“No. I’m good. I promise.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t move. Neither do I.

“People went to these fights?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Yeah. They placed bets. That’s how it made money. Holden always won, so he drew a crowd.”

“You went?”

“Yeah. Once. He fought a guy from Ridgemont’s football team. Most of my teammates were going, so I did too. Adams kicked his ass.”

I nod. I can’t picture it. Can’t fully register it.

We walk downstairs and head into the kitchen. It’s more crowded than it was earlier, but I have no issue picking one face out of the dozens gathered.

Holden’s expression doesn’t change when he sees me.

But I catalogue the tiny changes in his posture. The way his fingers tighten around the plastic cup he’s holding. The flex as he tightens his jaw. How his eyes bounce between me and Harrison.

There’s no way Harrison hasn’t noticed Holden is here. But he acts oblivious, guiding me over to the fridge and pulling out a chilled bottle of water, which he hands to me.

I shoot him a grateful smile as I take it, twisting off the cap and taking a long swallow. The cold water soothes my throat and settles in my stomach. I focus on the sensation, trying to tune everything else out.

“What the fuck did you do, Baker?”

Suddenly, Holden is near, close enough I can smell cinnamon.

“Ask yourself that same question, Adams,” Harrison retorts.

The kitchen falls silent, all other sounds leaching away like water through a sieve.

Holden looks at me. “What happened?”

“None of your business. We’re done, remember?”

Something flashes across Holden’s face before he looks at Harrison. Something other than indifference, which is what I was expecting to see. He doesn’t look peeved, like a little kid annoyed someone else is playing with his toys. He looks hurt, and the sad organ in my chest thumps pathetically.

Holden glares at Harrison. Harrison looks at me, wearing a told you so expression.

But I don’t think Holden is jealous. I think he’s mad he was wrong about me moving on. That what is pissing him off is seeing me at a party with another guy and not heartbroken at home.

There’s no regret on his face. No resentment. Just rage—pure and strong.

Holden looks away from Harrison, at me. “What happened upstairs?” he asks again.

“Are you asking if I hooked up with him? Because that’s not really any of your business.”

His jaw tenses to the point it looks like it could snap in two. “You’ve been crying.”

“So? Go do whatever the fuck you want, Holden.”

His blue eyes blaze as I throw his words back at him. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did. You did mean it. That’s the problem.”