Hating The Captain Who Broke Me

Chapter Five

"I'm fine," I said, which was a lie so obvious I could see him not believing it in real time. "Too much to drink. I barely ate today."

"You've had one drink." He hadn't let go of my wrist. "And you haven't touched it."

"Rhys.."

"You went white as a sheet the second I mentioned that game." His voice had dropped, low that it was just for me, the party noise blurring into background static behind him. "Josie. Talk to me."

I should have pulled away. I had every reason to pull away, three years of very good reasons, and instead I stood there on that dim porch with his hand still wrapped loosely around my wrist and let myself look at him properly for the first time since Tuesday really look, past the arrogance and the swagger and the campus-golden-boy armor, at whatever was underneath all of it. It scared me how much I liked what I found there.

"It's nothing," I said, less convincing even to my own ears. "Just a weird night."

"Yeah." His thumb moved, barely, against the inside of my wrist, like he wasn't even aware he was doing it. "Weird night."

Neither of us moved. The string lights buzzed faintly above us, half of them burnt out, and somewhere behind him the party kept going without either of us in it. He was closer than he'd been a minute ago. I didn't remember him stepping closer. Maybe I stepped closer too.

"For someone who hates me," he said, so quiet it barely qualified as words, "you're not exactly running."

"I don't hate you."

"No?"

"I'm working on it." My voice had gone thin, breathless in a way I hated and couldn't stop. "You're making it difficult."

Something shifted in his face, surprise, maybe, or something more dangerous than surprise and he leaned in, slow that I had every chance in the world to stop it, slow enough that some small, stubborn part of me had already decided I wasn't going to.

"There you are."

The voice cut through the porch like a blade, bright and sharp and entirely too pleased with itself, and Rhys straightened so fast I nearly lost my balance without his hand anchoring me.

A girl I knew from three separate lecture halls, perfect blowout, a jacket that definitely wasn't hers slung over her shoulders, the exact kind of confidence that came from never once being told no looped her arm through Rhys's like she'd done it a hundred times before.

"Delilah," Rhys said, and something in his voice had gone carefully neutral in a way that told me everything and nothing at once. "Hey."

"I've been texting you for like an hour." She pouted, actually pouted, glancing at me for the first time with an expression. "The hell is this?"

"Josie," Rhys said. "My study partner."

"Study partner." Delilah's smile widened, sweet and sharp at the same time, aimed entirely at me now. "Wow. On a Saturday night. That's dedication."

"We were just talking," I said, and hated how defensive it came out.

"Sure you were." She turned back to Rhys, tugging gently at his arm like a leash she was used to holding. "Come on, everyone's doing shots inside, and you promised me you'd actually stick around this time."

‘This time.’ The words landed somewhere ugly in my chest.

Rhys hesitated. For one second, one full second, he looked back at me instead of at her, something apologetic and unresolved still sitting behind his eyes.

"I'll catch up with you Monday," he said. "About the project."

"Sure," I said. "Monday."

Delilah was already pulling him toward the door, victorious, and just before they disappeared back into the noise and the light, she glanced over her shoulder at me one more time.

"Oh…. and Josie?" she said, sweet as poison. "Careful with this one. He's really good at making girls feel like they're the only one in the room."

She smiled, and the door swung shut behind them, and I stood alone on that porch with my heart still hammering from a kiss that never happened and a wrist that still felt like it was burning where his hand had been.

I pulled my phone out, hands not quite steady, meaning to text Harlow that I was ready to leave and stopped cold.

One new message, from a number I haven't seen in three years, sitting right at the top of my screen like it had been waiting for exactly this moment to surface.

Northgate Alumni Association: "Josie for a long time. We're honoring the '23 roster at this year's banquet. We'd love for you to speak. Can we call you?"