"Better go and finish off your deadbeat fuckboy over there before he finishes himself off in the bathroom." The words come out cold, precise.

The slap comes out of nowhere, sharp and stinging. My head snaps to the side, and for a moment, I stand there, staring at the ground. The party around us goes quiet, dozens of eyes watching the drama unfold. For once, I'm glad they're here to witness this.

"How was that, Farrah?" I say quietly, finally turning my head back to her. My jaw throbs, but I manage a smile that isn't really a smile at all.

"Fuck you, Nate," she spits, her chest heaving with anger.

I laugh, watching how it aggravates her even more that I find this entire thing comical. I step closer so that only she can hear me whisper, "I really hope you enjoyed that, because it's the last time you'll ever touch me."

Her eyes widen, uncertainty flickering across her face. I catch the faint tremble in her hands, and for one fleeting moment, I almost feel sorry for her. But then I remember what she said about Nora, and every ounce of pity vanishes like smoke.

I sink into the passenger seat of Jay's Camaro, releasing a long breath. My head falls back against the headrest as the faint buzz of adrenaline lingers in my veins like static electricity. Jay looks over at me, fiddling with the ignition, trying to find the right words. The dashboard lights cast shadows across his face.

"You all right? Or do we need to have an 'I'll help you move the body' conversation?"

A rough laugh escapes me before I can stop it. Somehow, the idea of Jay casually offering to commit a felony on my behalf is oddly comforting. That's just who he is—the guy who'd help you bury a body and crack jokes while digging the hole. And isn't that what makes a good friend?

"Relax, Norman Bates," I say, running a hand over my face. "No bodies. Yet."

He shifts into gear but keeps darting concerned glances my way. The streetlights paint stripes across his face as we drive, each flash revealing the concern he's trying to hide.

I stare ahead, my voice quieter now. "Thanks."

"For what?" he asks, his tone casual but curious.

"For always having my back." The words feel heavy with everything we've been through together.

Jay laughs, easy and familiar, but there's something warm beneath it. "Careful, Nate. You keep talking like that, you might catch feelings for me."

I smirk, leaning over to shove his shoulder. "Shut the fuck up and drive."

The Camaro roars onto the street, the tires gripping the pavement as the tension in my chest starts to ease.

"You know it's not just me who's got your back, right?"

I glance at him, frowning. "What are you talking about?"