Breaking the Ice

Chapter Thirty-Five: Jealousy Rears Its Ugly Head

Anna's POV

The bass from inside the house pulsed through the front lawn like a second heartbeat, low and insistent, vibrating up through the soles of my shoes. Strings of mismatched fairy lights looped around the porch railings, and someone had propped the front door open with a cooler, letting laughter spill out into the night. Courtney and I hovered near the steps, undecided between going in or lingering where the air was cooler and the conversations easier to escape.

“That song is older than us,” Courtney said, wrinkling her nose as she leaned back against the fence. “If they play it again, I’m staging a protest.”

I laughed. “You say that about every song.”

“And I stand by it.”

Someone said my name then, clear and startled, like they hadn’t expected to find me here, of all places.

“Anna?”

I turned, and the years folded in on themselves.

Ben stood at the edge of the lawn, hands shoved into the pockets of a coat that looked far too elegant for a neighborhood party. His hair was darker than I remembered, longer too, curling slightly at the ends. Beside him was Oscar—taller now, broader, with the same crooked grin that had gotten him out of trouble more times than I could count.

“Oh my God,” I breathed, and then I was laughing, the sound bubbling out of me before I could stop it. “Ben? Oscar?”

Courtney straightened immediately, eyes lighting up. “Wait—the Ben and Oscar?”

“The ones and only,” Oscar said, spreading his arms theatrically. “Unless you’ve been collecting spares.”

Ben smiled, softer, his eyes finding mine like they’d been searching for me specifically. “Hi, Anna.”

“Hi,” I replied, trying not to read too much into the way his gaze softened even more.

We converged in a clumsy cluster of hugs and half-remembered jokes, the noise of the party fading into the background. Oscar crushed Courtney into a dramatic embrace that she returned with equal enthusiasm.

“I cannot believe you’re back,” Courtney said, pulling away to look at them properly. “Last I heard, you two were living some mysterious European dream.”

Ben chuckled. “Hardly mysterious. Mostly just a lot of museums and bad cafeteria coffee.”

“Speak for yourself,” Oscar cut in. “The espresso alone was worth it.”

“Europe?” I echoed, eyes widening. “You never told me you were going to Europe.”

Ben shrugged sheepishly. “It kind of… happened fast. Exchange program. Art history for me, architecture for Oscar.”

My heart did a small, traitorous flutter. “Art history?”

His smile brightened. “Still obsessed. Gothic cathedrals, Renaissance patrons, all of it.”

“No way,” I said, genuine delight washing over me. “I’m taking art history this semester. We just finished a unit on early Renaissance frescoes.”

Oscar groaned. “Here we go.”

Ben’s eyes lit up. “Giotto?”

“Giotto,” I confirmed, grinning. “The way he uses space—”

“—to create emotional weight before perspective was even fully realized,” Ben finished.

Courtney pointed between us. “I’m going to need both of you to stop immediately, or I’ll fall asleep standing up.”

“This place hasn’t changed,” Oscar said, glancing around. “Still smells like spilled beer and bad decisions.”

“Hey,” Courtney said. “Some of us work hard on our bad decisions.”

Ben laughed, then turned to me. “I’m really glad you came tonight.”

“Me too,” I said, once again watching how Ben's gaze lingered a fraction extra before speaking again.

He hesitated for just a moment, then stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me. It was warm and familiar, grounding in a way I hadn’t expected. His chin brushed my hair, and for a second, the world narrowed to the simple comfort of being held by someone who knew me before everything else got complicated.

That was when I saw them.

Marcus and his brothers were coming down the sidewalk, silhouettes cutting through the glow of the streetlights. Marcus walked in the center, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, his posture relaxed in a way that usually made my chest tighten pleasantly.

Not tonight.

My stomach dropped as his gaze lifted—and locked onto me.

Or rather, onto Ben’s arms around me.

“Marcus—” I started, pulling back, my heart already racing.

I didn’t get the chance to finish.

Marcus moved fast, the easy grace of an athlete turning sharp and dangerous. He swung hard toward Ben, shoving him back with enough force that Ben stumbled, barely keeping his footing.

“Hey!” I shouted, the word tearing out of me.

At the same time, Damian lunged toward Oscar, shoulder-checking him with a growl of, “Back off.”

“What the hell?” Oscar snapped, instinctively pushing back.

The night erupted into chaos.

Ben reacted on instinct, hands coming up defensively as Marcus closed the distance again. There was a scuffle—shoes scraping against concrete, the sharp sound of someone hitting the fence. Damian and Oscar grappled awkwardly, neither quite prepared for the sudden aggression.

“Stop!” I yelled, adrenaline flooding my veins. “Marcus, stop it!”

Courtney was shouting too, her voice sharp and panicked. “Are you kidding me right now?!”

Peter barreled in then, the calmest of the brothers even when everything went to hell. He grabbed Marcus around the shoulders, hauling him back with a grunt.

“Enough!” Peter barked. “What is wrong with you?”

Marcus resisted for a split second, chest heaving, eyes never leaving Ben. Damian was still squared off with Oscar, breathing hard, fists clenched.

“Damian,” Peter snapped. “Back. Now.”

Damian hesitated, then stepped away, though his glare never softened.

I rushed to Ben’s side, my hands hovering uncertainly. “Are you okay?”

He nodded quickly, brushing off his coat, though his eyes were wide with shock. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Oscar muttered something under his breath, rubbing his shoulder. “Some welcome home.”

Marcus wrenched free of Peter’s grip, stopping just short of advancing again. His jaw was tight, his eyes dark and furious.

“What were you doing?” he demanded, voice low and dangerous.

Ben straightened, meeting Marcus’s stare. “Hugging a friend.”

Marcus scoffed. “Didn’t look that way.”

I stepped between them without thinking, my heart pounding. “It was that way. Ben is an old friend.”

Marcus’s gaze flicked to me, something wounded flashing beneath the anger. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t have time,” I shot back, incredulous. “You didn’t exactly give me a chance.”

The air felt thick, charged, like the moment before a storm breaks.

Oscar cleared his throat. “Look, man, we didn’t mean any disrespect.”

Damian laughed humorlessly. “Sure looked like it.”

“Enough,” Peter said firmly, planting himself like a wall between the groups. “This ends now.”

Marcus didn’t argue, but his stare never left Ben. It wasn’t just anger there—it was something sharper, more possessive.

Ben held his ground, his voice calm but steady. “I don’t want trouble.”

“Then stay away from her,” Marcus replied coldly.

I spun on him. “You don’t get to say that.”

Marcus’s eyes softened just a fraction when they met mine, but the tension didn’t ease. “Anna—”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “This is not how you handle things.”

For a long moment, no one spoke. The music thumped on, oblivious. Somewhere inside the house, someone laughed.

Finally, Oscar let out a breath. “We should go.”

Ben hesitated, looking at me, something unreadable in his expression. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“It’s not your fault,” I replied, my voice just as soft.

As Ben and Oscar walked away down the sidewalk, Marcus and Damian watched them, eyes like knives in their backs.

I stood there, heart still racing, the night suddenly too loud, too bright.

Something had shifted.

And I had the sinking feeling that this was only the beginning.