Page 133 of Hymns of the Broken
Our girl.
He says it like it’s settled. Like I haven’t been bleeding for her since the second she walked on this tour. Like he’s earned something he only just wanted.
His shoulder brushes hers again, and for a split second, she shifts toward him. Away from me.
It burns.
It scorches.
But then—she comes back.
She settles right between us, her leg pressing into mine. Her hand finds my thigh for just a heartbeat. Just long enough to remind me—she’s still here. Still choosing both. Maybe… still choosing me.
That single touch grounds me. Cuts through the noise, the jealousy, the urge to tear the world apart.
Most of the worries clawing at me drop into the background.
For now.
The lights go down, blood-red letters slash across the screen. It’s some trash horror flick that Ash insisted on. Screams echo through the darkness, and Macee’s already talking shit like she gets paid to narrate chaos.
“Ten bucks says the cheerleader dies first,” she says, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Ash, never missing a chance to be gross, adds, “Double if she dies topless.”
Macee flips him off.
Sawyer laughs, snorting into her drink. Riot’s shoulders shake beside her.
But I’m not laughing.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Riot’s hand slide toward her thigh.
I catch the way her breath hitches. Every tiny jolt, the way her legs shift, the shiver that moves up her body as his fingers roam. I don’t have to look. I can read every inch of her with just my ears, my instincts, my pulse pounding in my throat.
My hand curls around the armrest, knuckles white. I could break the fucking thing in half if I tried.
I lean in, my voice a low rumble just for her.“You good, Trouble?”
She glances at me, lips parted, eyes wide and shining in the flicker from the screen. She nods, whispering, “I’m fine.” But I see the hesitation, the heat in her eyes, and the way her fingers tighten around the edge of the blanket.
I don’t smile.
I know that look.
I know what she’s feeling; I know what’s happening inside her brain. Wanting to surrender to the idea of getting caught, waiting for one of us to tip her over the edge.
And if Riot thinks I’m just gonna sit here and let him be the one to do it?
He’s out of his fucking mind.
SAWYER
Riot’s hand is resting on his thigh at first, innocent enough. Until the blanket shifts and his fingers brush against mine, he doesn’t look at me, doesn’t even smirk—just stares at the screen like he isn’t tracing the back of my hand with his thumb, inching closer and closer.
My heart skips when his fingers slip beneath the edge of the blanket and land on my bare thigh.
I suck in a breath so soft only I can hear it. Or so I hope.
