Chapter 15 Garrett
Garrett
“What do you want now?” I sighed, keeping my voice calm.
James didn’t hesitate.
He shoved right into my space like he was trying to pick a fight with the devil and didn’t care if he got burned. Lavender curls bounced over his glittered cheekbones, pupils blown wide from adrenaline and whatever the hell he’d been drinking, but his expression was sharp enough to cut.
“What did you do to him?” he snapped.
I leaned back in the chair, letting my face stay bored even though my pulse kicked. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t play stupid.” He didn’t lower his voice. Didn’t care who heard. “Aslan just left. He didn’t even say goodbye. I got a text.” His eyes locked on mine like he was trying to find guilt in my face.
“Trouble in paradise?” I lifted a brow.
“That text screamed you,” he said, voice shaking now. “You did something.”
I kept my posture lazy—legs spread, one arm draped over the chair like I didn’t have a care in the world. Like my throat didn’t still burn with the memory of Aslan’s voice. Like I wasn’t still tasting his sadness like poison.
“What do you want from me?” I asked coolly. “Go chase after your little boyfriend if you’re so worried.”
James let out a sound—half laugh, half choked rage. “Boyfriend?” He stepped closer, rubbing his own forehead with frustration. “You are such a fool, Garrett. He’s not my boyfriend.” His eyes flashed. “And I’m not even the one he’s crushing on.”
Yeah.
That damn Trisha.
My jaw ticked.
He didn’t flinch.
James never did.
Other people backed down when my tone shifted. Other people remembered who I was—what my name meant at Crownwell. James didn’t. James Moore would’ve mouthed off to God Himself with a smile, like consequences were for other people.
And I usually let him.
Maybe because I’d known him longer than I’d known any of the others. Since childhood. He’d been part of my life before the Constellation, before the crown, before the rules.
But still.
Sometimes I needed to remind him that we were not equals. Not anymore…
“I don’t give a fuck who he’s crushing on.”
James didn’t move. In fact, he leaned in more, eyes burning with something that looked a lot like grief turned violent.
“You’re blind,” he hissed. “And I was wrong about you. He deserves so much better.” His voice cracked just slightly. “He’s a good guy.”
My fingers flexed once.
James watched my face like he was digging for something buried under my skin.
“You don’t know a damn thing about him,” I snapped.
James’s expression twisted. “I know enough to know you’re trying to destroy him.” He smiled—slow, personal—and lowered his tone so only I could hear. “And I know why.”
My blood went hot. “Why?”
“Because he gets under your skin,” James murmured. “And because deep down, you want him so bad it makes you sick.”
The world tilted.
It took everything in me not to stand and break his jaw.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“No,” James whispered, leaning closer, breath hot near my ear like he wanted to die tonight. “You’ve been obsessed with him since day one. And you hate it because he’s not—” he gestured down toward my chest like he was ripping open my ribs, “—safe for you.”
I was already moving before I knew I’d decided.
I stood up fast, the chair scraping the floor, and James didn’t step back. Didn’t blink.
That alone almost made me angrier.
I grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him forward until he slammed into my chest. My voice dropped, low and lethal.
“Say anything like that again and I will kill you,” I hissed. “You don’t want to play with me, James.”
For half a second, I caught a flicker of fear in his green eyes—just a crack. I almost felt bad.
Almost.
Then—
“Enough.”
Aitor’s voice cut through the heat like a blade.
He was suddenly there between us, calm as stone, but his eyes sharp with something I didn’t see often—controlled anger.
“Aitor,” I snapped, without releasing James.
“Let him go,” Aitor said.
“Stay out of it.”
Aitor didn’t blink. “Let. Him. Go.”
James didn’t smile. Didn’t gloat. He just stared at me like I was disappointing him. Like I was disappointing Aslan.
My hand loosened slowly, almost against my will. James stepped back, straightening his shirt like he hadn’t just been manhandled by the most untouchable guy at Crownwell.
Aitor’s gaze swung between us. “Do you two have any idea what you’ve done?”
James blinked. “What I—”
“Both of you,” Aitor cut in. His voice was calm, and it made it worse. “You let Aslan walk out of here drunk and upset in the middle of the night. Alone.”
My throat tightened.
Aitor’s jaw clenched. “He doesn’t know this town. He doesn’t know where the safe streets are. And campus is over ten miles away.”
James’s face drained. “Shit.”
Then Aitor looked at me. No softness. No judgment speech. Just that quiet, Constellation authority.
“You and I,” he said, “are going to find him.”
“The hell I am,” I hissed.
Aitor raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? Fine. Then I will.”
“No, you won’t.” The words came out sharp, automatic. “This isn’t your problem. This is between us. Stay out of it—unless… you wanna go against me.”
My mouth was talking like I didn’t give a damn, but my head was saying something else.
Not that I was concerned about my lion. He wasn’t in immediate danger—at least I didn’t think he was.
But the idea of someone else finding Aslan first—someone else getting to play hero, getting to touch him, getting to look at him like he was theirs to protect—made my chest ache in a way I didn’t want to name.
If I couldn’t have him, no one could.
Aitor hesitated, surprised—and maybe a little conflicted—before he sighed and shook his head.
“No, bro,” he said quietly. “I’m not going against you.”
“Good.” I stepped, forcing my body to relax like nothing mattered. Like I wasn’t unraveling from the inside out. “Then let’s get a drink.”
By the time we left Molly Bloom’s, my head was a full-blown fucking war zone.
I’d had enough to be stupid. Enough to be reckless. Not enough to forget those sad eyes, or Aitor’s goddamn guilt trip, or the way Aslan had looked when he ran out of that room like something inside him had finally snapped.
I should’ve taken a cab.
Instead, I got in my car.
The engine purred as I pulled onto the road and drove slow—too slow—eyes sweeping every street, every sidewalk, every shadow between streetlights.
Twenty miles an hour. Like an idiot. Like I’d lost my mind.
My gaze kept snapping to the highway shoulder, the trees, the intersections—searching for a lone figure. Dark hair. A hoodie. Anything.
Nothing.
He couldn’t have made it back yet. No way. Not on foot, unless he ran the entire way back.
The thought sat in my chest like a weight, growing heavier with every mile.
My hands tightened on the wheel.
“Where the fuck are you?” I muttered, scanning again, again—like looking harder would make him appear.
Still nothing.
I cursed under my breath and turned onto another road, then another, tires whispering over the asphalt as I cut through streets I barely recognized—until I jumped back on the highway. Faster now. Ready to get this nonsense over with and get to bed.
My head was fogged. Like the air inside my skull was running out.
Maybe he got picked up.
Maybe James, or fucking Aitor—
Oh, he better not have…
I gripped the wheel harder, angrier, eyes burning.
Then I glanced down—just for a second—to check for messages… maybe even to message him myself.
And that second was enough.
Headlights flared in my vision. A curve came too fast. My tires hit gravel at the shoulder, and my stomach dropped.
“Fuck—”
I jerked the wheel. The car fishtailed.
For one sick moment, everything went weightless—my breath, my body, my control.
Then metal screamed, and the world slammed sideways.
The last thing I saw before the dark swallowed me was my own reflection in the windshield—wide-eyed and ruined—like I’d finally driven myself straight into the consequences.