Page 80 of Breakaway Daddies

Miss her so deep it’s in my bones, in the cracks between them.

And the cruelest part? I get it. Igetwhy she left. Why she’s scared. Why this, the three of us, is too messy, too big, too much.

Especially with the media breathing down our necks.

I get why she built the wall. But understanding doesn’t make the ache smaller. Doesn’t make me want her less.

I haven’t looked at another woman. Haven’t eventhoughtabout it. Not when everything in me is still wired for her.

Not when I walk through every day like I’m half a heartbeat behind where I should be, like I left something vital in her hands and haven’t figured out how to ask for it back.

The showers shut off.

I hear the clink of locker doors opening. The soft rustle of damp towels, the hollow creak of leather bags being zipped. It’s quiet, but not peaceful. It’s the kind of silence that fills your ears when you’re trying not to cry.

Thomas walks past first, in jeans and a hoodie, towel in his hair like he just couldn’t be bothered to dry it properly. He stops in front of me, and I feel his eyes before I see them. Studying me. Checking the damage.

“We’re thinking of hitting up Kingston’s,” he says finally, voice light, too light. “Just one drink. Blow off some steam. You in?”

Rowan’s behind him, dragging his jacket over his shoulders, the fabric sticking to his still-damp shirt. His gaze flicks to mine. It lingers.

It’s not a question, not exactly, but it’s notnotone, either.

He’s asking if I’m okay, if I’m still here.

I want to say no. I want to say I don’t have it in me. That my chest is still an echo chamber of everything we lost.

But the way they’re looking at me, like maybe they’re hanging on by a thread too, makes me pause.

Maybe we’re all pretending. Maybe this is the only way we know how to keep the seams from splitting.

“Yeah,” I murmur, pushing up off the bench. “Alright. One drink.”

Rowan gives a small nod, tight and unreadable.

Thomas claps a hand on my shoulder, quick, firm, like he’s afraid that if he doesn’t touch me, I’ll disappear.

We walk out together. Three guys in hoodies and damp hair, trying to pass for normal.

Pretending we’re just teammates.

Pretending we’re not bleeding.

Pretending a drink can hold off the collapse just a little longer.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

Jinx

I pressthe charcoal down too hard, andsnap. The tip breaks clean off and slices straight through the paper, splitting it like skin under a dull blade.

A hiss escapes my throat, sharp and angry, but not loud enough to match the fury rising behind my ribs.

“Seriously?Seriously?”

I hurl the sketchpad across the room. It smacks the wall with a limp, unsatisfyingthud, then flutters down into the heap of ruined canvases, dried out markers, and bent paintbrushes.

My little “studio corner” is more of a graveyard now. An altar to everything I used to be and can’t seem to reach anymore.

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