Page 7

Zane

I stopped caring about celebrating my birthday the year I turned twenty-one.

The only reason I still go out is because of the guys.

They’d never let me skimp out on a night at Whiskey Sinner’s, tossing back drinks like we’re still kids with no responsibilities.

And every year, without fail, Wyatt showed up with cupcakes or a homemade cake, something just for me. A silent way of letting me know she cared.

She’s never missed a birthday.

Not until last year.

So when I see her stride through the front door tonight, wearing a burgundy skirt, a black long-sleeved top, and knee-high boots that make her legs look even longer than they already are, she steals the breath right out of my lungs.

Damn.

As if she can feel my stare, her eyes find mine from across the bar.

And she doesn’t look away.

She holds my gaze, her confidence undeniable, her stride slow and deliberate as she makes her way toward our group of friends near the dance floor.

One of the girls whistles, teasing her about something, but Wyatt’s bright smile is aimed straight at me.

I swear I feel it everywhere.

I lift my beer, taking a slow drink, grateful for the noise and music drowning out the low groan threatening to escape my throat before Colter catches me staring at his little sister like she’s the only damn thing in the room.

I force myself to focus on Reed and Hayes, pretending to listen while they talk about the upgrades on his Mustang. I nod at all the right times and lift my beer like I’m engaged in the conversation, but my eyes keep aiming back at her.

To the way her light brown hair falls in soft waves, shorter than she used to wear it but framing her face perfectly.

To the freckles dusting her cheeks, faint but undeniable.

I don’t have to look to know they span across her collarbone, trailing over her shoulders and down her arms, a constellation I’ve memorized too well.

They always stood out more in the summertime after she spent too much time soaking up the sun, no matter how much sunscreen she swore she put on.

Her fair skin has always been her one weakness.

Everything else?

She’s as stubborn as they come—the kind of girl who will fight you tooth and nail just to prove a point, who stands her ground no matter the cost.

But her skin? That’s the one thing she can’t control.

And maybe that’s why I’ve always noticed it most.

Because Wyatt Vaughn isn’t the kind of girl you get to control, tame, or claim.

She’s the kind of girl you burn for.

And right now, I’m burning like hell.

Even when she tried to fight it, her body always gave her away.

She could resist the pull between us all she wanted, but I knew her too damn well.

And when she catches me still watching her, I brace myself for the usual—her turning away, pretending I’m not here.

But this time?

She makes the first move. Wyatt walks straight toward me.

She rounds the group of guys, her steps slow and purposeful like she’s already decided how this is going to play out.

My heart hammers in my chest as she stops just close enough to make me feel her but not close enough to touch.

I turn to face her, taking a small step back, not trusting myself.

“Happy birthday.”

Her voice is soft, her gaze flicking up at me from beneath her lashes.

I don’t hesitate. I pull her into a hug, arms wrapping tight around her before she can stop me.

She’s soft, warm, and familiar. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning at the way she fits against me, at the way my fingers flex against the curve of her back without thinking.

I dip my head just enough to murmur into her ear, “Thank you. It’s always meant the most coming from you.”

I feel the second she tenses. The way she locks up like she’s forcing herself to hold her ground instead of leaning in like she used to.

“I only came over here so Colter wouldn’t wonder why I’m avoiding you on your birthday,” she whispers back.

I shouldn’t be surprised. And honestly? I don’t blame her.

Her hand slides up my chest, not in the way I wish it would, but in a way that makes it very clear she’s about to push me away.

And she does.

A pat on my chest, followed by a fake-ass smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You know you’ve always been like a brother to me, Zane.”

The words are a gut punch, and she knows it.

I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth, refusing to react because I deserve it. We both know I do.

Still, I try again.

“Can I get you a drink?” I nod toward the bar, hoping—praying—she’ll let me buy her one so I can use it as an excuse to get her away from everyone so we can talk.

I should have done this when she was locked in my car on the drive back from Keaton.

But I didn’t.

I was too pissed off after watching her walk out of that frat house, looking too good, too tempting, and belonging to someone who wasn’t me.

And if I had opened my mouth back then, I know damn well I would have said something I’d regret.

Something that would’ve made this even worse.

Wyatt steps back, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to do that.” Her voice is steady, but there’s something in her eyes—something I can’t quite read. “It’s your birthday, after all, not mine.”

I’ve spent the past year convincing myself that Wyatt moving out of the house next door was for the best.

That her hatred was necessary.

It made it easier to focus on football, to not think about the fact she was no longer just Colter’s little sister.

She was an adult now, in college, in a similar stage of life as me. Nothing stood in our way anymore.

Except… everything still was.

Even though age was no longer a factor, I still had the same commitments and responsibilities that kept me from her.

Football was my priority. It always had been.

Yet here I was, standing in the middle of a bar, and somehow, it already felt like she was slipping away.

Like I was just someone she used to know.

“I still owe you from your birthday,” I say, testing the waters.

For a second—just a split second—she winces, her smile faltering.

But then it’s there again—that fake-as-hell smile, the one I hate, the one that isn’t meant for me.

I grind my jaw, forcing myself to stay quiet even though everything in me wants to tell her she can’t fake that shit with me.

I see her. I always have.

And she knows it.

But if I’m going to get Wyatt to talk to me and put the past behind us, it will take a hell of a lot more than a stolen conversation in a bar.

Without another word, she spins on her heel, her skirt brushing against me as she stalks over to where the girls are sitting.

I watch as she leans in, murmuring something to Tatum before sliding off the barstool, the two of them disappearing into the crowd.

I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair before turning toward the guys. They’re talking about tomorrow’s games, arguing over who’s going to win, but I can’t focus on any of it.

I tip back the rest of my beer, tasting nothing but frustration, and lift the empty bottle in the air.

“Anyone else need one?”

A few headshakes and a muttered nah are all the answers I get before I step away, weaving through the bodies packed into the bar.

There’s a line at the counter, and every barstool is occupied.

I expect to find Wyatt with Tatum, considering they just slipped away together. So when I spot her sitting alone, turned toward a guy I don’t recognize, my jaw tics.

I keep my distance, standing back in line, debating what the hell to say to her.

She’s smiling.

Not the fake smile she gave me—but a real one.

The kind that used to be mine.

The guy beside her lifts a finger in the air, catching Kenny’s attention behind the bar to order another round of drinks.

And just like that—I know I’m about to do something stupid.

Wyatt’s fingertips skim his forearm, her head tilting back as a laugh escapes her lips—light, effortless, like whatever he said was the funniest damn thing she’s ever heard.

The sound grates against me.

When he leans in closer, his hand casually resting on the bar beside her, something inside me snaps. My feet are already moving before I can talk myself out of it.

“Wyatt.”

Her head whips toward me, her eyes widening for a fraction of a second before narrowing into suspicion.

I flash a fake smile, playing it cool even as my pulse hammers against my ribs.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Her brows furrow and I can see the gears turning, trying to figure out what I’m doing.

“Why is that?”

I don’t answer her. Instead, I turn to the guy next to her, recognizing him now that I’m up close.

Luca Calloway.

One of the Eagles players—and if I’m not mistaken, another Alpha Nu douchebag.

Figures.

“You mind?” I ask, reaching for Wyatt’s forearm, my grip light but firm enough to make a point.

Calloway’s jaw tightens, and I see the moment he sizes me up, trying to decide whether he should push back.

“Actually, I do,” he says coolly, turning back to Wyatt. “Who is this guy to you?”

I grin, slow and deliberate, letting the irritation roll off me like it doesn’t matter.

“Her brother.”

Wyatt’s sharp inhale tells me I struck a nerve.

Calloway scoffs, reaching into his wallet and tossing a twenty on the bar.

“Yeah, sure you are, buddy.”

He turns back to Wyatt, completely dismissing me.

“Text me later, all right?”

He barely makes it two steps before I’ve already forgotten about him.

Because Wyatt is staring daggers at me, her grip tightening around the shot glass Kenny just set in front of her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she hisses, sliding off her barstool. “Is this what I have to deal with from you now? If you think for one goddamn second—”

I cut her off, grabbing her wrist gently but firmly.

I push the glass toward her lips, my voice low and steady.

“Drink it.”

Wyatt’s nostrils flare, her gaze burning into mine as she throws back the shot, the amber liquid disappearing in one tilt of her throat.

The glass slams against the counter, her fingers tight around it before she releases it.

Before she can open her mouth, I grab her wrist, pulling her with me through the crowd, toward the front door, where we’re less likely to have an audience.

She stumbles against my pace, her free hand grabbing onto my forearm as she shouts over the music.

“Zane, slow down!”

I do.

A little.

But I don’t stop until we’re off to the side, near one of the back walls, away from the crowd, the tables, away from prying eyes.

I release her wrist, but she barely has time to steady herself before I press my palms against the wall on either side of her, boxing her in.

Her chest rises and falls, her jaw tight, her shoulders squared like she’s bracing for impact.

“What the hell, Zane?” she snaps. “What do you want?”

I exhale sharply, my pulse still pounding from the scene at the bar.

“Is that who you were with when you went to Alpha Nu?”

Wyatt’s lips part, but instead of answering, she lifts her chin defiantly.

“Maybe? What the hell do you care?”

Her voice is sharp, her tone challenging, like she’s daring me to answer.

“Despite the shit you just pulled, you’re not my brother, Zane.” She pushes at my chest, but I don’t move. “I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing, but scaring off guys I’m interested in won’t bode well for you.”

My fingers curl into fists against the wall, jaw ticking.

“Why do I care?” I repeat, letting out a dark laugh. “For starters, you’re too fuckin’ good for that guy. A guy from Keaton, Wyatt? Are you fuckin’ serious?”

She arches a brow, that infuriating smirk curling at the corner of her lips.

“Careful, Zane. You’re starting to sound a little jealous.”

I step closer, my voice low, steady, unshaken.

“Knock it off. That’s not what this is about, and you damn well know it.”

She tilts her head, crossing her arms over her chest, the motion pressing her body against mine for the briefest of seconds.

“Oh, it’s not?” she taunts. “Then what is this about? Since you seem to think you know everything.”

I let out a slow breath, raking a hand through my hair before dropping it to my side.

“Don’t you think this fight between us has gone on long enough?”

She stills, but her expression doesn’t soften.

“You want to have it out with me?” I push. “You want to tell me off for what happened? Do it. Right now. Get it out. Get it over with so we can stop pretending this doesn’t exist and move the hell on.”

Wyatt’s arms tighten around her chest, her expression locked down, unreadable.

“I’m not doing this with you, Zane.”

Her voice is flat, but I don’t miss the way she swallows hard.

“I’m not here to drudge up the past.” She shakes her head. “Especially not now, when we both know there’s nothing left to talk about.”

I take a step closer, my voice quieter now, rough around the edges.

“You don’t mean that, Wy.”

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, but she doesn’t argue either.

“I know I hurt you,” I continue, forcing myself to say the words I should have said a long time ago. “And I’m sorry for it. But we both know it was for the best.”

Her expression doesn’t change. But her fingers curl slightly at her sides, and I know she doesn’t believe those words any more than I do.

Wyatt shakes her head, her nostrils flaring, frustration crackling off her like a live wire.

“Is that what you want to hear?” I ask. “You want me to apologize? Fine. I have, and I will.”

Her throat bobs, her eyes burning into mine, but she doesn’t say a word. So I push forward, forcing the words out before I can second-guess them.

“I’m sorry for what happened. It shouldn’t have ever happened. And if I could take it all back just to have my friend again, I would.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, a tightness settles in my chest.

Because saying them out loud makes them real. Makes it sound like I actually regret it. Like I’d change it if I could.

But the worst part?

She looks at me like she wants to believe it. Like she’s waiting for me to say something else, something that doesn’t make it feel like I just wiped us off the map.

I don’t though. Because maybe this is what needs to happen.

Maybe this is the only way to make her stay.

I work my jaw, the muscles ticking, voice low and controlled.

“Is that all? Do you feel better now. Are we done here?” Her breath shudders, but she doesn’t push me away.

“What more do you want me to say, Wyatt?” I push. I should’ve said nothing. I should let her walk away.

“Nothing!” She shouts it, her voice raw.

I tense, my fingers curling into fists at my sides.

“I want you to say nothing. I want you to leave me alone.” She blinks rapidly, like she’s trying to force back whatever’s threatening to break through. “You’ve said and done enough.”

The words hang between us, heavy, final, and I don’t know what stings more—the anger in her voice or the fact that she means it.

A soft voice cuts through the moment.

“Is everything okay here?”

Tatum’s hand rests gently on Wyatt’s shoulder, her concern evident in the way her gaze flickers between us.

Wyatt’s posture stiffens, and then—just like that—she plasters on that fake-as-hell smile.

“Everything’s fine.” She forces the words out, clipped and controlled. “We were just finishing.”

I huff out a bitter laugh, shaking my head.

“No, we weren’t, Wyatt. We’re not done,” I retort.

She meets my gaze, jaw clenched, fire burning beneath the surface.

“Yes. We are.”

And then she’s gone, storming past Tatum, her boots hitting the floor hard, like she’s stomping me right out of her life.

Tatum lingers, turning toward me with a look I don’t like—not pity, but disappointment.

And something worse—understanding.

“I don’t know what happened between you two,” she says carefully, her voice softer now. “She still won’t tell me. But whatever it was, you hurt her.”

I don’t flinch, don’t react, but she doesn’t need me to. She knows I already carry the weight of it.

“And maybe I’m wrong,” she continues, “but something tells me it’s not just about the past. It’s about what you both want… and realizing those two things don’t match up.”

I hold her gaze but say nothing. If Wyatt hasn’t told her, it’s not my place to spill.

Tatum sighs, glancing in the direction Wyatt disappeared.

“She’s hurting, Zane. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned about her, it’s that you have to be careful pushing her too much.”

She pauses, as if weighing whether to say more.

Then she does.

“She builds walls to protect herself, but that also means she’s really good at keeping people out. And I don’t think that’s what you want.”

The words land exactly where she wants them to.

She’s right. I don’t want Wyatt to shut me out. I don’t know how to stop it from happening either.

Tatum gives me a small, knowing smile, clapping a hand on my shoulder as she moves to pass.

“It’s your birthday, Zane. You should be enjoying it with your friends.”

She squeezes once before stepping around me.

“Let it go for tonight. Whatever’s between you two… it can wait.”

She disappears into the bar, leaving me standing in the hallway, watching the spot where Wyatt just was.

The problem is, Tatum doesn’t understand what this night means to me.

Wyatt and I have always ended my birthday together.

She was the one constant, the one person I always wanted to close out the night with.

And now?

This is the second year in a row I don’t have her.

I lift my beer to my lips, but it doesn’t taste the same.

Because the truth is, I don’t feel like celebrating at all.

Not without her.