Jenn slipped quietly into her room. Her head still throbbed, her heart heavier than ever.
The night replayed in fragments she couldn't control — the kiss, the laughter, the warmth of Jeff's touch.
She buried her face in her palms. What have I done?
Downstairs, the house was silent except for the faint sound of water dripping by the pool outside.
She changed into something clean and went out to get air.
And there he was — Alden — standing by the pool, a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling into the morning light.
He didn't look surprised to see her.
"Morning," she said quietly.
"Morning," he replied, without looking at her.
For a long while, there was silence—only the soft sound of the pool filter hums.
Then he spoke again, his tone half-bitter, half mocking.
"So… how was it?"
Jenn frowned slightly. "How was what?"
He turned to face her finally, his eyes dark and unreadable.
"Your first time being drunk."
She looked away. "I don't want to talk about that, Alden."
He gave a humorless laugh. "Of course you don't. Must've been fun though, right? You and Jeff — dancing, drinking, doing whatever felt right."
Jenn's throat tightened. "You have no right to talk to me like that."
"No right?" he repeated, stepping closer. "I just thought… maybe you'd still remember who was there when things fell apart for you."
Her voice broke a little. "That's not fair."
"Neither was what you did," he said softly, his anger fading into hurt.
The silence that followed was louder than any argument could have been. Jenn couldn't speak — she didn't even know what to say.
"You should rest," Alden said finally, turning away. "You look tired."
He walked off, leaving her there — standing by the pool, fighting the tears she swore she wouldn't let fall.
Jenn stood there long after Alden left, her reflection trembling on the water's surface. Every word he said clung to her skin like smoke — bitter, unshakable.
She wanted to call after him, to explain that it wasn't what he thought. But how could she? The truth sounded weak even in her own head.
She hugged herself, feeling the cold morning air wrap around her. For the first time, she wasn't sure if she was angry at Alden for judging her… or at herself for giving him a reason to.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Jeff: "Did you get home safe?"
She stared at the message for a long time, her fingers hovering above the screen. Finally, she typed back:
Jenn: "Yeah. Thanks again for everything."
Three dots appeared. Then vanished.
No reply.
She sighed and slipped her phone away, turning toward the house. But as she walked past the living room, she stopped — a photo on the wall catching her eye.
It was one she'd seen a hundred times —, Alden, and his siblings.
Upstairs, she sat on the edge of her bed, fingers gripping the bedsheet. Her mind refused to quiet down — Alden's voice, Jeff's touch,… everything tangled together in her chest.
She didn't know what was happening anymore — to her heart, to her choices, or to the people she thought she understood.
All she knew was that something had shifted — something she couldn't undo.
And somewhere deep inside, a part of her feared it was only the beginning.
Alden walked toward the far end of the pool, his footsteps heavy against the tiled floor. The morning air was cool, but his chest felt like it was on fire. He tossed the half-smoked cigarette into the water, watching the tiny ember fade beneath the ripples.
He hated himself for snapping at her.
He hated himself more for still wanting her.
He hated how much she still got to him. One look, one word — and everything he'd been trying to hold together cracked again.
He leaned against the railing, running a hand through his hair. "You and Jeff—" The words kept replaying in his head, sharper each time. He hadn't meant to sound jealous. He wasn't supposed to be jealous. But he was.
Every image from last night dug deeper — Jenn laughing beside Jeff, their closeness, the way she'd looked at him like he was the only person in the room. That used to be him.
He laughed bitterly under his breath. "Stupid," he muttered. "You said you were over her."
But he wasn't. Not even close.
His phone buzzed in his pocket — a message from one of his brothers. "Where are you? Let's go for a race."
He didn't reply. He didn't have the strength to face anyone right now.
Instead, he sank into one of the lounge chairs, staring at the sky. The world looked normal — calm, blue, untouched by the chaos inside him.
He closed his eyes, but all he could see was her face — tired, guilty, beautiful in the morning light.
Part of him wanted to go back inside, to tell her he didn't mean it, that it wasn't jealousy, it was just… worry. But the truth was uglier than that.
He was jealous. He hated how much Jeff made her smile, how easy it was for him to reach her in ways Alden never could.
He'd spent years mastering silence, keeping his feelings buried under control. But now, seeing her pull away — that control was slipping.
He clenched his fists. "You can't keep doing this, Alden," he whispered to himself. "She made her choice, yes."
But when he opened his eyes again, his chest still ached — heavy, hollow, alive with everything he refused to admit.
And as the morning stretched into quiet sunlight, Alden knew something for certain:
Whatever was between Jenn and Jeff wasn't going away. Not yet
And neither were his feelings.
And Jeff on the other hand, is thinking about Jenn, all the moments she has spent with him.
He unlocked his phone, scrolling up their messages, all laughter, the warmth, the teasing.
He typed: Hi baby
He exhaled.
He typed again: Miss you already.
Then deleted it.
He didn't want to sound desperate.
But deep down, he missed her —more than he'd admit.
He stood up, walked to the window, and stared outside. Cars passed, people laughed in the distance, life went on — but his thoughts were stuck on one person.
Her.
Every time he closed his eyes, he could still feel the echo of her laughter beside him.
He wanted to believe everything was fine.
But something told him — it wasn't.
He leaned against the glass, whispering, "Talk to me, Jenn… please."
But his phone stayed silent.
And as the evening light faded, three people sat in different corners of the same town — connected by what none of them could say out loud.
Jenn, drowning in guilt.
Alden, buried in regret.
Jeff, lost in confusion.
Each of them haunted by the same thought — that something had changed.
And none of them could undo it.