Chapter 14 #6
“Please,” he said, dragging the word through his teeth. “If you care about her so much, maybe look at your own face in the mirror, Vale. You hurt her before I ever touched her.”
Tristan lunged again.
Kane swore and drove a shoulder into him, holding him back. “Enough.”
“Don’t talk like you saved her,” Tristan snapped at Drew. “You don’t get to use my mistakes as your opening.”
“My opening?” Drew barked. “You think she’s a play call? You think I saw you fumble and ran a route?”
“That’s exactly what you did.”
Drew surged again, and the linemen nearly lost him.
Dante got in front of his chest, both palms up. “Drew. Back off.”
“No,” Drew said, eyes still on Tristan. “Let him say it. Let him stand here in front of everybody and pretend he wasn’t halfway with Isa while his whole damn heart was still following Stella around campus.”
Tristan’s jaw worked.
Drew’s laugh was vicious.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
Stella inhaled like she had been punched.
And that was enough.
Not because I suddenly liked her.
I did not.
Not because Tristan deserved saving.
He definitely did not.
But because all of them—Drew, Tristan, the boys holding them, the girls watching, the campus vultures already pretending not to film—had turned me into the center of a fight I had not asked for.
Again.
Poor Isa.
Pretty Isa.
Rejected Isa.
Drew’s girl.
Vale’s mistake.
The thing men defended, lost, claimed, warned each other about.
No.
Absolutely not.
I stepped between the fires and let every bit of pageant training, Texas steel, injury pain, humiliation, and pure female exhaustion rise into my spine.
“Stop.”
No one listened.
Of course they didn’t.
Men never heard the first warning.
So I did what my mother had raised me to do when polite failed.
I made my voice beautiful and lethal.
“Stop this bullshit right now!”
That landed.
Drew’s head snapped toward me.
Tristan’s too.
A dozen faces turned.
The ocean crashed behind us like applause from a very dramatic God.
I limped the last few steps into the open space between them, ignoring Drew’s instant flash of concern when he saw the way I was favoring my leg.
“Isa,” he said.
I pointed at him. “No.”
His mouth shut.
Good.
Progress.
Then I turned to Tristan.
“You,” I said. “Are being an ass.”
His face tightened.
I did not care.
“You don’t get to decide you care about my love life now because watching Drew stand next to me makes you uncomfortable.
You had weeks to choose me. You didn’t. Fine.
That is your right. But do not stand here pretending your sudden concern is noble when half of it is guilt and the other half is ego. ”
The silence sharpened.
Tristan looked like I’d slapped him.
Maybe I had.
Then I turned to Drew.
“And you.”
His expression had already shifted from anger to something worse.
Worried.
“Also an ass.”
Jace made a strangled sound behind him.
Drew shot him a look.
I kept going. “I do not need you fighting my battles in front of the entire athletic department like I’m some broken little thing men get to pass around and defend. I appreciate that you care.”
His face changed at that.
I hated that I noticed.
“But if you ever speak over me like this again,” I said, “I will take your own helmet and beat you with it.”
Dante coughed.
Someone near the fire whispered, “Damn.”
Drew stared at me.
Then, very slowly, the edge of his mouth twitched.
“Noted.”
“Do not smile at me.”
The smile vanished.
Mostly.
I exhaled and looked at Stella.
She stood a few feet away, face pale in the firelight, arms crossed tight under her chest like she was holding herself together by force alone.
For one second, I remembered her in the library.
Remembered the way everyone had watched her too.
Judged her. Wanted her to fall apart beautifully for their entertainment.
Maybe I hated her.
Maybe she hated me.
Maybe we had both been made into symbols by men who didn’t know how to finish a sentence without bleeding on someone.
I lifted my chin.
“Stella.”
Her brows rose.
“What do you say you and I go have a drink down the beach and leave these two to cool off?”
No one moved.
It was like I had suggested we hold hands and rob a bank.
Drew blinked. “What?”
Tristan said, “Isa—”
Stella looked from me to Drew, then to Tristan, then back to me.
For the first time all night, her mouth curved.
Not warm.
Not friendly.
But amused.
“Sounds good,” she said. “I don’t like this machismo bullshit anyway.”
Then she flipped her hair over one shoulder, stepped around Tristan, and walked toward me.
The jaws dropping around the bonfire were almost worth the entire night.
Almost.
I glanced at Drew.
He was still being held back by half the offensive line, chest rising hard, eyes fixed on me like he couldn’t decide whether to be proud, furious, or terrified that I was willingly walking away with Stella Cortez.
“Stay where you are,” I told him.
His brows shot up. “You giving me orders now?”
“Yes.”
His mouth twitched again.
“Careful, Texas. You keep talking like that, I might fall in love.”
The words hit too close.
Too hard.
Too soon.
So I gave him the coldest smile I had left.
“Then stop following the rules.”
Something flickered across his face.
There and gone.
I turned before I could study it.
Stella fell into step beside me as we moved away from the fire, away from the boys, away from the entire circle of stunned athletes pretending they had not just witnessed a campus event.
For several steps, neither of us spoke.
The sand was cooler closer to the water. The music dulled behind us. Waves rushed up the shore and slid back, dragging silver under the moonlight. I could feel Stella beside me—tall, composed, quietly lethal.
I hated that she was graceful even walking in sand.
Finally, she said, “You know half of them think we’re about to fight.”
“I know.”
“Are we?”
I glanced at her.
She looked back, mouth faintly curved.
“No,” I said. “My leg’s injured.”
Her smile widened by half an inch. “Convenient.”
“Also I’m wearing Drew’s jersey and I refuse to get blood on it.”
“Yours or mine?”
“That depends how annoying you are.”
A laugh escaped her.
Small.
Surprised.
Against my will, I almost smiled too.
We reached a quieter stretch of beach where someone had left a cooler half-buried in the sand. Stella crouched, pulled out two cans, and handed one to me.
I looked at it.
Hard seltzer.
Of course.
“Peace offering?” she asked.
“Temporary ceasefire.”
“Fair.”
I cracked it open.
So did she.
For a moment we stood there facing the ocean, drinking in silence while two beautiful, overgrown athletic disasters probably continued ruining the vibe behind us.
Stella sighed.
“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I didn’t want you hurt.”
My hand tightened around the can.
“I know.”
The words surprised me because they were true.
That was the worst part.
Stella looked over. “Do you hate me?”
I stared at the water.
“No,” I said honestly. “But I’m trying to.”
She nodded once.
I took another sip, cold bubbles burning down my throat.
Her mouth curved again. “You’re not subtle.”
“I’m extremely subtle.”
“You looked at me earlier like you were mentally choosing where to hide my body.”
“I had options.”
“Respect.”
A laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it.
We both looked back toward the bonfire.
The boys were still in clusters. Drew stood with Dante and Jace near the keg table, no longer being restrained, but still vibrating with leftover violence. Tristan stood several yards away with Kane, his head turned toward the ocean.
Toward Stella.
Of course.
Drew, meanwhile, was looking at me.
Only me.
Even from that distance, I could feel it.
Stella noticed.
“He really watches you,” she said.
I swallowed.
“It’s fake.”
“Is it?”
I turned back to the ocean too fast.
She did not push.
Which made me hate her a little less.
Maybe.
Behind us, the bonfire roared higher as someone threw on another piece of driftwood. The crowd noise swelled, then faded again. Life moving on. Gossip resetting. Men cooling down because two women had chosen not to be the battlefield.
Stella lifted her can.
“To not being fought over like property.”
I looked at her.
Then clinked mine lightly against hers.
“To men learning to shut up.”
Her smile turned real.
“Good luck with that.”
I glanced back one more time.
Drew was still watching me, jaw tight, eyes dark, his jersey on my body and his ex somewhere in the night and Tristan Vale finally forced to hear what he had done out loud.
Everything was messy.
Everything was dangerous.
Everything about Drew Travers had become harder to keep at a distance.
And maybe that was the real problem.
Not Casey.
Not Tristan.
Not Stella.
Me.
Because I had made a rule about not falling in love, then walked straight into a bonfire wearing his name across my back.
And heaven help me, I was starting to like how it felt.
The worst part was that Stella was not awful.
Awful would have been easier. Awful would have let me keep hating her cleanly, with both hands and my whole chest. Awful would have let me blame her for the way Tristan had looked through me and still somehow seen her standing behind my shoulder every single time.
But Stella Cortez stood beside me at the edge of the water, one hand wrapped around a can of hard seltzer, dark hair moving in the ocean wind, and she looked less like a villain and more like another girl who was tired.
That was deeply inconvenient for my bitterness.
Behind us, the bonfire party had started pretending it hadn’t almost turned into a full-contact male ego showcase.
Music thumped again. Someone laughed too loudly.
The football players clustered near the keg like a herd of wounded buffalo in Stanford hoodies.
Basketball stood on the opposite side, doing the same thing with prettier cheekbones and more emotional repression.
I could feel both men without looking.
Tristan, somewhere behind Stella.
Drew, somewhere behind me.
The difference was that Tristan’s attention used to feel like a prize I had to earn.
Drew’s felt like weather.
Heavy. Certain. Coming whether I was ready or not.