Page 26 of The Hearts We Fumble
That her hatred was necessary.
It made it easier to focus on football, to not think about the fact she was no longer just Colter’s little sister.
She was an adult now, in college, in a similar stage of life as me. Nothing stood in our way anymore.
Except… everything still was.
Even though age was no longer a factor, I still had the same commitments and responsibilities that kept me from her.
Football was my priority. It always had been.
Yet here I was, standing in the middle of a bar, and somehow, it already felt like she was slipping away.
Like I was just someone she used to know.
“I still owe you from your birthday,” I say, testing the waters.
For a second—just a split second—she winces, her smile faltering.
But then it’s there again—that fake-as-hell smile, the one I hate, the one that isn’t meant for me.
I grind my jaw, forcing myself to stay quiet even though everything in me wants to tell her she can’t fake that shit with me.
I see her. I always have.
And she knows it.
But if I’m going to get Wyatt to talk to me and put the past behind us, it will take a hell of a lot more than a stolen conversation in a bar.
Without another word, she spins on her heel, her skirt brushing against me as she stalks over to where the girls are sitting.
I watch as she leans in, murmuring something to Tatum before sliding off the barstool, the two of them disappearing into the crowd.
I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair before turning toward the guys. They’re talking about tomorrow’s games, arguing over who’s going to win, but I can’t focus on any of it.
I tip back the rest of my beer, tasting nothing but frustration, and lift the empty bottle in the air.
“Anyone else need one?”
A few headshakes and a muttered nah are all the answers I get before I step away, weaving through the bodies packed into the bar.
There’s a line at the counter, and every barstool is occupied.
I expect to find Wyatt with Tatum, considering they just slipped away together. So when I spot her sitting alone, turned toward a guy I don’t recognize, my jaw tics.
I keep my distance, standing back in line, debating what the hell to say to her.
She’s smiling.
Not the fake smile she gave me—but a real one.
The kind that used to be mine.
The guy beside her lifts a finger in the air, catching Kenny’s attention behind the bar to order another round of drinks.
And just like that—I know I’m about to do something stupid.
Wyatt’s fingertips skim his forearm, her head tilting back as a laugh escapes her lips—light, effortless, like whatever he said was the funniest damn thing she’s ever heard.
