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He’s never going to be able to compete.
It’s an uncharitable thought—and one with incredibly poor timing, considering the bodies piling up and the vaguely nauseous feeling in his stomach that he can't seem to make go away—but one he can’t help as he watches Kate turn away from him, that brief look of fear still melting from her expression.
A whole night with Kate. A whole night with Kate’s eyes shining on him, her hand clutching his as they sprinted through the trees, branches tearing at their clothes. A whole night spent getting a front row preview to everything he’s wanted for the last three years.
He should’ve known it was too good to last. That it would never be that easy.
All it takes is for Sawyer to come stumbling out of the trees, and Kate goes running straight into his arms without hesitation. Nevermind that he’s covered in blood after being missing for hours. Nevermind that Jack’s been the one looking out for her tonight, watching her back and keeping her safe. That he’s been the one in this with her. It’s all forgotten with a flash of that infuriating dimpled grin.
Now Sawyer’s getting her dirty, getting blood all over her clothes. She doesn’t seem to care.
He feels a surge of bitterness in his chest, so strong he can almost taste it.
It doesn’t have to be Jack. It doesn’t. But does it really have to be Sawyer?
At that exact moment, Sawyer looks up. He shoots Jack a dark look over Kate’s shoulder, like he can somehow hear what Jack’s thinking and has half a mind to put a knife in his back for it.
Jack knows the feeling.