The cigarette burned slowly between Damon’s fingers, untouched.
Across the quad, she laughed. Tossed her hair. Tapped a boy on the arm. Some boy.
Damon watched from the stone wall just outside the cafeteria. Elbows on his knees, jaw locked tight. He’d stopped hearing Kai’s voice ten minutes ago.
“You good?” Will asked, flicking a bottle cap into the grass.
No answer. Just a flick of Damon’s eyes, following her every move as she settled at a table across the lawn—beside the guy. Close. Too close.
He could still hear her laugh, faint and familiar. Like summer. Like growing up barefoot in backyards. Like every part of his life before he learned how to ruin things.
Michael leaned in. “Who the hell is that?”
“I don’t know,” Damon muttered, voice low and flat.
Kai, sunglasses perched on his nose, hummed. “He touch her again, you’re gonna snap.”
Damon didn’t reply.
Because the guy had touched her. Hand to her waist as she sat. Smiled at her like he knew her. Like he deserved to.
Damon took a drag from the cigarette. Let the smoke burn.
She looked over then. Like she felt him. Like she always did.
Their eyes locked.
Her smile faltered. Her lips parted like she might say something—across the entire stretch of sunlit green—but then the boy nudged her, pulled her back to their conversation.
She looked away.
Damon exhaled slowly.
“You gonna talk to her?” Will asked.
“No.”
“You gonna beat the guy’s face in?”
“Eventually.”
He flicked the cigarette into the gravel and stood, heart thudding with something reckless.
He’d grown up beside her. Knew the way she braided her hair when she was nervous. Knew the way she said his name when she was mad, like a dare.
She was his.
Even if neither of them had admitted it yet.
And if that guy didn’t back off soon, Damon Torrance would make sure he understood that.
The hard way.