The likes rolled in. The comments. Rainbow hearts, clapping hands, confetti. One from Jasper:You’re unreal.One from Tru, right beneath it, with a damn kissy emoji.
It felt like getting punched in the ribs with no bruise to show for it, just that hollow, breathless ache. I closed the app,reopened it, and closed it again. Tried to tell myself it was nothing. That Tru loved me. He said it was only for the summer. That he’d turned Jasper down. He would’ve told me if he hadn’t. Right?
I called him, but there was no answer. Texted:Hope the launch went great.But I got nothing back.
My chest throbbed the way it had the first time I kissed him—when I realized what I stood to lose. And now I might actually be losing it. Losing him.
I used to think love was a straight line—meet, fall, hold on tight.
But with Tru, it’s always been a loop. Past bleeding into present.
Regret stitched through every memory.
And still, I’d go back. Every damn time.
I couldn’t sit in that room another second, surrounded by the sketches he’d left taped to the walls. The hoodie he’d borrowed the night before he left, still hanging over my chair, still smelling like him because I refused to wash it.
Nope. I had to get out.
Panic, jealousy, and hurt crashed together in my chest, all of them fighting for space until I thought I might shatter just trying to breathe. I threw my phone onto the bed and screamed, voice cracking against the walls.
“Goddamn you, Tru! Fuck! We promised forever! We fucking pissed and spit on that shit. Why?”
Jackson, my roommate, pulled off his headphones, eyebrows shooting up. “Damn, you’re into some freaky shit, huh? Keep it to yourself, Carter. Watersports ain’t my kink, ya know?”
Jesus Christ. I dragged both hands down my face, exhaling hard, fighting back a laugh that broke somewhere between humor and hysteria.
Mom and Dad were arguing about the grill. The neighborhood kids were already sticky with popsicles, running barefoot in the cul-de-sac. I hadn’t said more than two words to anyone since I got there. I’d been sleeping late, skipping the gym, and spending every night scrolling until my eyes blurred.
I was slumped over the kitchen counter, watching condensation slide down a glass of lemonade, when Charlotte walked in.
“Why do you look like someone drowned your puppy?” she asked, grabbing a grape from the bowl and popping it into her mouth.
It hurt how similar she looked to Tru. Same blue eyes, the color of a Carolina sky, same white-blond hair and pale skin.
She shrugged and slid into the seat next to mine. “Talk to me, Dare. Catch me up.”
“I’m not moping.”
“You totally are.”
I huffed. She swung her feet, the silence stretching easily between us until she said softly, “You know, I told you once that I’d be here if you ever wanted to talk.”
A dry laugh caught in my throat. “Yeah. Took me a few years to take you up on it.”
“It was worth the wait,” she said, voice light but her eyessoft. “You were so locked up back then. Angry and scared. I knew you had to figure things out in your own time.” She nudged my arm gently. “And look at you. Figuring them out.”
I stared at the floor. “Doesn’t feel like it.”
“You miss him.”
It wasn’t a question, but a statement. I nodded, barely.
Charlotte exhaled slowly. “I always knew.”
My head snapped up. “Knew what?”
“That this wasn’t just a phase or some rebellion,” she said. “You’ve loved him since before you had the words for it. You just didn’t know how to let yourself.”
