His voice is low. Calm. Not pitying. Just solid.
I look up. “I feel trapped.” The words get stuck in my throat on the way out. It’s hard to admit, especially to Dev. I know how hard he had it growing up. Alcoholic father, foster care, neglect. I’m lucky to have all the opportunities I could ever dream of laid out in front of me. All except the one I want.
He grunts, curls never ceasing as he looks at me through narrowed eyes. “Trapped?”
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” I try to shake it off, bending down to switch up the weights on the bar.
“Dude. It does. What you want matters.”
“Thanks,” I say, not really believing myself.
“If you won’t listen to me, you should talk to someone else.” He’s so casual about it. Makes it sound so normal.
“You think therapy’s gonna fix me?”
He shrugs. “It won’t fix you. It’ll just help you recognize when you’re bullshitting yourself.”
We fall back into silence, but it’s different now. Not empty. Just... paused. I exhale slowly, and the air tastes cleaner than it did ten minutes ago.
By the time we climb the stairs, I’m drenched, drained, and weirdly lighter.
That is, until JJ nearly smacks me in the face with his phone.
“Dude,” he says, eyes wide. “You’re going viral.”
I blink, chest still heaving from the last set. “What are you talking about?”
“Socials, blogs, online news outlets All of them. You and Luna.”
He taps the screen and holds it out. It’s a photo from last night.
We’re in the theater parking lot, backlit by a halo of headlights. Luna’s sitting on the curb with a cup of something warm, her hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, her hair a chaotic knot, half falling out of the elastic. She looks exhausted. Real. Smiling. Not a sign of her perfectly polished influencer persona.
And I’m standing there, looking at her like I forgot anyone else existed. My stomach flips. Hard.
JJ swipes. This shot shows Luna leaning on the handle of Celeste’s garment bag while Celeste herself leans against my car, laughing. I’m in the background, blurred but visible. A ghost in my own life.
Swipe.
Us again. Walking side by side, the night sky dim and grainy behind us. She’s got her phone out, waving it at Celeste, and I’m just... watching her. It’s the kind of moment that wasn’t meant to be captured. Which, of course, is why someone did.
JJ whistles. “Wildaker. Dude, you’ve got a couple name. You’ve made it.”
Dev leans in beside me, face unreadable. “Where the hell did these come from?”
“Some arts blog first. Then someone tagged Luna, and now it’s on, like, every gossip account with a follower count over ten K.”
The caption underneath one of them reads:
“Who is the girl with Beau Whitaker? Is the country’s most eligible ice prince off the market?”
My jaw clenches.
JJ’s still scrolling. “Look, you guys are trending with, like, hearts and swoon emojis. It’s all good stuff.”
I shake my head. “That’s not the point. We weren’t filming. It was supposed to be a private moment. They don’t know her. That’s not her.”
“What do you mean?”
