Chapter 219
“Actually,” he said, “I went to St. Jude’s. Class of 2011.”
Jocelyn choked on her water. She coughed, sputtering, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“You? You went to St. Jude’s?”
He nodded. “I was a senior when you were a freshman.”
Jocelyn stared at him. Her brain tried to rewind ten years. She pictured the hallways, the lockers, the cafeteria that smelled of bleach and tater tots, and tried to insert Gaston Collins into that picture. She couldn’t. The Collins name was legendary in their circle, but she drew a complete blank. Then again, her freshman year had been a masterclass in self-preservation through invisibility. She had perfected the art of keeping her head down, her world shrinking to the narrow path between her locker, the library, and the bleachers.
“I don’t remember you,” she admitted.
“I remember you,” he said.
The air in the kitchen changed. It became heavier, charged with something that felt like static.
Jocelyn blinked. “You do? I was a nobody. I wore oversized sweaters and hid in the library.”
𝖲𝗮𝗏𝘦 𝘆𝗈𝗎𝗿 𝘧𝘢𝗏𝗼r𝘪t𝗲 𝗇ov𝖾𝗅𝘀 o𝗻 𝗀а𝗅𝘯𝗼𝘃e𝗅𝗌.с𝗈𝗆
“You were the girl who always sat under the bleachers reading during pep rallies,” he said.
A shiver ran down her spine, starting at her neck and racing all the way to her toes.
That was my hiding spot.
Nobody knew about the space under the bleachers. It was dark, dusty, and smelled of old gym mats — the only place Aspen wouldn’t think to look for her.
“How…” she started, but her voice failed her.
“If you go, I’ll go,” Gaston offered, setting the invitation back on the counter. “I have alumni business to attend to anyway.”
Jocelyn looked at the invitation. The gold crest seemed to mock her.
“You just want to show off your trophy wife,” she deflected, trying to break the weight of his gaze. “It fits the narrative. The happy couple.”
“Maybe I just want to see you rewrite history,” he countered. He stepped closer, invading her personal space. He smelled of musk and expensive soap. “Maybe I want to watch them realize they underestimated you.”
Jocelyn looked at his chest, avoiding his eyes. As his towel shifted slightly, she caught a glimpse of dark ink on his pectoral muscle — the edge of the J.W. tattoo.
Jovanni Waller. The name echoed in her head. He probably wants to go to show off how well he’s playing the straight man.
But the thought of walking into that room alone, facing Kieran and Aspen — it made her stomach turn.
“Fine,” she said, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “But I’m going with Bella first. You can arrive separately. I need a buffer before the main event.”
“Deal,” Gaston said. A slow smirk spread across his face. “But save the last dance for me.”
He winked, grabbed his towel, and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Jocelyn staring at the invitation as though it were a loaded gun.
.
.
.