Page 36 of The Chance

Jordan jolts like my words are a physical slap and stands from his little stool.

“What is your fucking deal?” I seethe, pointer finger digging into his chest and as much as I loathe the feeling, it’s the first thing I have felt other than dread in days.

Does he hate me?

“Me?” Jordan scoffs and swats my hand away, but steps closer. “Let’s go outside.”

“No.”

His jaw clenches.

And even though I don’t want to give him anything, I spin and punch my way back outside. Black skies greet me, their weight unloading the moment my Chucks hit the sidewalk.

Convenient.

“So, what is it?” I ask over the sound of the incoming storm, the rain pelting the pavement, and throw my arms out even though my heart is beating out of my chest. “Tell me what I did.”

Did I fuck this all up somehow?

Jordan shakes his head, his eyes dropping to my feet as his shoulders lift with an inhale. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Mac.”

“Then what is it?” I shout and drop my arms, slapping them against my wet thighs. “How?Howcan my best friend not give a shit about something so amazing?”

His shoulders just lift.

“A second European tour, Jordan.”

His eyes snap up to mine.

“I’m proud of you, Mac. You know I am.”

I let loose a growl, my hands going to my head and dig into my wet hair. “That’s not the fucking point.”

“I know,” he mutters. “But I wanted you to hear that.”

It all feels so fuckingheavy. Like he’s keeping shit from me. Hiding behind a damn façade he’s never,ever,used on me and time’s running out.

I’m supposed to be on an airplane by now.

My sight goes skyward, the burn from my eyes mixing with the rain covering my face.

“Say it, Jordan.”

His sigh is audible enough to draw my sight and the hurt in his eyes makes my chest ache so fucking deep.

“You deserve this.” His nostrils flare, though those navy blues swim with something so deep that I can’t look away. “You don’t need me for it.”

There’s a punch of defeat that twists up my insides.

He’s not coming with me.

“You need to go, Mac.”

I bite my lip to keep it from wobbling.

Doesn’t he know?

“Jordan,” I croak into the rain when he shakes his head. “Why can’t you come with me?” I whisper to the storm, too afraid to hear the answer, but unable to walk away until I do.

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