“Pretty sure Damon would cry if you did.”
“Damon wouldbegto be serenaded.”
His mouth twitched, but he didn’t look at me. I could still feel his attention, though, warm and steady, like a hand at my back. He knew I was still processing.
We rounded the dorms into a quiet alcove with a forgotten picnic bench. Tru sat first, and I followed, grateful for the pause. The air was still, the hum of lawnmowers distant. My chest finally started to unclench.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
I nodded, eyes on the sky. “I didn’t expect them to… be like that.”
“You mean not throw food at us or set you on fire?”
“Low bar,” I said.
“But it mattered,” he pressed.
“Yeah,” I admitted, voice low. “Of course it did.”
He leaned back, arms sprawled across the bench like he owned it. Tru was completely comfortable in his skin, something I envied. “You didn’t look scared in there.”
“I was terrified.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
I huffed a laugh. “You’ve always been braver than me.”
“Maybe,” he said, eyes narrowing playfully. “But you’re catching up. You looked proud today.”
That threw me. “Proud?”
“Yeah. Like you finally saw yourself the way I see you.”
His words landed with more impact than he probably meant. I looked away, swallowing hard. I wanted to believe him so badly it hurt.
Tru brushed his fingers against mine. “Hey,” he murmured. “You don’t have to say anything. Just let me be proud of you for a second.”
So I did. I threaded our fingers together, leaned into his shoulder, and let the quiet stretch around us, soft, golden, and safe.
And for the first time in years, the noise in my head finally quieted. I didn’t feel like I was losing anything.
I felt like I’d finally made it home.
CHAPTER 43
TRU
For years, I’ve been cheering him on from the shadows. Today, I’m front and center.
I usedto think love meant saying the right thing and whispered confessions. Writing vows in journals nobody reads. But sometimes it was louder than that. Sometimes it was wearing his spare jersey, slipping into the stands fifteen minutes early, and clapping until my palms stung.
The sun was hot, the bleachers unforgiving, and I was surrounded by a sea of loud strangers I didn’t know, but none of it mattered. I was there for one person.
Number 9.
Dare didn’t know I’d come. I hadn’t told him. I wanted it to be a surprise. Something small, but a statement. A reminder that he wasn’t doing this alone anymore.
He jogged onto the field with his team, head down, bouncing on his toes the way he always did before kickoff. Icould practically hear the song playing in his head, something angry and fast. He always played better when he had something to prove.
