I’ve let it go on for too long, made too many excuses for it, hoping it would just blow over. But it hasn’t. And now, standing here, Jenna’s eyes filled with hurt, I realize that I’ve never really stood up for her. Not the way I should have.
I shove my hands into my pockets.
“Jenna,” I start, my voice rough, “I—”
Before I can say anything else, I hear Lola’s voice calling out from behind us. I turn to see her and Paul walking toward us, weaving through the thinning crowd.
Lola’s face lights up when she spots Jenna, but Paul’s eyes find mine, and there’s an edge there that’s impossible to ignore.
“Hey, guys!” Lola’s voice is too cheerful, too bright. She doesn’t notice the tension between Paul and me, or if she does, she’s ignoring it. “We were starting to wonder where Kim dragged you to.”
Jenna forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
Paul steps up beside Lola, his gaze lingering on me. “Hello, Dylan.”
“Paul.”
“Come on Dylan, you’re not still mad about the rumors from so long ago, are you?”
I take a step closer, my fists clenching at my sides. “What did you say?”
Paul raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Relax, man. It was just a joke.”
All I can envision is him and Jenna in bed together. I’m still not sure I believe Jenna’s story about not sleeping with him.
“A joke?” My voice is low, dangerous. I don’t know why this is the thing that sets me off. Paul, standing there with that smug grin, that makes the anger boil over.
Maybe it’s because everything else feels out of my control—my mother, Jenna, everything—and Paul’s just an easy target.
Before I can stop myself, my hand shoots out, grabbing him by the shirt. The fabric bunches in my fist, and I pull him close, close enough to see the surprise flicker in his eyes before it hardens into something more dangerous.
“Dylan!” Jenna’s voice is sharp, and I can feel her hand on my arm, tugging me back. “Stop!”
Paul doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, but I can feel his muscles tense under my grip. His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. The crowd around us seems to disappear, the noise fading into a dull roar in the background.
“You going to fight me? Seriously, Dylan?”
I tighten my grip, my knuckles going white. “Don’t push me.”
“Dylan, let go of him!” Lola says.
But I don't. All I can see is Paul, his eyes daring me to make the first move, to throw the first punch.
It would be so easy.
“Dylan, please,” Jenna’s voice breaks through the fog of anger clouding my mind, and I blink, my grip loosening just enough for Paul to pull free.
He steps back, his shirt wrinkled where I grabbed it, but he doesn’t say anything. Just stares at me, like he’s waiting for me to lose control again.
Lola looks between us, wide-eyed. “What the hell is wrong with you two?”
Jenna’s hand is still on my arm, her grip tight, like she’s afraid I’ll snap again.
I turn away, the anger still simmering in my chest, but now it’s mixed with something else—shame, maybe. Embarrassment. I don’t know. All I know is that I need to get out of here before I do something stupid.
Without saying another word, I shrug off Jenna’s hand and walk away, my footsteps heavy on the pavement. I can hear them behind me—Jenna calling after me, Paul muttering something under his breath—but I don’t stop. I keep walking, the festival lights growing dimmer the further I go.
By the time I reach the edge of the park, the anger’s faded, replaced by a numbness that seeps into my bones. I stop, leaningagainst a tree, the rough bark digging into my palms. My breath comes out in short, ragged bursts, and I realize my hands are still shaking.