Twisted Chances

9. Niko (edited)

If you asked me what hell looked like, I'd tell you it was a candlelit table in a restaurant with Brittany smiling at me while every single part of my body strained to look at the woman storming toward us.

Nia.

Her hair loose, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sharpened with a drunken stubbornness I knew all too well. My heart stuttered, then hammered in my chest so violently I thought Brittany could hear it.

I shouldn't even care. Yesterday she practically shoved my feelings back down my throat, left me stranded with nothing but a bitter taste of rejection. But now—God, now she was standing here like some furious angel who decided she wouldn't allow me to be with anyone else. And the sick part? The hopeless, lovesick, pathetic part? I liked it.

She didn't even glance at Brittany. Her whole focus was on me. Reckless, messy, jealous Nia. She took the seat across from me like it was hers, snatched the menu as though she owned it, and for a second the world tilted.

Brittany's voice sliced through the tension, sharp and offended. "You've got to be kidding me." She stood up, muttered something about not being a fool, and left.

And me? I just sat there, watching her go, then turned back to Nia—who was now squinting at the wine list with a frown, oblivious to the destruction she'd just caused.

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I wanted to reach across the table, grab her hand, and ask what the hell she was doing. Instead, I said the only thing that wouldn't betray me:

"You just scared her away, Puffin."

Her head shot up. "Puffin?"

The corner of my mouth tugged. It slipped out, but it fit her so perfectly I couldn't take it back. She huffed, rolled her eyes, and muttered, "You're ridiculous."

But she didn't leave. She stayed. She ordered food with me, leaned on the table, argued over the best dessert, and all the while, I felt something dangerous settling in my chest: hope.

Because it felt like a date.

God, it was everything I'd ever wanted. Her laughter spilling over the table, her fingers brushing mine when she reached for the bread, her voice teasing me when I mispronounced the fancy dish names. If I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend this was ours—that she chose me, that this wasn't some reckless game she stumbled into because she was drunk and jealous.

She didn't even realize it. She didn't realize how easily she slipped into the role I'd dreamed for her. She probably thought she was punishing me, proving some point. But me? I was falling deeper, memorizing the way her nose crinkled when she stole a fry off my plate, the way she hummed under her breath when the music shifted. Every tiny detail carved itself into my chest like scripture.

I stored it all. Because I knew tomorrow she might forget, or worse, regret.

By the time we stumbled out of the restaurant, she was laughing—really laughing—and my heart ached so hard I could barely breathe. I wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her, scream, Can't you see? Don't you feel it too? But instead, I unlocked the car and opened the passenger door.

She slid in with a sigh, head dropping back against the seat. When I got in, she turned to me, eyes glazed, lips parted.

"You know," she whispered, "I didn't like her. Brittany. She was all... wrong for you."

I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. "Why's that?"

She shrugged, careless. "Because she wasn't me."

The words gutted me.

She didn't even realize what she'd said. Didn't realize she was tearing me open and stitching me back together in the same breath. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay composed, to not grab her and kiss her until she understood everything I felt. Instead, I just chuckled softly.

"Noted, Puffin."

Her lips twitched, and she fell silent, head lolling against the window as the city lights washed over her. For a second, I let myself imagine this as the drive home from one of our real dates. Me reaching across the console to lace our fingers together, her humming to some song on the radio, both of us glowing with something easy, something ours.

But when we reached her place and I pulled up to the curb, reality punched me back. She was tipsy, reckless, and tomorrow she'd shove this all into some box labeled mistakes.

I didn't want tonight to fade like that.

"Hey," I said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She blinked up at me, dazed, beautiful, utterly unaware of the storm inside me. "Get some sleep, Puffin. You'll hate yourself in the morning if you don't."

She smiled faintly. "You're bossy."

And then she leaned in, pressing a quick, clumsy kiss to my cheek before stumbling out of the car.

I sat frozen, watching her disappear into the building, my hand still on my cheek like an idiot. My heart was breaking and swelling at the same time.

When I finally drove off, I didn't head home. My hands shook too much. My chest hurt too much. Instead, I pulled over by the pier and called Jas.

She picked up on the second ring, her voice laced with annoyance. "Niko, it's midnight. This better be good."

I let out a shaky laugh. "Jas... I think I'm screwed."

"What else is new?"

"I love her," I said, voice cracking, breaking the dam I'd tried so hard to hold back. "I love her so much it hurts, and tonight—God, tonight felt like everything I've ever wanted. But she doesn't even know what she did. She doesn't see me, Jas. She doesn't know she's killing me."

There was silence on the line. For a moment, I thought she hung up. Then she sighed. "You're hopeless."

"Yeah," I whispered, staring out at the dark water, the reflection of city lights blurring through my tears. "I am. Hopeless for her."

And that was the truth. Every reckless laugh, every careless word she threw tonight—she didn't know they were feeding me hope. She didn't know she'd already become the reason I'd never be free.

Author's note: Sorry for the short chapter today guys. Thank you for supporting me though. Hope you're loving the story.❤️