Chapter 21
ELIJAH
He kissed her.
Adam fucking Klein kissed her.
The kiss plays on loop in my head like a highlight reel from hell. Adam's mouth on Sam's. That prick actually kissed her, right there on the jumbotron for the whole arena to see.
That was two nights ago, and I still can't scrape the image from my brain. Who the hell invented the kiss cam anyway? Because I'd like to have a word with them—preferably with my fists—right after I'm done with Adam's stupid face.
My hands are clenched so tight they're cramping up. My body feels like it's running too hot, like I've been skating suicides for hours, except the exhaustion never comes—just this constant, thrumming rage.
I can't think straight. I've been snapping at everyone. Coach pulled me aside after the game last night and told me to get my head out of my ass before he benches me for the rest of the season.
I don't even get why I'm so worked up. It's not like Sam and I were... anything. But seeing that dickwad Klein kiss her on the jumbotron? Jesus. Every little thing makes me want to put my fist through a wall.
I blow out a breath, forcing myself to chill. Not gonna let that kiss cam bullshit ruin tonight's party. We've got the whole team here, the house is packed, and I'm not about to be that asshole who brings everyone down. My eyes lock on the cue ball while Zach lines up his shot, the pool stick solid in my hand.
We're celebrating another win tonight—and apparently it's also my post-birthday celebration, even though I told them I didn't need one. But whatever. Two reasons to get wasted works for me.
I take a pull from my bottle, scanning the crowd for what feels like the hundredth time in the past hour, though I'd rather die than admit who I'm looking for.
"Where's Care? Thought she was coming back with you," I ask, chalking the tip of my cue.
Zach narrows his eyes, calculating angles before he leans forward. His cue slides smoothly between his fingers before he strikes with a sharp crack. The cue ball spins forward, smacking into the triangle of colors with a satisfying collision that sends them scattering across the felt like startled birds.
"Oh, she'll be here soon," he says, straightening up to admire his handiwork. Three solids roll into different pockets. "Just texted that she's on her way."
My eyes drift back to the doorway, then sweep across the packed living room. The red cups, the swaying bodies, the laughter—all of it blurs as I search for a specific face.
"Are you sure you're asking where my girlfriend is, or is that your way of asking if Sam is coming?"
I snap my head in his direction, fighting the heat creeping up my neck. "What? No. What are you talking about?"
Zach is already staring at me with that infuriating smirk that says he knows exactly what's going on in my head. He gestures toward the pool table, pointing out it's my shot while he speaks.
"You think I haven't noticed you've been stretching your neck like a fucking giraffe with a Tinder notification? Every five seconds you're scanning the door like you're waiting for someone to walk in."
I scoff. "I'm not—"
"Like you're waiting for my sister," he finishes, elbowing me lightly.
He reaches to grab his beer bottle from the edge of the pool table. He takes a long drink, eyebrows raised over the bottle, waiting for my response.
"Why the hell would I be looking for her?"
He shrugs, amused. "You tell me."
"It's actually nice not having her around to cockblock me tonight." I gesture with my beer toward the crowd, where at least three girls from the swim team have been eyeing me since they walked in. One of them catches my gaze and smiles. "See? Plenty of options that don't come with your sisterly warnings attached."
"Yeah, yeah, if you say so," Zach says, amusement dancing in his eyes. He takes a step back from the pool table. "Your turn."
I lower my body into position, squinting down the length of the cue stick. I line up a shot on the eight ball, trying to focus on the angles, the force needed, the perfect place to strike. The party fades into background noise as I concentrate.
"Is everything good with you and Sam?" Zach asks suddenly. "Did, uh, something happen between you guys?"
My hand freezes mid-stroke, the cue stick suspended in a trembling limbo. Shit. My heart hammers against my ribs.
"Why are you asking?"
"You guys seem to be acting strange since you two stayed here together when you had that concussion."
I push the cue forward, barely grazing the cue ball, which pathetically rolls a few inches and stops. "How so?" I'm fishing, buying time to come up with something better than the truth.
I'm not about to tell my best friend I kissed his sister after he specifically warned me not to lead her on, then acted like a total asshole afterward. That conversation isn't happening—not just because it's none of his business, but because I'm legitimately afraid it would destroy our friendship.
Zach picks up the chalk, absently running it over the tip of his cue. "You seem a lot colder to her lately. And every time she's around, you're suddenly Mr. Social Butterfly with every woman in the room. It's almost like you're making sure you're rubbing it on her face." There's an edge to his voice now, that subtle shift from carefree buddy to protective older brother.
I peer at him and catch his jaw clenching before I look away, suddenly fascinated by the pattern on the pool table's felt.
"I know I told you that whatever happened between you and Sam, that's between you two. But," he sighs heavily, the exhale carrying the weight of genuine concern, "I just worry about her because she's been feeling down lately, so I thought I'd ask."
Something twists in my chest.
I grip the pool cue tighter. Sam's face flashes in my mind—not the cautious half- smile she's been wearing lately, but the real one, the one that used to light up her whole face when she'd see me walk into a room. The way her eyes would crinkle at the corners. The sound of her laugh.
I swallow hard against the dryness in my throat, suddenly aware of how many times I've deliberately looked through her like she was nothing. How I'd make sure to flirt with someone else whenever she was within earshot.
Fuck, I can still see her shoulders slump when she thought no one was watching. Makes me feel like trash.
"Oh," I manage. "I... yeah."
God, I hate this.
"I've been doing it on purpose," I admit finally, "The cold treatment... The flirting. The extra attention to other girls when she's around."
"Why?"
Zach waits, his expression unreadable as I continue.
"She wasn't taking the hint. Words alone weren't cutting it—she wasn't getting the message that we're never going to happen..." My voice trails off as I watch a droplet race down the brown glass. "So I figured if I pushed her away hard enough, she'd finally give up on me. Sometimes you have to be a jerk to be kind, right? And this thing she has for me— it's gone on too long and I need to end it before it gets any worse."
Saying it tastes like ashes.
The more I talk, the more scripted it feels, like I've been running this speech in my head on repeat. A lame excuse that' s somehow become gospel.
Because if I'm being honest — and I don't even know if I am — it feels less like I'm protecting her and more like I'm protecting myself. Like I keep doubling down on this whole "I'm doing the right thing" speech because admitting I might be wavering would wreck the entire foundation I've been standing on for years.
And I'm way too stubborn to let that happen.
Zach nods slowly, absorbing everything.
"I get what you're saying," he says after a moment. "My sister's got the family stubbornness. Once she decides she wants something, she doesn't exactly back down easily." His laugh comes out hollow.
"For what it's worth, I know you're not doing this just to be a dick. And yeah, leading her on would only cause much more pain down the road, so I understand. It just..."
He takes a long pull from his drink, then sets it down with careful precision. His eyes fix on something distant beyond my shoulder.
"Seeing her walk around like someone dimmed all the lights in her eyes." Zach rubs the back of his neck. "She's my little sister, you know? Seeing her hurting like this — it breaks my heart."
I can't find words to respond because guilt gnaws at my insides like a starving rat.
To distract myself, I turn back to the pool table, getting into position again. I focus on the cue ball, eyes narrowed as I slide the stick back and forth between my fingers, calculating the perfect strike that might momentarily take my mind off Sam's pain—pain I've caused.
Just as I'm about to hit the ball, movement at the door catches my eye. My gaze lifts automatically, and everything else falls away.
Sam.
She's standing in the doorway next to Caroline, her sandy blonde hair catching the light like it's been dipped in sunshine. She's wearing jeans that hug her curves and a blue top that somehow makes the silver of her eyes more striking, like storm clouds gathering over water. There's a hesitant smile on her lips, but it's not the full-wattage beam I'm used to. It's dimmer, more cautious.
The cue stick jerks forward in my distraction, hitting the ball at an awkward angle. It shoots off the table entirely, bouncing onto the floor with a hollow clack. I barely notice.
"Hi, Eli," Sam says as she approaches, her voice missing its usual enthusiasm.
Since I'm committed to being a complete piece of shit, I give her only a brief, passing glance before looking away, moving to stand beside Zach.
"Hey, babe!" Caroline calls, all bright smiles and bouncy energy as she waves at Zach. They approach our corner of the room.
"Hey, baby," Zach replies, looking as whipped as ever for his girl. He snakes an arm around Caroline's waist, pulling her close and placing a quick kiss on her temple.
Adam fucking Klein slides up next to Sam, his shoulder brushing hers as he leans in to say something. My vision narrows, darkens at the edges. The cue stick creaks under my grip, and I realize I'm holding my breath, jaw clenched so tight a dull ache spreads through my temples.
Klein's hand hovers near the small of her back, not quite touching, but close enough that my pulse hammers in my ears like a war drum.
"Why is that prick here?" I mutter through gritted teeth, giving Adam a death glare that could melt steel.
Zach hears me and follows my gaze, his own smile faltering momentarily. Adam seems completely unaffected by the fact that two hockey players are staring at him like he's a deer that wandered onto our hunting grounds wearing a "shoot me" sign.
What the fuck is he doing here?
And why the fuck is he with her?
My jaw clenches so hard it's a miracle my teeth don't crack. The way he stands slightly too close to Sam, the casual confidence in his posture—it all makes me want to introduce his face to the nearest wall. The cue stick in my grip creaks dangerously, threatening to snap under the pressure of my fury.
Zach leans toward me, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "If I didn't know any better, the way you're glowering at Adam right now, I'd think you were jealous." He gives me a knowing smirk. "Tell me again how you're not into my sister."
"Shut up," I whisper-yell.
"What's wrong, Cap? Afraid someone else is gonna score while you're busy pretending you don't want to play?"
Before I can tell him exactly where he can shove his metaphors, he drags Caroline away, leaving me standing there with my jealousy as obvious as a neon sign, despite all my efforts to appear indifferent.