For weeks, people had been talking. Not to you. Around you. Because Billy Hargrove choosing you—out of everyone—hadn’t gone over well. Girls who used to orbit him like moths to fire suddenly found themselves invisible. And some of them… didn’t take it quietly.

Becky was the loudest.

Petty. Smiling too sweet. Watching you like she was waiting for something to break and eventually… she made sure it did.

⸻

The house was packed, music pounding, bodies moving in heat and cheap light. You’d only stepped away for a minute—just long enough to grab a drink from the kitchen.

When you came back, you saw her. Becky pressed against Billy near the hallway wall, her hands on his chest, her lips brushing his like she belonged there.

The room felt like it dropped out from under you.

Someone near you muttered, “Yeah… he’s been doing that for a while.”

Another voice added, “Playboy never really changes, you know?”

Your chest tightened.

Billy looked shocked—confused—but from where you stood, all you saw was her on him. His hands near her arms. Too close. Too late.

You didn’t see the moment he shoved her away. You didn’t see him curse. You didn’t hear him call your name. Because you were already leaving and you didn’t come back.

⸻

Billy Hargrove had never felt guilt like this before. Not after fights. Not after trouble. Not after anything. But this? This sat heavy in his chest like something rotting.

He hadn’t touched Becky. Had barely even looked at her before she threw herself at him. And the second he realized what she was doing—he pushed her off.

But you hadn’t seen that part. You’d seen the worst possible version of it and then… you disappeared.

No calls. No showing up. No you and it’s been a couple of days. Billy tried to act like it didn’t matter but he failed.

⸻

The engine of the Camaro cut outside your house, but Billy didn’t move right away.

A huge bouquet of flowers rested awkwardly in his hand—too soft, too sincere, too not him. He hated how nervous he felt. Hated how much this mattered.

But losing you? That scared him more than anything. So he got out and walked to your door and knocked.

Once. Twice.

When the door opened, his voice came out rough, quieter than usual.

“…I didn’t cheat on you.”

His jaw tightened, eyes searching yours like he was afraid of what he might see.

“She set it up. I pushed her off. You just—” he swallowed, hard, “—you didn’t see that part.”

The flowers shifted awkwardly in his hand.

“I know I don’t get things right all the time. But I swear to God… I didn’t touch her. Not like that. Not ever.”

A beat of silence and then softe.

“…Please don’t shut me out.”