26. Scarlett
Scarlett
I poured myself another glass.
Well, a Solo cup. But still—dramatic and necessary.
The bottle glugged and hissed as I filled to the top, the sound sharp in the quiet.
Trace raised an eyebrow from across the tub.
“You trying to forget something?”
I smirked. “Trying to remember who I am.”
Alden chuckled low beside me, eyes flickering over my face. Trace's stare cut away—down to the tattoo on his wrist before he smoothed his face again.
I took a long sip, the wine warm and sharp, and leaned back again, arms stretched over the edge, chest rising just enough to tease. “Okay. Next question.”
Trace sighed, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Here we go.”
“If you could relive one night with me,” I said, voice honey-laced and dangerous. “Which one would you pick?”
Alden’s face didn’t change, but I felt the shift in the water. Just a flicker of tension when he looked at me.
“That night after graduation,” he said. “You were wearing that red dress. You climbed onto the roof and made us all swear we’d stay friends forever.”
My throat tightened.
“You kissed my cheek,” he added, voice lower now, “and told me I had the kind of heart people ruin.”
The image hit me hard—like it wasn’t just a memory, but a wound.
I turned, slowly, to Trace. “And you?”
“The lake. The first time I watched you swim out past the rocks. You didn’t even look back.”
My stomach flipped. He hadn’t said it like a compliment. More like a confession. A curse.
The silence between us swelled—thick, aching, intimate. Full of everything we’d almost said and never could.
I took another sip, but it didn’t help. The heat of the water was nothing compared to what burned behind my ribs.
“Okay,” I whispered. “My turn.”
I shifted through the water, slow and deliberate, until I was perched between them. Not touching either one, just… there. Like gravity didn’t apply to me.
“If I asked you both to stay in this tub all night with me, would you?”
“Yes.” Trace held my gaze.
I turned to see Alden smile.
“Every night, if you wanted.”
The drink burned slower this time and
I smiled.
But it didn’t reach my chest.
“You like this, don’t you, Sunshine?”
Trace’s voice cut through the night, low and sharp—almost bored if not for the way his eyes looked like they might burn holes through me.
I raised a brow. “Like what?”
“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely between the three of us. “The game. The power.”
“I like wine,” I said innocently, sipping again.
Alden let out a breath—hard enough to stir the surface of the water. “Don’t pretend you don’t feel it,” he muttered. “It’s always been yours, you just haven’t figured out how to use it yet.”
Something in Traces expression dropped—like Alden had said too much.
“I never pretend,” I said, letting my fingers trail along the water’s surface like a dare. My hand drifted, slow and unhurried, until it brushed against Alden’s chest. Just enough to count.
Trace shifted, tension tight in his shoulders, eyes tracking every breath I took.
“Alright,” I said, eyes half-lidded. “My turn again.”
They were already bracing.
“What’s one thing you’ve imagined doing to me,” I said softly, “but never said out loud?”
Silence.
The kind that made the water feel deeper. More dangerous. As if it could pull you under.
Trace narrowed his eyes. “Scarlett.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“You want one?” Alden asked, voice rougher now, darker.
I tilted my head. “Desperately.”
He leaned forward just enough that his knee pressed to mine again. “Holding you down so you can’t keep running.”
My breath caught.
Trace’s knuckles whitened on the edge of the tub.
“I think about that too,” Trace said, quieter. “Only mine ends with you begging.”
I was not okay.
But I smiled like I was.
“You boys talk a big game,” I murmured, “for people who haven’t even kissed me.”
Alden’s hand slid beneath the water, curling around my wrist. Not rough. Not possessive. Just a quiet claim.
I leaned between them, heart pounding.
“You both want me,” I whispered. “Say it.”
Trace’s voice was sharp. “You know we do.”
And god, I did. Choosing them wouldn’t just change everything—it would break something open. As if some ancient part of me had been waiting for this moment all along.
But I wasn’t ready to stop.