The morning was cold, the kind of damp chill that seeped into your bones and stayed there. Ava walked toward the transport clearing, her duffel bag heavy in her hand, her eyes fixed on the pavement. She had her hood pulled low, her heart a frantic, wounded bird in her chest.
She was late on purpose. She wanted the bus to be full. She wanted to slip into any back corner and disappear.
When she climbed the steps of the bus, the air inside was thick. The low hum of conversation died instantly. All eyes turned to her—some pitying, some laughing, all of them burning.
Then she saw him.
Nicholas was sitting halfway down the aisle. He wasn't looking at his phone or talking to the guys. He was staring at the door, his face pale and tight. Beside him was an empty seat. He had his jacket draped over it, a silent, desperate territorial claim.
Their eyes met for a split second. His expression was a plea—a silent begging for her to take the seat, to let him explain, to let him shield her from the rest of the bus.
Ava's feet stalled for a heartbeat. Part of her—the part that was still under the spell of the hot tub—wanted to run to him.
But then she remembered the group chat.
She saw the way Jackson and the others were watching them, waiting to see if the "conquest" would crawl back.
Ava didn't say a word. She didn't even break her stride. She walked right past his row, her sleeve brushing his jacket, and kept moving until she reached the very back. She sat next to a girl she didn't know, staring straight ahead, her jaw locked so tight it ached.
The rejection was loud. A few people snickered.
Nicholas looked like he had been slapped. He stared at the empty seat beside him, his hand trembling slightly where it rested on his knee. Slowly, he reached out and pulled his jacket off the seat, folding it into his lap. He looked hollow.
"Is this seat taken, Wolfe?"
The voice was like acid.
Chloe was standing in the aisle, a sharp, victorious smile on her face. She didn't wait for an answer. She slid into the seat Nicholas had saved for Ava, her movements slow and deliberate.
"Since the guest of honor isn't interested, I figured I'd keep you company," Chloe purred, loud enough for the rows around them to hear.
Nicholas didn't look at her. He didn't move. He just stared at the back of the seat in front of him, his body rigid with a quiet, simmering rage. But he didn't tell her to leave. He couldn't. Not when the whole school was watching the fallout of the mess he had created.
From the back of the bus, Ava watched them.
She watched Chloe lean in to whisper something in Nicholas's ear. She watched the way they looked together—the king of the campus and the girl who knew all his secrets.
It felt like a physical weight pressing down on her lungs.
The bus pulled out of the resort, the pine trees blurring into a smear of green. For three hours, Ava sat in silence, watching the back of the head of the man she had loved, sitting next to the girl who had destroyed her.
By the time they reached campus, Ava wasn't crying anymore. The tears had frozen into something harder. Something sharper.
She was the first one off the bus. She didn't look back at the empty seat. She didn't look back at him.
She walked toward her dorm, past the brick buildings and the students who were already whispering her name. She realized then that the retreat hadn't just ended her relationship.
It had ended the version of her that believed in "quiet."
If they wanted a show, she was going to give them one they'd never forget.