It sat on my nightstand like it had never left. To anyone else, it would appear ordinary, gray, rough. But not to me. My breath caught. The towel slipped from my fingers. I stepped closer, my heart starting to hammer.
It was the same rock he’d given me on my fifteenth birthday. The one he’d left under the ramp, our secret hiding place for sodas and candy bars and all the dumb stuff that made sense only to us.
When I turned it over, I saw the words still scratched into the surface, uneven and careful:
“Happy Birthday.”
And on the back, smaller, like he couldn’t help himself:
“Sorry I ruined everything.”
I didn’t cry back then. I’d been too mad. Too proud. But I’d held that rock until it felt welded to my skin.
I remembered setting it back on his nightstand later, looking him straight in the eye and saying,“You hold onto it for me. You’ll know when it’s time to give it back.”
And now, here it was.
The timing was obvious. So was the meaning.
I didn’t know it then, but that rock was never just a gift—it was a breadcrumb back to each other.
My chest imploded, all the air leaving me at once. I reached out, tracing the old carving with my thumb. He’d kept it all this time. Through everything. And now he was giving it back.
Maybe it was an apology.
Maybe a promise.
Maybe both.
I looked at him again—sleep-soft, the corners of his mouth curved like he’d dreamed something good—and I wondered if he had any idea what he’d just done.
Because with one stupid rock, he’d given me back every piece of us I thought was gone.
CHAPTER 33
DARE
The Christmas gift that year was finally telling the truth and hoping it didn't burn the whole damn house down.
I wokeup tangled in him. My brain was still slow, caught in the haze of sleep and the memory of last night—his mouth, his voice, the way he said my name when he came. I was warm all over, heavy and sticky, everything in me still humming with leftover want.
Then I blinked, looked around, and the room came into focus. Fuck.
“Tru,” I murmured. “I can’t be here.”
His lashes fluttered, and he stirred, still drowsy, still sated. “Huh?”
“I was supposed to go back to my room last night. If they check?—”
Now he was blinking too, sitting up. The blanketfell from his chest. He looked wrecked in the best way—hair wild, lips kiss-swollen, my marks sucked into his pale skin like a brand.
He was beautiful. And I was fucked.
“Shit,” he whispered. “I forgot.”
He sounded only mildly panicked, too full of us to really feel it. I started to move, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
“Wait,” Tru said softly, still behind me, still warm. “Just… before you go…”
