The words hang in the air like poison. And the moment they leave my mouth, I want to take them back, stuff them back down my throat, and erase them from the space between us.
He stops walking. His whole body goes rigid.
When he turns to look at me, it’s not anger that hits me first—it’s the crack beneath it. A flash of hurt in his eyes so raw it punches a hole straight through my chest.
His voice is low. Controlled. But not calm.
“No,” he says. “But I might as well be.”
I blink, mouth parted, but he’s not done.
“It’s not like yours give a shit about you anyway, and mine is a sore ass loser too. So yeah—I’m taking care of myself, and you, because that’s what I do. Because you’re my best friend, Lucas, and that hasn’t changed since we were five.”
My throat tightens. Guilt swells in my chest like rising water, and I look down, ashamed. I want to say I’m sorry. I want to tell him I didn’t mean it, that I know he’s the only one who’s stayed.
But before I can, a loud engine splits the air and a black convertible swings up beside us.
Quinton’s behind the wheel, shades on, music thumping like a heartbeat with too much caffeine. He’s grinning like he owns the world.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he says to Tyler, throwing him a wink. “Ready to go?”
Tyler doesn’t answer immediately. He forces a smile that barely stretches his mouth, then turns to me. I can see it—the way his anger dissolves, the way concern seeps back in.
The kind that says he’s not ready to leave me like this.
“I’ll be back by seven,” he says quietly, like a promise. “We can go to the treehouse then, yeah?”
Before I can nod, Quinton is already talking over him.
“We’re going out of town, babe. Won’t be back tonight.”
Tyler’s brow furrows. “Why not?”
Quinton’s smile turns smug. “It’s our Two-month anniversary. I booked us dinner after bowling. Then… we’ve got a place for the night.” His voice drops an octave, dripping with implication. “Just us.”
Tyler falters. I see it in his eyes—the hesitance. The weight of choice that’s tightening in his chest. He turns back to me, and I know what’s coming. He’ll tell Quinton no. He’ll choose me over Quinton, because he always does.
So I make the choice for him.
Before he can speak, I reach out and tug gently at the hem of his sleeve.
“It’s fine,” I say. My voice is soft, but steady. “Go.”
“Lucas—”
“I’ll be okay,” I add, offering a small smile, “And I’m sorry… for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean it. And you’ve been everything to me.”
His face softens, but it’s quickly swallowed by concern.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “Just… promise me. As soon as you give him the stuff, you leave that treehouse. Don’t hang around, don’t let him talk you into anything. And if anything feels even a little off—anything, Lucas—you call me. You understand?”
I nod, touched by how serious he looks. “I promise.”
“I’m going to be texting you every few minutes,” he adds, and his tone is so Tyler it makes me smile for real.
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
He stares at me for a moment longer, eyes searching mine. I can see him second-guessing everything—Quinton, the dinner, the drive, the night away.
