Page 103 of Cold Mercy

She runs forward, and my chest splinters open with a hope so sharp it's agonizing. My arms are already preparing to catch her, the apologies I've practiced for months already on my tongue. I'm ready. So fucking ready. And then she's past me, she doesn't even slow down.

She brushes past me by a breath, almost grazing my arm, and launches herself into another man’s arms. He lifts her like it’s the most natural thing in the world, murmuring, sweetheart, against her hair.

The sting hits immediately and cleanly, karma never fucking misses.

I spent three months parked down the street from her gate, watching the lights go out in her bedroom just to make sure she was safe. I know no one visited her at night. I know she came home alone every single evening. So who the fuck is this guy touching her like he has a claim?

I watch them longer than I should, until James steps into my line of sight and claps a hand on my shoulder, guiding me away.

“Hey, man.” Something low, something steady, like ‘don’t fall apart here.’ I follow him inside.

After rooms are assigned, I head downstairs to help prep dinner, mostly to keep my hands busy and my mind from sprinting toward the nearest bottle. A few guys from James’s company are here with their wives, and everyone is loud and warm and painfully familiar. Great, just what I needed. An onslaught of happy love and domestic bliss bombarding me from every single direction. It is nauseatingly cheerful, and it makes me want to drink until I can’t tell the difference between their joy and my misery.

James hands me a beer and studies me for a beat too long. “Damn, you look like shit, man.”

I snort, because what else do I do? “Yeah, thanks. Really needed the reminder.”

He nudges my shoulder, his voice dropping. “Seriously. If you need to talk… I’m here.”

“Who’s the guy glued to her?” I ask.

James makes a low sound. “Charles, old friend from high school, close to both Elizabeth and Sophia. Word is he practically went to war for Sophia back then. Kept the whole school off her back, like a big brother protecting his little sister. Always had a soft spot for her. Now he’s back, single, and hasn’t forgotten her.

Perfect. Absolutely amazing. Fuck, the universe really doesn’t miss.

Before I can spiral further, Elizabeth and Sophia walk into the kitchen.

She moves with that quiet elegance she never notices in herself. Her hair falls in loose waves over her shoulders, and when she tucks a strand behind her ear, I catch the hint of a dimple in her cheek. I’d forgotten how her face changes when she smiles, how those dimples appear like someone pressed a thumb gently into her skin. But she doesn’t look at me, not even once.

Not accidentally, not by reflex, not even when the room rearranges itself around her. Her gaze passes over me, skimming the space I take up like it’s empty air. She focuses on Elizabeth’s question, on the tray she’s holding, on anything that isn’t me, as if I’m a face in a crowd, a stranger who just happened to walk into the same room.

Elizabeth reaches for a bottle of wine, turning to Sophia, but then freezes mid-motion.

“Oh, right. You don’t drink.”

She simply acknowledges it with a small nod.

I remember her at the bar after I left, downing whiskey like she was trying to drown a ghost. My ghost. I was the reason she picked up the bottle, and now...now she's sober.

A strange, conflicting mix of pride and self-loathing coils in my gut. I’m proud of her. So fucking proud it almost hurts.

Charles slides behind her, hand resting at her waist like he’s been doing it for years, not minutes.

“Good for you, Soph,” he says easily. “Maybe one day I’ll quit too.”

He flashes a grin, the type of smile people trust without thinking. Then he hops up onto the marble island, long legs swinging like he’s settling into his usual spot in a room he’s never been in before.

I watch him, and a cold, murderous calm settles over me.

He's a cheap replacement, a placeholder keeping my spot warm. And I'm going to enjoy every second of wiping that trustworthy smile off his face before this week is over.

Sophia gathers the cutlery and a stack of neatly folded napkins, cradling them against her chest as if this simple task gives her something steady to hold on to, and heads towards the living room.

I track her with my eyes without meaning to, watching the way her shoulder brushes Charles's arm when she slips past him. The way she laughs again at something he whispers, and how he nudges her playfully as though they’ve been rehearsing this closeness for years. She shakes her head at him, still smiling, before disappearing into the next room to start setting the table.

The moment she’s out of sight, I force myself to move, grabbing a stack of plates just to have something to do with my hands. Anything that will keep me from standing still in the middle of that kitchen like a man who hasn’t yet accepted what he threw away.

By the time I step into the dining room, she’s already there, straightening the cutlery with the same quiet precision she used to fix chaos in everyone else’s life but her own. She looks up when she hears footsteps. The smile she was wearing disappears the moment she sees me. I pretend I don’t notice.