Page 71 of Don't Puck Your Best Friend’s Girl

"Please," I say quietly. "I need to make sure she's okay."

Something in my voice or expression must convince her, because Mina sighs and walks to the kitchen. "Fine. But if she doesn't want you here, you're leaving. Immediately."

"Fair enough."

Mina returns with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a dish towel. "For your face," she explains, handing it to me. "You look like hell."

"Thanks." I press the makeshift ice pack to my cheekbone, the cold numbing the worst of the pain. "Not all of it is from tonight. I've always had this face."

She doesn't laugh, just watches me with a guarded expression. She retreats to the kitchen, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the gentle hum of the refrigerator. Time stretches, minutes feeling like hours as I wait, the frozen peas gradually warming against my skin.

Finally, the door opens. Saylor steps inside, her movements weary but composed. Her lip is swollen, a small cut visible where Byron's elbow connected. The sight renews my anger, sends fresh adrenaline coursing through my veins. But more concerning is the slight blue tinge to her lips — she's been outside in the cold too long, without a proper coat.

Her eyes find me immediately, widening with surprise before narrowing in anger. "What are you doing here?" she demands, voice tight with controlled emotion. "Leave. Now."

I rise from the couch, the bag of now-thawed peas falling forgotten to the floor. "Saylor—"

"I only let him in because he seemed worried," Mina interjects from the kitchen doorway. "And he looks like he went ten rounds with a cement mixer."

Chloe appears in the hallway, drawn by the tension, her curious eyes moving between us.

Saylor's gaze sweeps over my battered face, a flicker of something — concern? satisfaction? — crossing her expression before hardening again. "Did you tell them what you did?" she asks, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.

"Tell us what?" Mina asks, moving closer.

"Go ahead," Saylor says, chin lifting in challenge. "Save me the breath. Tell my best friends what you did tonight."

I shrug, aiming for casual despite the way my heart hammers against my ribs. "Saylor texted me that she was hanging out with you two tonight," I explain to Mina and Chloe. "Then I went to Byron's and found her there instead."

Saylor shakes her head, eyes flashing. "That's not what I mean, asshole, and you know it. Tell them what happened."

"The curry Byron bought for her was shitty," I continue with deliberate casualness, though the memory sends fresh anger coursing through me. "Byron knocked it out of my hands and came at me. End of story."

"End of story?" Saylor repeats incredulously. She turns to her roommates. "He left out the part where he deliberately provoked Byron, taunted him, and acted like the most arrogant asshole on the planet."

"You forgot the part where Byron elbowed you in the face," I add, tilting my head to study her injury more carefully. "Which is why I'm here, by the way. To make sure you're okay."

"I cannot believe how immature you are," Saylor says, each word precise and cutting. "This isn't high school, Cade. You can't just storm into an A and B conversation and throw a tantrum because your feelings are hurt."

"You lied to me," I counter, my composure slipping. "What did you expect? That I'd find you having a cozy dinner with my best friend and just wave hello?"

"I didn't know you were still friends with him!" she shoots back, color rising in her cheeks. "You don't ever talk about him. You said you'd chosen me over him."

"Well, we certainly won't be friends after tonight," I mutter, running a hand through my hair in frustration. The movement sends fresh pain through my ribs, a sharp reminder of the physical toll this evening has taken.

Mina and Chloe watch our exchange with wide eyes, heads swiveling back and forth as if they're spectators at a particularly intense tennis match. Under different circumstances, their expressions might be comical.

"Look," I say, softening my tone, "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Your lip…"

I step toward her, hand reaching instinctively to examine the injury. Saylor backs away, shaking her head.

"I'm fine," she insists, though the slight tremble in her voice betrays her. "I just need to clean up."

She turns and walks down the hallway toward the bathroom. Without conscious thought, I follow her, ignoring Mina's warning look. The bathroom door starts to close, but I catch it, stepping inside and shutting it behind me.

The small space feels even smaller with both of us inside, the air charged with unspoken emotions. Saylor stands before the mirror, examining her lip with careful fingers, pointedly ignoring my presence.

"Let me see," I say, moving closer.

---