“That was my award,” I said coldly. “I worked years for it. It’s my honor, my name carved on it. She clung to it and now it’s broken — and you think I’m the one who wronged her?”
I jabbed a finger toward the shards on the ground, my voice sharp as an icicle.
“She owes me an apology.”
But Warren’s eyes only burned hotter.
“It’s just a statue!” he shouted. “You can win and buy as many as you want! How can you compare that to Trisha being hurt?!”
He shoved a finger toward me, his wolf barely restrained under his skin.
“You should fucking apologize to her!”
Without waiting for a reply, he shifted — his dark gray wolf shaking off the remains of his clothes — and darted out the door to catch up with Ryan and Trisha.
The house fell silent again. I stood there staring at the shards of moonlight at my feet, Warren’s words echoing in my ears.
That I, the one who’d been wronged, should apologize. A laugh — bitter and dry — escaped my lips.
Then I noticed the pain.
Glancing down, I saw a long gash along my own shin, deeper than Trisha’s, blood running freely down my ankle.
I bit my lip, swallowed the sting in my throat, and crouched to pick up the shards one by one.
No one helped me. No one even noticed.