63. Scarlett
Scarlett
O ne by one, they peeled off.
Rhett with a lazy grin. Kane with a half-joking threat to steal the last drink. Alden—silent, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other—caught my eyes before turning away. That look meant something. It always did.
And then it was just me and Trace.
Of course it was.
I didn’t look at him. Just sipped my drink staring at the fire like it might give me answers.
“You don’t have to hover,” I muttered.
“I’m not,” he said softly. “I’m remembering.” He shifted beside me, dragging a hand across his jaw, then scratching at the inside of his forearm—just below where the ink of that damn tattoo sat buried beneath his shirt sleeve.
“Remembering what? “I asked.
He half smiled, “That summer.”
I swallowed.
“That night,” he added.
Of course, he meant that night. The one we never talked about. The one where everything nearly tipped.
“Say it,” I whispered.
His eyes stayed on the flames. “You were barefoot on the dock, holding your heels like a weapon. Sunset made your hair look like it was on fire.”
I didn’t breathe. I could hear the pain in his voice. Could feel it in the space between us—tight, trembling, full of ghosts.
He shifted, dragged the hand over the back of his neck.
“You told me to stop looking at you like that. I didn’t.”
“You said you had a secret,” I said, voice thin.
He nodded. “And you said you didn’t want to know it.”
“I didn’t,” I whispered. “Because I already knew.”
He turned his face slightly, just enough for the light to catch his profile.
“I loved you.”
There it was.
The truth we buried so deep we forgot it was real.
“You didn’t say it then.”
I turned my head slowly. Met his eyes, steady and dark in the firelight. “You left.”
“I had to.”
“No, you didn’t.”
He exhaled, his voice fraying at the edges. “I stood in front of your door the next morning, Scar. Bag in the truck. Ready to say it. To ask you to leave with me.”
I blinked up, refusing to let it break me. “Then why didn’t you knock?”
“Because you were sitting with him.”
I held my breath.
“But you were laughing,” he said, voice lower now. “With him. And I—I thought maybe I imagined it all. Maybe I wanted something that wasn’t real.”
“I didn’t choose him,” I snapped.
He blinked. “No. But you didn’t choose me either.”
I pivoted—sharp, defiant—needing space not to breathe, but to survive.
The fire crackled behind me, fierce and untamed. Or maybe that was just my pulse slamming against my ribs, desperate to escape.
“I didn’t choose him,” I repeated, lower this time. A confession. A dare.
Trace didn’t respond. Just stood there, shoulders tense, hands clenched at his sides, chest rising as he swallowed whatever storm lived inside him.
I dragged a hand through my hair, restless. “I didn’t choose you either.”
He finally looked up.
But I looked away.
“Do you want to know the truth?” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I couldn’t choose. Not because I didn’t care—but because I cared too much. About both of you.”
He lit a cigarette. The flame touched his face for a flicker of a second.
“I’ve been trying to figure it out since that night,” I continued, voice low. “Why I froze. Why I let it all unravel instead of speaking.”
My fingers curled into the hem of my dress.
“Maybe I was afraid of choosing wrong. Maybe I thought I’d lose something either way.”
His eyes darkened, but he didn’t interrupt.
“I kept waiting for a sign. For one of you to give me something undeniable. Something to make it easy.”
I turned to him again, hands open at my sides. “But nothing about this has ever been easy.”
Trace scratched absently at his forearm again.
I saw it.
Felt it.
That quiet ache under the skin neither of us dared name.
I looked at him—really looked at him. The tilt of his mouth, the weight in his shoulders, the way he was trying not to reach for me.
“I couldn’t be what you wanted back then,” I said. “I don’t even know who I am now.”
His eyes flickered, but he didn’t argue.
“I still don’t know how to choose,” I whispered. “Maybe I never will.”
The silence stretched between us, thick with everything we couldn’t fix.
He stared at the fire, shadows casting across his face, all sharp angles and fury and fucking heartbreak.
I turned, slow and deliberate, the hem of my dress slipping through my fingers,
“I would’ve given you everything,” he said. “And you left me with nothing.”
The ache bloomed behind my ribs.
I fucking burned. “You say that like you didn’t lie too.” My voice was low, shaking with all the shit I never got to scream. “You all have been fucking lying to me, all these years, not saying a goddamn thing.” He looked wrecked, knowing this was coming.
“You talk about what you would’ve given me—where the hell has that been when I needed truth?”
“You think I left with nothing when I don’t even know what’s real or what the fuck is going on right now.” The fire cracked, echoing the fracture in my chest.
“I never stood a fucking chance,” I said. “Not with you. Not with Alden. Not with any of you.”
I lowered my voice as I stepped closer to him “If you ever loved me like you say you did—or do, you wouldn’t be lying to me.” I walked away, pulse thudding in my ears, breath shallow in my throat. Hoping for once, he'd stay where he was.
***
Zeke
I heard every fucking word.Didn’t mean to.
But maybe I was meant to.From where I stood on the upper deck, smoke trailing from my cigarette, the firelight below cast just enough glow to make out their silhouettes—Scarlett standing like she was ready to burn the whole world down, Trace looking like he already had.
She was right.And wrong.But mostly, she was dangerous now—because she’d started asking the right questions. Feeling the wrong things.
I exhaled slow, watching the ember flare then fade.We weren’t supposed to care.
That was the deal.Trace was supposed to watch her.
Alden was supposed to anchor her. I was supposed to keep them all in line.
Kane was muscle—backup of things went sideways.
And Rhett…Rhett was supposed to keep it light.
Keep her laughing. Keep her distracted. Instead, they got too close. And I didn’t stop it.
I moved away from the railing, dragging a hand over my jaw as I descended the steps. Kane and Rhett were passed out somewhere, Alden probably doing that brooding loner routine. And Trace? He’d stay by the fire. Because he always fucking stayed too long when it came to her.
She’d think we were all liars now.Maybe we were.
But the worst lies weren’t the ones we told her.They were the ones we told ourselves.