Stu.

We walked inside, the warm diner air wrapping around us, thick with the scent of fried food and burgers.

A few familiar voices called out hellos, upperclassmen at a corner table, and someone from Roxxi’s elective class gave a wave.

I even caught a nod from one of the hockey guys near the register.

The small comfort the familiarity brought evaporated the second I caught full sight of our booth.

Cloe looked like she was about five seconds away from jumping across the table. Arianna and Xander both leaned toward her, talking quietly. The others were spread out, but right across from her, there was none other than Macy.

Sarah Myer’s best friend.

I saw no signs of the other girl, which was weird enough. They were usually attached at the hip. Brooke really sealed the vibe. She was tucked up beside Ryder, polished and pretty in that soft way of hers.

“Why is Macy with them? She doesn’t even go here.” Layla asked. It was the first time she’d spoken since Roxxi flat-out refused to accept her apology.

“I’m more concerned about what they did to piss Cloe off,” Roxxi muttered.

I was wondering the same thing. Did I really have to go over there and pretend like I wasn’t completely over today?

Was there a brand of melatonin strong enough to knock me out until party night?

Roxxi stepped closer, dropping her voice just for me to hear.

“Say the word, Sanj. We can pull Cloe and Ari out of that social quicksand, go home, curl up, and talk shit about our cursed-ass fates. Tomorrow, we rise again.”

A tired laugh slipped out of me despite it all. “Sounds like a plan.”

We continued toward the booth. Ryder’s gaze was already locked on mine. Like he’d been waiting. He tapped Brooke lightly. She looked between us, hesitated, then slid over to let him stand. What the hell was he doing?

He leaned down, said something to Cade and Nick, then started walking to us. A few guys called out to him as he passed, and he gave them each a response, a grin in place.

He didn’t stop until he was right in front of me. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah, sure.” I turned to Roxxi. “I’ll be right back.”

“You two behave,” she lilted, moving around us.

Layla offered a tentative smile before going the same way, wisely keeping a safe distance from Roxxi.

Ryder reached for my hand without another word.

His fingers laced with mine, possessive in a way that was both comforting and disarming.

He didn’t so much as glance at Brooke before leading me down a narrow hallway at the back of the diner, wher e framed posters that hadn’t changed since the place opened lined the walls.

Just as I wondered where we were going, he pushed the door to the men’s room open and gently tugged me inside.

I had no time to protest.

The light was harsher in here than the rest of the diner, the floor was cracked black-and-white checkered tile, and the air smelled like bleach and something I couldn’t identify, nor did I want to.

He let the door fall shut, and I instantly picked up on the distinct sound of someone pissing in a urinal.

Ryder turned and pulled me against his chest, his body angled to block my view.

“Get the fuck out,” he ordered.

Somewhere to our left, I heard a groan of protest. “Seriously, Voss? I’m in the middle of—.”

“Now.”

There was a belt clink, a zipper yanked, and a string of muttered curses as the guy stormed past. The door creaked closed behind him, and still, Ryder didn’t move. His hand stayed at the back of my head, anchoring me there. I breathed him in for a moment before breaking the tense silence.

“That guy didn’t wash his hands.”

A quiet laugh vibrated from Ryder’s chest. He shifted just enough to look down at me, slowly letting go.