Page 136 of The Wrong Play

I forced myself to stand still, to breathe, even as my chest ached with the effort.

He took a step back, like he’d had his fun, like he’d already won. “Stay away from me,” I managed to grit out.

His smile widened, condescending, patient. “Oh, Riley…” He shook his head, sighing like he was disappointed in me, like I was being difficult.

And then, just as I turned to leave, his voice caught me like a hook sinking into my ribs.

“I’ll be seeing you.”

I nearly stumbled.

But I didn’t look back.

I forced one foot in front of the other, made my way to the door, my breath uneven, my hands shaking.

I didn’t run.

Even though everything in me was screaming to.

By the time my shift at the coffee shop ended, my entire body ached, but not from exhaustion. Not from the hours spent on my feet or the countless cups of burnt espresso I’d poured.

No, the ache was deeper. Heavier.

Callum had found me.

And I had to pretend like everything was fine.

I walked into Jace’s house and tried to breathe. The air smelled warm and familiar—faint traces of his cologne in the air.

Safe.

I wanted to sink into it, let it wrap around me, pretend the day hadn’t happened.

Jace was in the kitchen, as usual, because I’d learned that he couldn’t exist for more than a few minutes without food, and I took a deep breath before walking into the room.

He didn’t say anything for a second. Just stood there, eyes flicking over me, assessing. Then, without a single ounce of warning?—

“That’s it. I can’t take it anymore.”

Before I could even process what was happening, he lunged across the kitchen, grabbing me by the waist and hauling me up into his arms like some kind of dramatic movie hero. A very dramatic, very unhinged movie hero.

I squeaked, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck as he spun us in a circle, my hair whipping into my face. “Jace!”

“I missed you,” he groaned, squeezing me tighter, like he was physically incapable of functioning without having me in his orbit. “It was so tragic. So painful. I think I might have withered away from sheer heartbreak. Did you even think about me today? Did you even mourn my absence?”

I huffed out a laugh, trying to wriggle free, but his grip was ironclad. “I was in class and then work, you lunatic.”

He gasps. “Even worse! You left me to fend for myself. What if I had perished from neglect?”

I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks ached from smiling. “You were at practice, Thatcher.”

He ignored me, setting me down just long enough to grab my face between both of his hands, his thumbs brushing my cheeks like I was some delicate, tragic thing. “I’ve come to a decision.”His voice dropped, solemn and serious. “You should carry me around in your pocket. Just—fold me up, shove me in there, and keep me close at all times. That way, we’ll never have to be apart again.”

I stared at him, deadpan. “You are six-foot-four, Jace.”

He waved that off. “And yet, I believe in you. I believe inus.”

I laughed, shaking my head, but he just wrapped his arms around me again, pulling me into his chest, his chin resting on the top of my head like he had no plans of letting go.

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