Day 2 in the Cotswolds – Night
The knock on the cottage door echoed like a thunderclap in the tense silence of the living room. Charlie and Nick stood frozen—side by side, but worlds apart in that moment. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the flagstone floor, but the warmth did little to chase the chill of uncertainty hanging in the air. Charlie's heart pounded in his ears, a mix of excitement and nerves twisting his stomach into knots. This was it—the experiment he'd pushed for, the fantasy he'd confessed. But now, with Jamie on the other side of the door, it felt too real, too fast.
Nick's hand hovered near Charlie's elbow, his broad frame tense, muscles coiled like he was about to bolt. His hazel eyes—usually so steady, so reassuring—were clouded with doubt.
"Last chance to back out," he murmured, voice low and rough. "I'm not a hundred percent on this, Char. It feels... off."
Charlie swallowed hard, forcing a nod. "I know. Me too. But... let's try. If it's wrong, we stop." He reached for the door, turning the handle before he could second-guess himself.
Jamie stood there—freshly showered, his blond hair still damp and curling at the ends, wearing a simple black t-shirt that clung to his slim, toned frame and faded jeans that hung low on his hips. He carried a bottle of red wine and a small box of condoms—practical, unassuming.
His smile was easy, but his eyes flicked between them, reading the tension. "Hey. You two look like you're about to rob a bank. Sure you want to do this? I can turn around—no hard feelings."
Charlie stepped aside, gesturing him in. "We're sure. Nervous, but sure."
Nick nodded curtly—arms crossed over his chest, jaw set. "Yeah. Come in."
They moved to the bedroom upstairs—the stairs creaking under their weight, amplifying the awkward silence. The room felt smaller now, the four-poster bed looming like a stage.
Moonlight slanted through the curtains, mixing with the warm glow of a bedside lamp. Charlie sat on the edge of the mattress, hands clasped in his lap to hide the slight tremble.
Jamie lingered near the door, wine bottle in hand, while Nick paced a few steps—restless, like a caged animal.
"Uh... wine first?" Jamie suggested, breaking the ice. "Might help the nerves."
Nick stopped pacing, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. Good idea." He took the bottle, opening it with the corkscrew from the nightstand, pouring three glasses with hands that weren't quite steady. They clinked—awkward toasts mumbled—and sipped in silence.
Charlie set his glass down first.
"So... rules recap. Condoms. Safe word: red. One time only. No contact after."
Jamie nodded—serious. "Understood. I'm here for whatever you want. No pressure."
Nick drained half his glass in one go, eyes on Charlie. "This is your call, Char. But... I need a minute." He set the glass down hard, heading for the en-suite bathroom. "Just... to wash my face. Clear my head."
The door clicked shut behind him.
# Nick's POV
Nick leaned over the sink, twisting the faucet until cold water gushed out. He cupped his hands under the stream, splashing it over his face—icy shock against his flushed skin. Droplets ran down his cheeks, dripping into the basin as he gripped the edges of the porcelain, staring at his reflection in the foggy mirror.
\*What the fuck is happening?\*
His mind raced—thoughts tumbling like a landslide. This wasn't how he pictured their trip. Romantic getaway? Yeah, right. Now he was in a bathroom, hiding from his boyfriend and a stranger they were about to... what? Fuck? Share? The idea twisted in his gut—arousal flickering despite the panic.
He'd cheated with Daniel—that night on the sofa, raw and reckless, Daniel's tight heat clenching around him as he came inside. Guilt had eaten him alive since, but this? This was different. Charlie pushing for it, eyes bright with that shy excitement.
\*Did he see us that night? Me and Daniel on the sofa? Is this some twisted revenge? Or did I imagine that crash?\*
He wiped his face with a towel—rough cotton scratching his skin. No. Charlie couldn't know. He'd have said something. Screamed. Left. This was just... a kink. Sudden. Weird. But real.
Nick's cock twitched traitorously—half-hard from the tension downstairs. Jamie was cute—slim, eager. But Nick didn't want him. He wanted Charlie. Only Charlie. So why agree? To fix things? To prove something? Or because that dark thrill from Daniel lingered, whispering \*more\*?
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out—habit, even with the no-phone rule they'd both broken. IG notification.
Daniel's story.
He tapped—regret immediate.
Daniel in a crowded club—lights pulsing, bodies grinding. Valentine's crowd—red hearts floating on screens. Daniel laughed into the camera—arm around a guy: tall, broad-chested, rugby build like Nick's. Same hazel eyes, short hair.
The guy leaned in—kissing Daniel's neck, right over the fading hickey \*Nick\* had left. Daniel's caption: \*Valentine's vibes. Found a stand-in. Miss the real thing? 😉\* No tag. No text. No reply to Nick's earlier pleas to stop.
Jealousy stabbed—hot, unexpected. \*Stand-in? For me?\* His cock hardened fully now—traitor. He adjusted himself, breathing hard. \*This is fucked.\* He locked the phone, splashed more water, and stared at his reflection again. \*Get out there. End this if it's wrong. For Charlie.\*
He opened the door.
# Meanwhile in the bedroom.
While Nick was in the bathroom, Jamie turned to Charlie—sitting beside him on the bed, voice low and reassuring. "Hey. You good? You look nervous as hell."
Charlie nodded—fingers twisting in the quilt. "Yeah. Just... first time. For this."
Jamie smiled—gentle. "Understandable. How do you want to play it? Start slow? Me watching you two first?"
Charlie shook his head—voice steadying as he thought it through. "Nick's rules: condoms, safe word red, one time. No repeats. But... I want it to be a threesome at first. Me involved. Guiding him—you. Touching both. Then... I'll back off. Watch."
Jamie nodded—eyes warm. "Got it. Threesome warmup, then you observe. I'll follow your lead. Make sure Nick's comfortable too. He's hesitant—I can tell."
"Yeah. He is. But... he agreed. For me."
Jamie squeezed his knee—platonic, supportive. "That's love. We'll make it good."
The bathroom door opened.
Nick stepped out—face damp, expression set but eyes dark with unresolved heat. The room felt charged—air thick, breaths audible. He looked at Charlie first—searching for doubt—then at Jamie, who stood slowly, wine glass set aside.
"Ready?" Charlie asked—voice soft, standing to meet Nick.
Nick nodded—pulling Charlie close, kissing him deep and possessive. Tongue invading, hands fisting in Charlie's shirt—claiming. Charlie melted—moaning into it, arousal spiking. Jamie watched—patient, hand adjusting himself discreetly.
Nick broke the kiss—breath ragged. "How do we...?"
Charlie guided—hand on Nick's chest. "Kiss him. Slow."
Nick hesitated—eyes on Charlie for permission. Charlie nodded—breath short, cock hardening.
Nick turned to Jamie—stepping closer, hand cupping his jaw tentatively. Their lips met—soft at first, testing. Jamie parted his—tongue flicking. Nick stiffened—then groaned low, deepening it. Hands slid to Jamie's waist—pulling him flush. The kiss turned hungry—Jamie's fingers in Nick's hair, bodies pressing.
Charlie watched—heat pooling. "Touch him," he whispered—voice husky.
Nick's hands roamed—under Jamie's shirt, tracing abs, thumbs circling nipples. Jamie arched—moan muffled. Charlie joined—kissing Nick's neck, hand sliding between them to palm Nick's cock through jeans.
"Undress him."
Nick peeled Jamie's shirt off—exposing smooth skin, lean muscle. Jamie returned—unbuttoning Nick's, mouth latching onto a pec—sucking hard. Nick bucked— "Fuck—"
Charlie stripped too—joining the tangle. Threesome ignited: hands everywhere. Charlie kissing Jamie's shoulder while Nick sucked his neck; Jamie stroking both their cocks—slow, teasing.
"You're both so hot," Jamie murmured—voice breathy. "Nick—big everywhere."
Nick hesitated again—pulling back slightly. "Char—paying attention to you." He kissed Charlie—filthy—while Jamie knelt, unzipping Nick, freeing his thick cock. Jamie sucked him—slow bob, tongue swirling.
Nick groaned into Charlie's mouth—hand in Jamie's hair.
Charlie guided: "Ill suck him too." Charlie knelt—hesitant, taking Jamie's slimmer cock in mouth.
Nick watched—Jamie sucking him while his love sucking Jamie. "Deeper, Jamie. Make him moan." Charlie ordered.
Jamie did—bobbing, hand stroking base. Nick whimpered—hips thrusting gently. "Yes—Jamie—"
Bodies shifted—bed now. Nick on back, Charlie riding his face—tongue delving deep—while Jamie sucked Nick. Moans filled the room—wet, obscene. Charlie ground down— "Nick—yes—"
Then flip: Jamie on all fours, Nick fingering him—lube slick—while Charlie kissed Jamie, hand stroking his cock. "Ready for him?" Charlie whispered.
Jamie nodded—moaning. "Please."
Charlie backed off slightly—watching, aroused. "Fuck him, Nick."
Nick hesitated—eyes on Charlie. "You sure?"
"Yes. Watch me watch."
# ---
Jamie was irresistible—ass up, hole slick and winking, body arching in invitation.
"Condom," Nick said—voice rough. Jamie rolled one on him—hands shaking slightly. "No saying bad words to Charlie," Nick added—firm. "Respects the rules."
Jamie nodded— "Got it."
Nick lined up—head nudging Jamie's entrance. He pushed in slow—inch by inch, groaning at the tight heat. Jamie moaned—pushing back. "So big—filling me—"
Charlie watched from the chair—stroking slow, hard as rock. The sight: Nick's muscles flexing, hips snapping, Jamie's slim body rocking.
But Nick's mind fractured. He looked at Charlie—face flushed with arousal, eyes locked on them. \*Our relationship—love, trust. This for him.\* Thrust deeper.
Then—unbidden—Daniel. The club story: Daniel grinding on that guy, same build, lips on his neck. \*Stand-in for me?\* Arousal surged—thrusts turning brutal. Jamie cried out— "Yes—harder—"
Nick shoved the thought down—focusing on Charlie. But it lingered—guilt, heat.
Suddenly—snap. \*This is wrong.\*
He shoved Jamie forward—pulling out abruptly, cock slick and throbbing.
Jamie yelped—confused, turning.
"What—?"
"Stop," Nick growled—voice low, dangerous. "Get out."
Jamie's eyes widened—hurt, shock. "Nick—I thought—"
"You thought wrong," Nick snapped—rude, standing, grabbing Jamie's clothes from the floor, thrusting them at him.
"This is done. Go home. Now."
The room tensed—intense, electric. Jamie dressed—face burning, avoiding eyes. "Sorry... I didn't mean to—" He glanced at Charlie—apologetic—then fled, door slamming downstairs.
Silence crashed.
Nick panted—hands shaking, cock still hard. "Char—fuck. I couldn't. It felt... wrong."
Charlie stood—approaching slowly, eyes wide. "Nick—"
But the dam broke. Nick's voice cracked.
"What the fuck is happening? I know I've been bad boyfriend these days. *Charlie I'm sorry something happened between me and Daniel. Did you see us that night me and Daniel? On the sofa?"*
Charlie froze—truth hanging between them. The storm finally broke.
# ----
The bedroom door slammed behind Jamie with a violence that made the whole cottage shudder. The sound lingered in the air like a gunshot echo—sharp, final, accusing. Then silence. Thick, suffocating silence broken only by the low crackle of the dying fire downstairs and the harsh, uneven breathing of two people who had just crossed a line they could never uncross.
Nick stood frozen in the center of the room. Shirtless. Jeans still unzipped, hanging loose on his hips. The discarded condom lay crumpled on the floor like a piece of evidence in a crime scene. His chest rose and fell too fast, sweat gleaming on his collarbones. His hands—big, strong hands that had held Charlie through panic attacks and nightmares—were shaking so badly he had to clench them into fists to stop it.
Charlie hadn’t moved from the armchair. His own jeans were open, boxers pushed down just enough, come streaking his stomach and fingers. His cock was softening now, the arousal draining away like blood from a wound. His eyes—wide, glassy, red-rimmed—were locked on Nick. Not with love. Not with desire. With something raw and jagged and furious.
Neither of them spoke for what felt like forever.
Then Charlie’s voice came out—low, trembling, almost a whisper.
“You said his name.”
Nick flinched. Hard. Like Charlie had physically struck him.
Charlie stood slowly. Legs unsteady. Hands clenched at his sides. “That Gala night. On our sofa. You said \*Daniel\* when you came inside him.” His voice cracked on the name—sharp, like glass underfoot. “I heard it. I stood in the doorway and watched you fuck him. Watched you grip his hips. Watched you thrust into him like you couldn’t get deep enough. Watched you groan his name like it was the only word you knew. And I—” A bitter, broken laugh tore out of him. “I touched myself. I came while you bred him. While you filled him up. And I hate myself for it. I hate that part of me got hard watching the boy who promised me forever stick his cock in someone else.”
Nick’s knees buckled. He dropped to the floor—hard—kneeling in front of Charlie like a man waiting for judgment. “Char—”
“No.” Charlie’s voice sliced through the air. “Don’t. Don’t you dare ‘Char’ me right now. Don’t you dare use that soft voice you use when you want me to forgive you. You cheated. You cheated and you lied. Every morning since—every single morning—you woke up next to me, kissed my forehead, said ‘hi’ like it was still sacred, and you were thinking about him. You were still hard for him. You were still texting him.”
Nick’s head dropped. Forehead pressed to Charlie’s thigh. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. It was one night. One stupid, drunk, selfish night. I hate myself for it. I hate that I hurt you. I hate that I let it happen. But I don’t want him. I want you. I want us. Please—please believe me.”
Charlie laughed again—ugly, wet, furious. “Believe you? You want me to believe you when you unblocked him in the cab while his mouth was on your cock? When you saved his pictures? When you got hard looking at them? When you let him mark you and then came home and kissed me goodnight like nothing happened?”
Nick’s shoulders shook. “I know. I know I fucked up. I know I’m selfish. I wanted both. I wanted you safe at home and him on his knees. I wanted the good boyfriend and the dirty secret. And when you tried to take control—when you tried to turn my betrayal into something you could own—I couldn’t even do that. I shoved Jamie off like he was nothing. Because he \*was\* nothing. Because all I could see was you. Your face. Your hurt. I couldn’t do it.”
Charlie’s voice rose—shouting now, tears streaming freely. “You don’t get to say that! You don’t get to kneel here and cry and say you couldn’t do it because of me! You already did it! You already chose him! You already broke every promise you ever made! You said forever, Nick! You said \*hi\* forever! You said I was your person! And then you fucked him on our sofa while I slept upstairs like some pathetic cliché!”
Nick sobbed—once, broken. “I know. I know. I’m begging you—give me a chance to fix it. Therapy. Whatever you want. I’ll do anything. Just—don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”
Charlie shoved him—hard. Nick rocked back on his heels, eyes wide and wet.
“You slapped me with this,” Charlie hissed. “You slapped me with your guilt and your apologies and your ‘I love you’s while you were still hard for him. You’re selfish. You’re so fucking selfish. You wanted the comfort of me and the thrill of him. You wanted to keep me safe and still get to feel like the big strong bi guy who could have anyone. And when I tried to meet you in the middle—when I tried to turn your betrayal into something we could share—you couldn’t even stomach it.”
Nick crawled forward—hands clutching Charlie’s thighs. “I couldn’t. Because it wasn’t about Jamie. It was about you. About how much I hurt you. About how I didn’t deserve to touch anyone else after what I did. I looked at you watching and all I could think was—I’m doing it again. I’m hurting him again. I couldn’t.”
Charlie sank to his knees—face-to-face now. Their foreheads touched—wet with tears, breaths mingling in harsh gasps.
“You already hurt me,” Charlie whispered—voice raw. “You hurt me the second you let him touch you. The second you let him suck you off. The second you pushed inside him. You hurt me every time you looked at your phone and smiled at his messages. Every time you lied. Every time you said ‘hi’ like it still meant the same thing.”
Nick’s voice broke completely. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll block him. I’ll delete everything. I’ll burn my phone. I’ll do anything. Please. Please don’t walk away.”
Charlie pulled back—eyes searching Nick’s. “I don’t know if I can trust you anymore. I don’t know if I can look at you without seeing him. Without hearing you say his name. Without feeling like I’m not enough.”
Nick’s hands cupped Charlie’s face—desperate, trembling. “You are enough. You’ve always been enough. I was weak. I was stupid. I was selfish. But you—you’re everything. You’re my forever. My hi. Please—give me time to prove it.”
Charlie stared at him—tears still falling. “I need space. Not forever. But... time. This Valentine’s was supposed to be ours. No Daniel lurking. No secrets. But he’s there. In your phone. In your head. In our bed.”
Nick nodded—frantic. “I’ll delete him. Right now. In front of you.”
He fumbled for his phone—hands shaking so badly he almost dropped it. Opened Instagram. Found Daniel’s profile. Blocked. Deleted the thread. Showed Charlie the empty space where the messages used to be.
Charlie watched—silent. Then: “It’s not enough. Not yet.”
Nick’s shoulders sagged. “What do you need?”
Charlie stands up—shaky but resolute.
“I can’t do this right now. I can’t sleep next to you and pretend everything’s okay. I need space.”
Nick panics—grabs his hand. “Char—please don’t leave. I’ll sleep on the sofa. I’ll go for a walk. Anything.”
Charlie shakes his head. “No. I need to go home. Tonight. I’ll take the train in the morning. You stay here. Think. I’ll think.”
Nick begs—tears streaming. “I’ll drive you. I’ll wait outside the station. Anything.”
Charlie softens—just a fraction. “No. I need to do this alone. But... I’m not saying forever. Just... not tonight. Not this weekend.”
Nick collapses—sobbing. Charlie packs a small bag in silence, kisses Nick’s forehead once—soft, sad—and leaves.
Nick stays behind in the empty cottage, staring at the fire, realizing how badly he broke the one person he swore to protect.
HEARTSTOPPER (Bottom Cuckold) Part 11.5
Chapter: Fractured Normalcy – February 17, 2026
Charlie's POV
The alarm on my phone buzzed at 7:00 AM, pulling me from a restless sleep. I silenced it quickly, staring at the ceiling for a long moment before swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The flat felt too quiet these days—too empty, even though Nick was still here. He’d insisted on moving into the tiny guest room three days ago, right after we got back from the Cotswolds. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he’d said, his voice soft and broken, eyes pleading like a kicked puppy. “I’ll stay out of your way until you’re ready.”
I’d nodded then—numb, still raw from the fight. Part of me wanted to scream at him to come back, to hold me like he used to, but another part—the bigger part—couldn’t stand the thought of his arms around me without flashing to that night on the sofa. Daniel’s moans. Nick’s groans. The way his hips had snapped forward, burying himself deep. So I let him go. Let him sleep alone in that cramped room with the lumpy mattress and the single window overlooking the alley. It was his choice, his penance. And maybe mine too—for not walking out when I should have.
I padded to the bathroom, avoiding the mirror at first. Splashed cold water on my face, brushed my teeth, ran a comb through my curls. Normal routine. Normal day. But nothing felt normal. The ache in my chest was constant now—a dull throb that sharpened every time I saw Nick’s guilty smile or heard his soft footsteps in the hall. He was trying—god, he was trying so hard. Breakfast waiting on the table every morning (toast with jam, my favorite tea steaming). Little notes: \*Have a good day. Thinking of you. – N.\* Texts throughout the day: \*You okay? Need anything?\* He coaxed me gently—never pushing, always hovering like he was afraid I’d shatter if he got too close.
I loved him for it. I hated him for it. Because every kind gesture reminded me why it hurt so much—he’d promised forever, and then shattered it with a single name. \*Daniel.\*
Dressed now—jeans, a soft blue jumper that Nick always said matched my eyes—I headed to the kitchen. There it was: plate of eggs, toast, a sliced apple. A note: \*Eat something. I’ll see you tonight. Love you. – Your Nick.\* My throat tightened. I ate half, forced the rest down, then grabbed my bag and headed out. Work. Distraction. Normalcy.
The Tube ride was crowded—commuters pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, the rattle of tracks drowning out my thoughts. I stared at my reflection in the window—pale, tired. Bags under my eyes. I’d barely slept since the trip. Dreams haunted me: Nick and Daniel on the sofa, but sometimes it was me watching, touching myself, moaning along. I woke up hard and ashamed every time.
The publishing house was a small, cluttered office in central London—stacks of manuscripts on every desk, the hum of printers and keyboards a comforting white noise. I slipped into my cubicle, booted up my computer, and dove into the day’s edits: a YA romance manuscript with a queer twist. Fitting. Priya stopped by mid-morning—her usual whirlwind self, coffee in hand.
“Charlie! How was the weekend getaway? Romantic?”
I forced a smile. “Yeah. Relaxing.”
She eyed me—sharp. “You look like you need more coffee. Big meeting today—Karl Bran’s coming in at noon. He specifically asked for you. Said your notes on the sequel were ‘gold.’ Bring your A-game.”
My stomach flipped. Karl. The lunch. I’d shared a few short stories with him via email yesterday—nervous, impulsive. His response had been quick: \*Intriguing. Let’s discuss over lunch.\* And the shock from our first meeting: he was related to Jack Maddox, the publishing powerhouse whose imprint had launched half the big YA names in the last decade. Friend or something—Karl had mentioned it casually in a text. This could be my break. My chance at something real.
I worked through the morning—line edits, plot notes, ignoring the buzz in my pocket every hour or so. Nick.
\*Nick: Morning. Hope work’s going smooth. Miss you already. Text if you need anything?\*
\*Me: All good. Busy.\*
\*Nick: Okay. Love you. Can’t wait to see you tonight.\*
It hurt—every text a reminder of what we’d lost. He was trying. Coaxing. But it felt like pity sometimes. Like he was handling me with kid gloves.
Noon came fast. Karl arrived—tall, broad-shouldered in a casual blazer over a t-shirt, glasses perched on his nose, that rune tattoo peeking from his sleeve. He shook my hand—warm, firm grip—and smiled that easy, lilted smile. “Charlie. Good to see you again.”
Lunch was at a quiet bistro nearby—salads, fresh bread, sparkling water. Karl dove right in. “Your notes on the betrayal arc—spot on. Added the sensory flashbacks; it hits harder now. Thanks for that.”
“No problem. Glad it helped.”
He leaned back—eyes assessing. “And your short stories? Read them last night. Raw. Honest. The one about the drummer and the rugby player—feels personal. Good stuff. Ever thought about expanding it?”
My cheeks heated. “Yeah. Someday. But... I heard you’re related to Jack Maddox? His imprint—"
Karl chuckled. “Close friend. Yeah. He’s basically a family. If you want, I can pass your work along. No promises, but he trusts my eye.”
My heart soared. “That’d be... amazing.”
We talked for an hour—books, writing blocks, queer rep in YA. Karl shared Angelo stories (teething still hell), asked about my life (“Boyfriend? Family?”). I kept it vague—“Yeah, long-term. Good guy.” But my phone buzzed constantly—Nick.
\*Nick: How’s the day? Lunch break?\*
\*Me: Meeting. Fine.\*
\*Nick: Okay. Thinking of you. Love you.\*
I appreciated it—the check-ins, the care. But it hurt too—reminders of the boy who used to text like that before Daniel.
Lunch ended with Karl’s promise: “Send more stories. Let’s keep in touch.”
Back at the office—afternoon edits flew. Priya praised my work. Quitting time came at 5:30. Home.
The flat smelled like pasta sauce when I walked in—Nick in the kitchen, apron on, stirring a pot. He turned—smile tentative. “Hey. Good day?”
“Yeah.” I hung my coat—spotting it immediately. The sofa. Gone. Replaced by a new one: sleek gray, modern, cushions plump.
“What...?”
Nick rubbed his neck—nervous. “I... got rid of the old one. Couldn’t stand looking at it. Bought this today. Thought... fresh start?”
I stared—tears pricking. Hurt, but touched. “You didn’t have to.”
“I did. For us.” He stepped closer—hesitant. “Dinner’s almost ready. Your favorite—bolognese.”
We ate—quiet conversation: my day (vague on Karl), his coaching stories. He coaxed gently—asking questions, listening. No pressure.
Later—dishes done, TV on low—Nick sat beside me on the new sofa. “Can I... cuddle you? Just for a bit? I miss holding you.”
I hesitated—then nodded. “Yeah.”
He pulled me close—arm around my shoulders, head on his chest. His heartbeat steady under my ear. We stayed like that—silent, warm. But when the show ended, he stood. “I’ll head to the guest room. Night, Char. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
He left—door clicking shut.
My phone buzzed. Imogen.
\*Imogen: Hey ghost! Miss you. Btw—Daniel’s got a new guy. Cody Christensen. Rugby player. Total Nick-lookalike. Tall, broad, hazel eyes. They were all over each other at the club last night. Jealous? Kidding. Spill when you’re free. 💕\*
A photo attached: Daniel in a club, arm around Cody—same build as Nick, kissing his neck.
My stomach twisted. Irony burned. If they only knew it was Nick first.
I deleted the message—curled up alone.
The hurt lingered.
But so did the love.
Fragile. Frayed.
Still there.
