They walked in silence.
The night air was sharp, cool against flushed cheeks and angry hearts. Tadhg’s trainers scuffed softly against the pavement, a rhythm she used to find comforting. Not tonight.
She had spent the whole party pretending it didn’t bother her—watching him with that girl on the kitchen counter, her legs brushing his, her laugh high and flirty as he leaned in a little too close.
Just like he always did.
Just like he never did with her in public.
But come midnight, when they were all leaving, it was her coat he grabbed. Her shoulder he touched. Her door he held open like it meant something. Like she meant something.
He kept doing this—acting like she was his in the quiet, private corners of life, only to turn around and prove otherwise in the loud, public ones.
And she couldn’t do it anymore.
She stopped walking halfway down her street.
“Tadhg.”
He turned, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, that familiar grin faltering the second he saw her face.
“Yeah?”
She stepped into the glow of the streetlamp, arms crossed. “Tell me that there’s nothing going on between us.”
He blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“This thing. The way I feel. The way you act. Tell me it’s all in my fucking head.”
Tadhg stared at her, brows knit like she’d just punched him in the chest.
“Say it,” she snapped. “Say I’m crazy, and I’ll drop it. I’ll walk inside and laugh with our friends and pretend like none of this is anything. Just tell me.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
She took a shaky breath, voice softer now. “Tell me if I’m fucking crazy.”
The wind picked up, rustling the trees above them. He looked at her like he wanted to say everything—and didn’t know how.
“I never meant to—”
“Flirt with other girls?” she cut in, bitter. “Kiss them in front of me?”
“That’s not fair,” he muttered, jaw tight.