Page 168 of Game Misconduct
But now I can’t get the image out of my head—her, standing across from me, not flinching, not blinking, not breathing. Just…silent.
She didn’t try to stop me. Didn’t ask me why. Didn’t show a single crack.
And that, more than anything, makes me want to punch a wall until something gives.
Because Iknowwhat I saw in her eyes that night in the suite. Iknowwhat I felt. It wasn’t one-sided. It wasn’t fake.
And maybe that’s the worst part.
Because I didn’t just break it off.
I broke her trust.
And I can’t take that back.
I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, knuckles white around the sweating glass.
The ice has melted. The bourbon sits untouched.
And for the first time since Boston, I can’t tell if I did the right thing or just repeated the same fucking mistake all over again.
A sharp knock breaks the silence.
I don’t move.
Another knock. Heavier this time.
“Lasker,” Jace calls. “I know you’re in there.”
I scrub a hand down my face, leave the bourbon where it is, and drag myself to the door.
When I open it, Jace doesn’t wait for an invitation. He walks right past me like he owns the place, eyeing the mess with the kind of calm that makes me feel even more unhinged.
His gaze lands on the bourbon glass. Then the keycard.
Then me.
“You look like shit,” he says, sitting on the edge of the couch and folding his arms over his knees. “Start talking.”
I kick the door closed behind me. “Not in the mood.”
“Tough.”
I don’t answer.
Instead, I go to the kitchen, grab a second glass, pour another shot of bourbon, and set it on the coffee table in front of him.
He doesn’t touch it.
“So, it was true,” he says, after a long beat. “You and Carrington.”
My jaw tightens. “It’s over.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I don’t want to say it. Don’t want to crack it open.
But Jace just sits there, waiting, like he’s done this before. Like he’s seen this movie, knows how it ends, and still thinks I’ve got one last plot twist left in me.
