You send Dean a message as you leave rehearsal, the weight of the day pressing down.

You: Such a crappy day! Might vent to u later. How was the game?

No answer.

You check your phone every few seconds, hoping, waiting. You didn’t message Dean because you wanted anything physical tonight—you just needed to vent. Needed someone to listen.

When you get home, it’s quiet. Hannah isn’t back yet; she went to the hockey game, so you call her, hoping to find out where she is.

“Hey!” she shouts over the background noise of clinking glasses and loud music. “I’m at the bar. Wanna join us?”

You hesitate, struggling not to ask directly about Dean. “Who’s there?”

She rattles off names, her voice a blur—until her last words cut through, sharp and clear. “...and some girl’s practically eating Dean’s face off.”

Your hand shakes as you set the phone down. Dean is at the bar, making out with someone else? Just two days after you agreed to be exclusive?

Oh, hell no.