Shattered

⋆🏍₊˚⊹ ALMOST FREE

Tatum

They say a person's graduation party is supposed to be the happiest night of their life — the start of something new. A soft goodbye to the last few awful years and a hopeful step into whatever comes next.

But as I stand here, a red plastic cup pressed to my palm, laughter and music drifting around me, all I feel is this quiet, aching sadness I can't seem to shake.

While everyone else is escaping Darby — the small, suffocating town we grew up in — I'm stuck. Tethered here by one thing I can't outrun.

My father.

Mark Sutter.

To the outside world, he's just another decent dad. The kind people smile at in the grocery store. But no one knows what happens behind closed doors. No one knows he drained my college fund to keep himself numb — alcohol, bad decisions, and his constant need for white powder.

I let out a slow, easy breath, closing my eyes and letting the burn of whatever cheap concoction is in my cup scorch away the last of my thoughts. For a moment, there's nothing—just heat and quiet and blessed numbness.

But when I lower the cup, the sight waiting for me hits harder than the drink ever could.

Me and Cruz were always messy. The kind of messy that stains, that lingers long after it's over. Our breakup tore me apart, and that was six months ago. Now I'm watching him grind into some girl who has herself pressed against him, hands splayed on his chest, practically begging for his attention.

Pathetic.

I roll my eyes, shaking my head, but it's almost like he can feel my stare because his fiery green eyes snap up and lock onto mine. There's smugness there—lazy and intentional—and it sends an uneasy twist straight through my stomach.

My gaze drifts down him before I can stop myself, taking in a sight I know far too well. The black shirt. The matching leather jacket hiding his tattooed sleeve. Loose-fit jeans slung low on his hips. His dark hair is tousled in that effortless way that looks accidental but never is. And his eyes—always carrying that half-lidded laziness that used to undo me—still make my thighs tense despite everything I tell myself.

When my eyes finally lift back to his face, he's smirking like he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

I tilt my head slowly and mouth, fuck you.

I watch as his expression shifts—first frustration, sharp and quick, then something unreadable flickers behind his eyes. But I don't let it sink in. I turn away before it can.

I have better things to think about than him.

"Oh my God!" Solace squeals from behind me, the sound sharp enough to pull me out of my thoughts. I turn around to face my friend, eyebrow already raised.

Normally, Solace Huxley is the shy one in our small group of three—the quiet observer. But tonight, she's carrying enough confidence for all of us. She's wrapped in a silver sequin dress that hugs her in all the right places, catching the light every time she moves. Against her pale complexion and warm hazel eyes, there's no denying it—she's stunning.

"What? What?" I ask, bracing myself for whatever she's about to unload.

She opens her mouth, then pauses, her expression shifting as her eyes flick behind me for half a second. Realization crashes over her face.
"Oh—fuck him!" she yells.

"What—literally?" I start to turn my head, but Solace is quicker, grabbing my cheeks and pulling my attention back to her.

"No! Not literally, Tatum," she sighs, dropping her hands before looping her arm through mine. Her tone softens, but it's firm. "He's bad news. You know it. And I know it too. You need to move on."

I let out a quiet sigh, my shoulders sagging just a little. Part of me knows she's right—I've known it for a long time.

I just don't want to admit it yet.

Before I can even respond, Solace grabs my hand and drags me straight into the crowd, pulling me into a sea of bodies swaying and moving to some overplayed 2000s beat.

"Come on, let loose, Tate!" she yells over the music, already throwing her ass back into me like she doesn't have a care in the world.

I can't help it—I laugh, breathless and unguarded, shaking my head at how ridiculous she's being. But I don't hesitate for long. I move with her, swaying my hips into hers, letting the rhythm take over as we shout the lyrics at the top of our lungs.

For once, I stop thinking.
For once, I let myself feel free.