13. Colton #2
“We can talk here,” she says, crossing her arms and leaning back on the bench.
“Okay—” I roll my lips between my teeth before releasing them.
I glance around, and some of the people who were staring have moved on. Micah’s back is to us now, and he looks as though he’s telling a story with the way his hands are moving. The group laughs, and I glare at him, getting distracted again .
“So talk.” Jasmine pulls my attention back to her, and I shift on the bench, attempting to give her my full attention.
“Are you happy with me, Jasmine?”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t be with you if I wasn’t.”
“You just said I’ve been a crappy boyfriend for weeks.”
She sighs, softening. “We’re just going through a rough patch; we’ll get through it.”
I nod, but my chest is tight. The lie tastes akin to ash.
“Do you really believe that?” I ask quietly.
Her lips part as though she wants to answer, but my phone buzzes. My fingers twitch. Habit wins. I pull it out before I can stop myself.
The thing about pretending is that eventually you forget which version of yourself you’re faking.
Golden boy. Star football player. Jasmine’s boyfriend. The guy with the right smile and the right answers.
Lately, none of those fit.
Lately, I feel as if I’m playing a role I never auditioned for.
SmokeScreen77: So what's stopping you? You act like meeting me would set the world on fire.
I smirk. Type back without thinking.
Me: I like fire. But I’ve got too much to burn.
There’s a pause, and my screen just waits . The typing dots flicker in and out. It’s pathetic how much power three bouncing dots have over my heart rate.
SmokeScreen77: I thought you liked fire .
“Colton.”
I look up, startled.
“I swear to God, Colton,” she snaps, her irritation flaring to life again, “if you look at your phone one more time while we’re talking?—”
I flinch. Too late. I swallow, my fingers twitching around the smooth surface, and I glance at the screen one last time before locking it.
“I’m here,” I lie, tucking my phone under my thigh. “Just tired.”
She doesn’t buy it, probably because I’ve said it way too many times recently. Her eyes search mine, studying me and attempting to figure out where I’ve gone.
“You’ve been tired for weeks,” she says finally. “You don’t call. You don’t answer half my texts. Barely carry on a conversation with me when we are together. When I come over, you barely look at me. You barely touch me. And when you do, it’s as if you’re somewhere else.”
My chest tightens. I can’t meet her eyes.
She hesitates, then her voice softens into something akin to resignation. “So…if it’s not me and something I did, who is he?”
The words hit like a body blow. “What?”
She tilts her head, looking up at me. “You’re not cheating with a girl , Colton. You’d at least be smart enough to hide that. No, this is different. You’ve got that guilty closeted-boy vibe, and I’ve seen it before.”
“I’m not—” I stop. Swallow the heat creeping up my neck.
The worst part is how close she is.
Jasmine’s voice lowers. “Look. I don’t care who it is. But if you ’re falling for someone else—just fucking say it. I’m done letting you string me along.”
Her words hang between us, sharp as glass. My throat feels tight.
“I’m not—” I try again, but it’s pathetic. I can’t even lie convincingly anymore.
Her eyes shine, furious and wet. “God, do you even hear yourself? You don’t love me. You haven’t for a long time. And I let you pretend, because I thought maybe if I just… waited… you’d come back to me.”
“Jas…” My voice cracks. I reach for her hand, but she jerks away. “I’m so?—“
“No,” she snaps, louder now. A few heads turn, but she doesn’t care. “You’re somewhere else every time you look at me. I’m not stupid. I know when I’m the stand-in for whatever’s going on in your head.”
The words land like a punch because she’s right. She’s always been right.
I take a shaky breath, and for once, I don’t reach for a lie. “You’re right,” I say quietly. “I can’t keep doing this to you.”
Her chin wobbles, but she juts it out, angry and proud. Even if I’ve just broken her. “So what…are we breaking up?”
I swallow hard as guilt eats at me. “Yeah. I think that’s for the best.”
She freezes for a heartbeat, as though she didn’t think I’d actually say it. Then she nods once, sharp and fast, even as her eyes glisten. “Good. Because I deserve better than someone who can’t even look me in the eye before he kisses me.”
The words slice clean through me. I can’t argue. I can only sit there as she stands, turns on her heel, and storms toward her dorms, leaving me with nothing but guilt and my buzzing phone in my pocket.
I don’t move. I sink back to the bench.
Because across the quad, Micah’s still laughing. Still leaning back on his hands, knees knocked wide apart, surrounded by people he belongs with.
And I’m alone. It’s exactly what I deserve.
Not just alone on this bench, but in a way that sinks straight through my chest, stealing my breath and stabbing into me. Because I can’t even admit what I want out loud. Not to Jasmine. Not to my team. Not even to myself.
My phone buzzes again.
SmokeScreen77: You still there, Golden Boy? Or did I scare you off?
No. You’re the only one keeping me sane.
I stare at the message. Thumb hovering. My heart beats too fast, and it has nothing to do with Jasmine’s exit or the heat of the afternoon sun. It’s him. It’s always him lately.
Me: Still here. Just burned a bridge I should’ve walked off months ago.
SmokeScreen77: Sounds like you’re making your own fire without me. Want me to distract you?
God, yes.
Me: I always want that.
I don’t even realize I’m smiling until someone walks past and gives me a look. I tone it down. Slide lower on the bench. Thumb the edge of my screen as if I can touch him through it.
Micah’s standing now. Shoulders rolled back, stretching his arms over his head like he knows exactly how good he looks when he does it. I tear my gaze away, pulse skidding sideways.
He catches me looking as he moves to the brick wall and takes a seat.
Just a flicker of eye contact across the quad. A raised brow. A crooked smirk. Then he turns his attention to his phone as if he couldn’t care less. But he saw me.
And I can’t help but wonder…what if it is him?
No. That’s insane. He’d never talk to me in the same way SmokeScreen does. He hates me.
Except...he didn’t used to.
And sometimes I see something in his face—something softer, haunted, familiar—before he walls it off behind that razor-sharp mouth and fuck-you eyes. I watch as he types out a text, my phone buzzes, and I pull my gaze from him.
SmokeScreen77: Yeah? What would you want me to do if I was there right now?
I let out a breath I’d been holding. Some of the tension leaving me with it.
Me: First? Distract me.
Then maybe… keep me company.
The typing dots flash. Then vanish. Then return.
SmokeScreen77: Oh, I’m very good compan y.
People beg me to stay.
Me: Bet they don’t know how to keep you.
Micah laughs again across the lawn, tipping his head back. It’s like sunlight and something even warmer. I don’t know if I want to punch him or kiss him.
Maybe both.