The Last Round - Chapter 7

Sutton

I let out a slow breath, keeping my face blank as I set my glass down on the counter.

My fingers press against the cool surface, grounding me, keeping me steady.

I don’t look at Kingston right away.

Because I know what he wants from me.

He wants me to react.

He wants me to care.

But I won’t give him that.

I refuse to.

Finally, I meet his gaze, my voice calm, even.

“He doesn’t get to regret it. ” The words hit hard, cutting through the silence between us.

Kingston’s expression shifts, like he wasn’t expecting that answer.

Good.

“He doesn’t get to sit in front of the world and act like he lost something when he threw it away. ” I keep my tone sharp, controlled.

I make it sound final.

Like I mean it.

Like I haven’t spent years shoving that wound so deep it barely bleeds anymore.

Kingston’s jaw tightens.

I see his hands curl into fists at his sides, his chest rising with a slow inhale like he’s holding back something-rage, disbelief, maybe even disappointment.

“You want to know the truth?” I tilt my head, watching him carefully.

“I don’t care. I don’t care what he says, I don’t care what he feels, and I sure as hell don’t care about his regrets. ”

I reach for my glass again, taking a sip like this conversation is nothing. Like it doesn’t rip me apart.

Like it hasn’t been fifteen years of silence, of building a life somewhere new, of making damn sure he would never find me.

Because that’s what I did. I left.

I packed my bags, drove until the past was nothing but a smear in the rearview mirror, and never looked back.

I didn’t wait. I didn’t hope.

I made damn sure he would never get the chance to change his mind.

And yet, fifteen years later, he still somehow found a way to touch my life again.

Kingston isn’t stupid.

And he’s not a little boy anymore.

He sees right through me.

I know it the second his eyes darken, his mouth pressing into a hard line.

“Bullshit. ” The word is low, nearly a growl.

My grip tightens around the glass.

“Watch your mouth.

” “Or what?” Kingston challenges.

“You’ll lie to me some more?” I set the glass down harder than necessary.

Kingston takes a step closer, his body tense, frustration radiating from him like a live wire.

“You do care. ” His voice is rough, edged in something like betrayal.

“You cared then, and you care now. You just don’t want to admit it. ” I stare at him, my expression unreadable.

Because what do I say to that? That he’s right? That I spent years burying the heartbreak so deep that even thinking about it feels like slicing open an old wound? That I can’t even say his name without wanting to scream and shatter something?

That part of me is dead and gone.

Kingston doesn’t get to see it.

Jaxon sure as hell doesn’t either.

“You done?” I ask instead, arching a brow.

“Or do you have more theories about how I feel?” Kingston exhales harshly, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head.

“Forget it. ” He turns away, storming toward the hallway.

I don’t stop him.

I don’t say a damn word.

Because if I do-it might not come out cold and sharp like I need it to.

It might come out broken.

And I’ll be damned if I ever let that happen.