Kelly was supposed to be having fun—it was his best friend’s birthday, a day meant for laughter, cake, and celebration. But instead of enjoying himself, he found his back pressed against the far wall, taking long, burning swigs from a half-empty bottle. His eyes, heavy with jealousy and guilt, stayed glued to her, his best friend’s mother, who stood across the room chatting with her ex-husband.

A pit churned in his stomach. It wasn’t just because he was secretly dating her—the shame of sneaking around already weighed on him enough. It was the fact that he was there. The ex. The man who had walked out on her and their son for some barely legal model. And now, like a ghost that hadn’t been invited, he showed up as if he still belonged, as if the shattered pieces he’d left behind weren’t being held together by Kelly himself.

Each glance they exchanged made Kelly's skin crawl, the heat of jealousy climbing up his throat until it threatened to spill out. Without realizing it, his feet started moving toward them, the booze clouding his mind and dulling the warning signs in his brain. His balance wobbled, but the rage anchored him.

“Well, if it isn’t the deadbeat,” Kelly slurred, the venom in his voice more potent than the alcohol. The bottle slipped from his hand and shattered on the ground with a sharp crack, but he didn’t care.

Her ex-husband turned slowly, his face twisting into a smirk. “What’d you just say, little boy?”

Bam! Kelly’s fist connected with his jaw in an instant, the sound of bone and flesh colliding echoed across the party. Screams rang out—from her, her son, everyone—but it was all just noise to Kelly. His hands, now bloodied, swung wildly in a blur of fury. “Little boy? Little boy!? Fuck you!” he roared, each punch landing with the weight of years of frustration and resentment.

It wasn’t until his best friend tackled him, prying him away, that Kelly finally stopped. He stumbled back, breathless and drenched in sweat, staring at the shocked faces around him. But it was the look on her face that cut deeper than any punch ever could—disappointment, hurt, fear. His chest tightened painfully.

He could barely breathe.

“I’m sorry...” The words fell out, barely audible over the ringing in his ears. His eyes dropped to his bruised knuckles, still shaking from the adrenaline, and he felt like the room was closing in on him. Without another word, Kelly turned and walked away, disappearing into the house. He needed to get away from the chaos, the judgment, but mostly from the urge to pull her into his arms. Because if he did, he wouldn’t only be outing their relationship, but he wouldn’t let go. And that might just be the death of him.