Chapter 25
Reece
Jace can go fuck himself.
It’s been four days since I put him on his ass, and my knuckles are still bruised enough to remind me it actually happened. Every time I flex my hand, it hurts.
Jace has been trying to talk to me ever since, cornering me in hallways, blowing up my phone, and acting confused about why I won’t give him the time of day.
Honestly, I’ve had enough listening to his bullshit voice. He said what he did and fucked everything up. End of story.
I’m home alone, slumped on the couch, phone glowing in my hand as I scroll through nothing, trying to drown out the silence that’s louder than anything.
All I want is to talk to Red. Tell her it's not what she thinks. I’ve tried everything—texted her more times than I want to admit, called until it just rang out and went straight to voicemail. I swear to God, I would’ve walked the highway barefoot if I thought it would make her hear me out.
But she won’t.
And that’s on me.
I hate myself in a way I didn’t know was possible.
This isn’t the usual guilt or regret I can fuck away or joke about.
For the first time in my life, I don’t want to be Reece the player.
I don’t want the looks or the rumors or the easy girls who don’t ask questions.
I don’t want another mouth on my cock or another warm body that doesn’t matter.
I just want Red.
It fucking hurts in that rip-your-chest-open, can’t-breathe, punch-to-the-gut kind of way, because she doesn’t want me anymore.
And I can’t blame her for it.
Because if I were her?
I’d hate me too.
The knock hits hard. It’s sharp. With no patience behind it—just fists and fuck-you energy—I haul myself off the couch, already pissed and muttering curses under my breath.
If that’s Jace, he can go choke on his own ego.
One more word out of his mouth, and I’ll make sure he never says a fucking word to me again.
I yank the door open, prepared to unload.
But it’s not Jace.
It’s Noah.
And my chest hurts the second I see what he’s holding.
My jacket.
The same one I wrapped around her that night at the party.
She was freezing, but too damn proud to admit it.
Arms crossed, nose pink, teeth probably chattering behind that stubborn silence.
She wore it like she didn’t need it, but, fuck, she looked good in it.
Too good. I remember thinking I wanted her to keep it.
Thought maybe it meant something if she did.
Guess not.
Now it’s back in Noah’s hands, folded in a way that feels final, as if she couldn’t bear to see it in her room for another second.
Noah doesn’t say a word. He simply holds it out, and I take it, with every part of me screaming at the weight of what it means.
She’s fucking done.
I take the jacket, fingers curling around it as if it still holds a trace of her. It doesn’t. It’s just fabric now. Cold. Weightless.
When I step back, Noah walks in without asking. He heads straight for the couch, drops onto it, legs sprawled, arms draped over the back. I follow more slowly, dragging my feet, each step a reminder of what’s missing, as if my body has forgotten how to move without her.
Noah doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches as I sit down on the couch beside him. He shifts in his seat before reaching into the front pocket of his hoodie.
He pulls out something small, clenched in his fist, then slowly opens his hand, fingers uncurling one by one.
My ring is sitting in his palm.
The one I used to spin on my thumb when my thoughts got too loud. When I couldn’t sit still, breathe, or deal with the way she made everything feel too real.
The same fucking ring I gave her without actually saying the words. No label or promises of what I felt. Just a silent hope that she’d feel it and know. That she’d wear it and understand what I couldn’t say out loud—that she was mine.
I stare at it a moment too long. Then I reach for it, snatch it out of his hand, and tighten my fist around the metal as if I could force the meaning back into it. If I hold it tight enough, maybe she won’t be gone.
“She gave these to Aubrey,” Noah says. “Asked me to give them to you.”
I nod, jaw clenched, and swallow hard.
It fucking burns. Every inch of my throat feels scraped raw.
“Did she say anything else to Aubrey?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
Noah shakes his head. “No. Not really.”
That’s it.
No final shot at closure, just my stuff handed back to me.
“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging my hands down my face.
Noah leans back and pulls a joint from the front pocket of his hoodie. Lights it up with zero ceremony and even fewer fucks.
He takes a hit, then passes it to me. “Figured you’d need it.”
I take it without a word, bring it to my lips, and inhale deeply enough to feel it claw through my lungs on the way down.
“Thanks,” I mutter, exhaling slowly and watching the smoke curl up toward the ceiling.
We pass the joint between us, silence heavy, smoke swirling through the air. My head spins, but I embrace it. Better to feel high than feel empty.
Noah leans back, eyes half-closed, voice quiet. “You care about her, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I say, without hesitation. My throat’s raw, not from the smoke, but from every fucking word I haven’t said to her.
He takes the joint again. “Then I’ve gotta ask, because she’s Aubrey’s friend, and Aubrey’s not gonna let me hear the end of it if I don’t.”
I glance over at him.
“Why did you do it?” he asks.
I look away and stare directly ahead.
“It wasn’t fucking like that,” I say.
He waits. Calm, quiet, giving me the rope and watching to see if I’ll hang myself or try to climb out of the hole.
The silence lingers. The pain in my chest intensifies because the truth is, I don’t even know how to explain it.
I scrub a hand down my face; the guilt crawling up my throat like it’s got claws. “It started off as a stupid bet with Jace,” I say, words dry and bitter. “She shot me down at that party so fucking fast I didn’t have time to blink. So I ran my mouth. Said shit to save face.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, hands hanging uselessly between them. “But it changed. Because I changed. She got under my skin so fast I didn’t even notice it happening. One second I was playing the game, and the next I was falling, and I didn’t know how to stop.”
Noah stays quiet. He doesn’t interrupt; he just observes.
“By the time I actually did the shit I said to Jace, I didn’t tell him. I couldn’t. Hated the fucking bet. Even when she asked me about it, I told her it wasn’t a thing anymore. Lied to her face because I thought if I ignored it, it’d go away.”
I exhale sharply, eyes fixed on the floor. “But it didn’t. And when Jace opened his mouth, I was already in too deep. It was real to me. We were going to make it official that morning we walked in together. She wasn’t some fuck to me or a bet.” My voice drops lower. “I wanted her. All of her.”
“Did you say it?”
My head jerks up. “Say what?”
Noah’s eyes stay on mine, calm but sharp. “The shit Jace said. About extra points.”
I shake my head hard. “I never fucking said that. I’d never talk about her like that. Not her.”
He watches me for a moment. “Yeah. I figured. Jace has a mouth built for pissing people off. Shoots it off just to hear himself talk. I nearly flattened him a few months ago when he kept circling Aubrey like she was something to sink his teeth into.”
I let out a laugh. “You should’ve.”
“I might still,” he says.
Another moment of silence lingers between us.
“She’s not gonna believe you, you know,” Noah says eventually. “Not for a while.”
“I know.” The words catch in my throat as they come out.
“And she’s hurting.”
“I am too.”
He looks at me, one brow raised, eyes sharp. “Then do something about it. Get your head straight. She’s not gonna wait forever while you sit here crying into your dick.”
I don’t respond, mostly because he’s right.
He stands and pats me on the shoulder once before walking toward the door. He stops just before stepping outside.
“She cried when she gave Aubrey your stuff,” he says, glancing back at me. “I think that counts for something.”
Next he’s gone.
And I’m left alone again with my thoughts.
Me and the silence, and the ring I keep spinning on my thumb as if it has the power to rewind time. Like maybe if I turn it enough times, it’ll take me back to the night I slipped it into her hand with every intention written across my fucking heartbeat.
The next day doesn’t come any easier. If anything, it drags its boots across my chest and spits in my face for good measure.
Sam doesn’t look at me. Not once. She just walks past me in the hallway as if I’m invisible. No worse than invisible because even air gets breathed. I’m nothing to her now.
I try to talk to her between classes when she’s heading to her locker. I call her name, softly at first, then louder as she keeps walking.
This one time she stopped, and I thought maybe I’d get my chance to fix things. But when she looked at me, her eyes didn’t blaze as they usually did; they were frozen.
“Go to hell,” she says. It’s cold now. Nothing soft remains, as if everything she used to give me—her laugh, her blush, her fucking heart—got locked behind a door I no longer have the key to.
She walks away, and I stay standing there, feeling every eye in the hallway on me. My hands itch. My chest won’t fucking settle.
She’s shut it off.
That light she used to give me? It’s gone. The softness she used to show me when no one else was around? Gone too. The part of her that looked at me as if I was more than just a cocky asshole with a smart mouth that her father thought I was? Well, it’s gone too.
Every second of silence, every cold glance, every clipped word is a debt I racked up and now have to pay.
She’s fire turned ice.
And I’m the reason she froze.