I tightened my grip on the wheel and muttered, “You don’t have to act like I’m fucking poison.”
He blinked slowly. Calm. Too calm. “And you don’t have to act like being gay is some sort of contagious disease.”
That one landed. I didn’t say anything right away. Couldn’t. My jaw clenched so hard it hurt. The road blurred a little at the edges. My heart thudded, not just from the words, but from the fact that he had the guts to say them. That he knew. That he’d always known.
I swallowed and forced my voice out evenly. “I don’t think that.”
“You act like you do.”
His voice was low. Not angry, just tired. He’d been carrying the burden of that truth for too long. I wanted to lash out, to deny it, to tell him he didn’t know shit about what Ithought or what I felt. But the words stuck somewhere in my throat.
Because the truth was, no one knew me better than Tru, even after all the distance and the poison darts. Underneath the ugly exterior, I was still the same scared little boy he used to know.
He turned back toward the window, arms crossed tight. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna breathe on you.”
“Tru—” I started, but didn’t finish. Because what could I say? That I hated how right he was? That I hated the version of myself I became around him?
The silence dragged. Thick. Choking. The cherry air freshener swung slightly from the mirror. As much as I hated that smell, right now, I hated myself more.
The second the tires hit the curb, I killed the ignition and yanked the keys out, choking the life out of the moment. Tru hadn't said a damn word. Not about the jacked-up radio. Not about our argument. Not even when I left the gas tank on E again.
Good. Let the silence rot between us. Let it stretch so taut it snapped and took one of us down with it. I’d grown sick and tired of us, of what we’d become. The forced proximity, the resulting tension, and the reluctant truth I’d buried deep down—I was grateful. Grateful for any reason to still share the same air.
Because even in ruin, he was still mine in some small, sad way.
I threw the door open and stepped out just as Lauren spotted me across the lot. She was already halfway to the car,practically bouncing, all bright teeth and hair and lip gloss. Her skirt was ridiculous. She knew it too.
“Hey, babe,” she said, voice syrup-sweet as she wound her arms around my neck.
I barely had time to fake a grin before her lips were on mine. And I let her. I kissed her like I meant it, hand on her waist, fingers splayed wide, anchoring myself to something solid. Her lip gloss tasted like strawberries and plastic. The kiss was shallow, but I tilted my head and leaned in, because I knew he was watching.
I couldfeelit. A hot spotlight between my shoulder blades. His eyes carried the sting of knives.
I welcomed the hurt.
Sliding my hand into her hair, I pushed my tongue deeper, devouring her, starved for it. She made this little sound—half giggle, half moan—and someone behind us whistled, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t doing this for Lauren. I wasn’t doing it for the crowd. I was doing it forhim.
To remind him of what he’d lost. To remind myself of what I wasn’t.
When I finally broke the kiss, I didn’t look at Lauren. I looked straight across the hood of the car, straight athim.
Tru hadn’t moved. He just stood there with his backpack slung over one shoulder, staring at me like I’d just spit on something sacred. His eyes were wide, unblinking. Bruised.
I held his stare for a second too long. Then I smirked. One of those cocky smiles that I used to charm teachers or get me out of trouble. But this one was meant to wound. This one was meant to sayI don't care.
Even if I did. Especially because I did.
Lauren grabbed my hand, lacing her fingers through mine. I let her, but I didn’t squeeze back because every part of me was still burning from the way Tru looked at me. As if I’d just ripped open every scar we never let heal.
I wasn’t just kissing her, I waspunishinghim. And maybe I was.
Maybe that was all I had left to give.
CHAPTER 19
DARE
Some endings don’t come with closure. They just disguise themselves as new beginnings.
