Chapter 31 POPCORN SOLVES IT ALL

Chapter 31 POPCORN SOLVES IT ALL
RYAN

"So, you were the first to tap this—" I point to my body, sharp and deliberate, then let my hand fall. "And that gives you the right to use it against me in public?"
"I did. It's a fact." Matthews shrugs, leaning back with that infuriating half-smile. "And it wasn't used against you, babe. It was just to rile up the guys."
My chest burns. "Do you hear yourself? You're not sixteen anymore, Andrew! You're not in some locker room circle-jerk trying to prove who's the biggest alpha. You're a grown man, and you think bragging about who you slept with is some kind of power move?"
"It's hockey, Scar. It's what guys do." He rolls his eyes. "You're overthinking it."
"No," I snap, stepping closer so he feels the full force of my glare. "You don't get to say that about me. And you and Nate Gallo absolutely do not get to drag Rae into it either. She's been nothing but good to both of you. And you throw her name around like she's—what? A punchline?"
He tenses at that, jaw tightening, but still tries to play it off. "You know we didn't mean it like that."
"I don't care how you guys meant it. You don't touch her name. Ever." My voice cracks, but I don't back down. "You lost the right to talk about me the moment you made me feel like I was just sleezy puck bunny. But Rae? That was a low blow... even for you."
He finally leans forward, expression hardening. "You're being dramatic. He only made one comment."
"Oh my goodness, Andrew." I'm fuming at this point. "Do you even hear yourself? One comment that tells me everything I need to know about who you are." I let the words hang between us, heavier than I expect. "You don't respect me. You never did. And I'm done pretending you grew up."
"Scar—" he starts, voice lower, almost pleading.
But I shake my head. "No. We're done here. Whatever this was? It's over. Don't call me, don't text me, and if you see me at a game, you keep my name out of your mouth. Same goes for Rae."
I turn to leave, pulse hammering in my throat.
"Funny you say anything about growing up." He sneers and I turn back to face him.
"What are you talking about?"
"You think I didn't notice you eye-fucking Callahan every damn second we were together? At The Dugout, at the game, anywhere he walked in the room—you couldn't take your eyes off him." The vein in his neck bulges, his voice sharp as broken glass. "And you want to stand here and lecture me about growing up? That's a fucking joke. What you've been doing is trashy, Ryan. Straight-up teenage bullshit. And you know what? It's disgusting. I actually thought you were better than that—turns out you're just like every other girl whoring herself for him."
I laugh—short, sharp, ugly.
"Wow. There it is. The real you. The guy who can't stand not being the center of the room, so the second he feels threatened, he spits venom and calls women trashy." I take a step closer, my voice low and deliberate. "You think me looking at Callahan is disgusting? Try listening to yourself. You're not some victim here. You're just a bitter, insecure asshole who can't handle the fact that someone doesn't want you anymore." I tilt my head, letting the silence sting. "And trust me—you don't get to define my worth. Not anymore."
His mouth twists, eyes narrowing. "Keep telling yourself that, Scarlett. But we both know he's just another guy you'll chew up and spit out. It's who you are—you'll never be more than the warm-up act before the next girl comes along."
The words are meant to cut, and maybe once, they would've. But not now. Not anymore.
I smirk, raise my middle finger, and turn on my heel without another word. Let him talk to himself, let him stew in his own poison. He wanted the last word? Fucking Fine. He can keep it.
Because I'm done.

〰️〰️〰️

The Brownstones are and will always be my refuge – especially when Rae is one of its inhabitants. And Ems. My wrecked body has its walk 'home' on auto and that's where I end up after my outburst with Matthews.
Honestly, I thought it would be a civilised conversation until I saw his smirk when he saw me. After thirty-whatever missed calls, a girl would expect the guy she was hanging out with to have a little respect for her, right? Except a dick like Matthews wouldn't even ever know the meaning of the word.
When I push open my old dorm's door, Rae's exactly where I expect her: sprawled across her bed, highlighters scattered around like she tried to summon a rainbow demon, laptop balanced on her knees. Her bun is hanging on for dear life—a tangled mess.
She doesn't even glance up before saying, "Julie's still MIA, Em's currently memorizing the cardiovascular system, and I'm drowning in these flashcards." She points to the cards spread around her. "—which, by the way, is not a party. Unless you count trying to decide whether to die of boredom or aneurysm first."
I drop face-first onto Em's bed without answering. The pillow muffles my voice, but I manage, "Sounds like a blast."
Rae flicks her eyes up, assessing me in that way only she can—like she's already running diagnostics before I've even said a word. "Well, look who's back from the trenches." She shuts her laptop with a loud snap. "You look like you got chewed up by a frat party and spit out on Commonwealth Ave."
I groan into the pillow. "Close. More like Matthews decided to remind me why I should've stayed very far away from him in the first place."
"Oh." Rae's tone sharpens with instant understanding. "So he decided to showed his true colors again, huh? Shocking." She tosses a pen at me; it bounces off my blanket and lands on the floor with a pathetic clink. "Want me to draft him an apology letter on your behalf? Something like, 'Dear Andrew, sorry for being way too hot and way too out of your league. My bad.'"
I roll onto my side just enough to glare at her. "You're hilarious."
"I try." She leans back against the headboard, folding her arms. "But seriously. You okay?"
I push myself upright slowly, dragging both hands down my face. "Not really. He was just—cruel. Like, went for the jugular kind of cruel."
"That tracks." Rae's voice loses its edge. "Guys like him? They're all bravado until they feel you slipping away. Then it's all venom and cheap shots. Classic last-ditch loser behavior."
I nod, though it doesn't take the sting away. "He said... stuff that made me feel small. Like I was just some... thing he used. Like me looking at Sean—" My throat catches, and I hate that it does. "Like it made me trashy."
Rae's jaw sets. "First of all, ew. Second of all, Matthews wouldn't know self-awareness if it bit him in the ass. You were never trashy. He's just projecting because deep down he knows he's replaceable. And, babe—newsflash—you already replaced him."
I groan again, burying my face back into the pillow. "Not helping."
"Fine." Rae hops off her bed with sudden purpose. "Then I'll do the actual helping thing." She rummages through the tiny stash of snacks under her desk and returns with a bag of pretzels and a sleeve of Oreos. She tosses both onto my lap. "Doctor's orders. Carbs first, feelings later."
I crack a weak laugh. "Does Emma know you keep hiding the treasures under that desk?."
She rolls her eyes, climbing back onto her bed. "She wishes! Listen, I'm the queen of putting myself together after a shitshow like this, so I can tell you with full confidence that your broken heart requires double-stuffed Oreos."
I can't help it—I smile. I tear open the Oreos and pop one in my mouth without even twisting it apart. Rae watches with approval.
"That's the spirit," she says. "Drown his words in processed sugar. Works every time."
I shake my head, chewing. "You're impossible."
"Yeah, but I'm also right."
Silence stretches between us for a moment, just the sound of wrappers crinkling. It's comforting, in a weird way.
Then Rae says, "By the way, Zach's still fuming about Gallo. Coach basically had to drag him off the ice on practice."
My brows knit. "Seriously?"
"Oh, yeah. And now the BC guys have been banned from every party within a mile of campus. Even Greek Road. Which, honestly, is poetic justice."
That gets a laugh out of me. "They actually banned them?"
"Dead serious." Rae smirks. "It's like, congratulations boys, you've officially earned yourselves a restraining order from fun."
I chuckle, shaking my head. "That's insane."
"It's college hockey, Ry. Insane is baseline."
We lapse into another stretch of quiet. This time, Rae breaks it by pulling out her phone. "Okay, distraction time." She starts scrolling, then thrusts it in my face. A TikTok plays of a girl trying to prank her roommate by hiding under the bed, only to sneeze and blow her cover.
I snort. "That's so stupid."
"Exactly," Rae says, grinning. "Stupid is what you need. Now help me decide if I should caption this 'how Emma thinks she studies for exams' or 'Julie avoiding responsibility like...'"
I take a pretzel and toss it at her. "Both. Post them both."
She catches it in her mouth like some smug dolphin. "God, I'm good."
I shake my head, smiling despite myself.
Rae narrows her eyes at me. "Okay, new plan." She jumps off the bed again and heads for the microwave. "We're doing popcorn. You can sit there and sulk or you can help me pick out the seasoning."
"I don't need popcorn."
"Everyone needs popcorn. It's like...the duct tape of bad moods. Fixes everything."
Minutes later, we're sitting cross-legged on my bed, the big bowl between us. Rae sprinkles way too much salt on her half, and I rescue mine before she can ruin it.
She watches me eat a piece, then says, "So. Callahan."
I choke slightly on the kernel. "What about him?"
"Oh, nothing. Just wondering how it feels to have the captain of BU basically looking at you like you're the only person in the arena."
I glare. "Don't start."
"Who's starting? I'm just observing. Like a scientist. Cardiovascular system by day, hockey-girl chemistry by night." She waggles her brows.
I throw another pretzel at her. She dodges.
"You're deflecting," she singsongs.
"And you're annoying."
"Mutually true."
We eat in silence for a few minutes until Rae suddenly leans over, grabs my hair, and starts clumsily braiding.
"Rae!" I yelp, nearly spilling the popcorn.
"Shut up. This is therapeutic. I saw it on TikTok—braiding releases stress or some shit."
"You're literally pulling my scalp off."
"Beauty is pain, babe."
I laugh, but I let her keep going. The braid is a disaster—lopsided, strands sticking out everywhere—but when she ties it off with a random scrunchie, she looks smug.
"There. Gorgeous. Totally Pinterest-worthy."
I glance at myself in the tiny mirror on my desk and burst out laughing. "I look like a farm kid who lost a fight with a lawnmower."
"Exactly. Iconic."
I collapse back onto the pillows, laughter fading into something softer. "Thanks, Rae."
She shrugs, settling next to me. "Don't thank me. Just promise me you'll stop letting losers like Matthews take up brain space. You've got better things to do. Like... not fail Econ. Or, you know, keep Callahan from combusting every time you walk into a room."
I roll my eyes, but my cheeks heat. "You're relentless."
"And you love me for it."
She's not wrong.
We fall into an easy silence, half-watching random TikToks, half-eating popcorn. Outside, campus hums with the usual late-night noise—shouts, music, laughter—but in here, it's just us.
And for the first time all night, I feel lighter.