“Why would you do that to yourself?” My voice cracked, stupidly human. “Why would you—after everything—why would you want to be anywhere near me?”
His eyes softened for a fraction of a second. Just enough to gut me. Then he straightened, mask snapping back in place. “Who says I want to be near you? Maybe I just like watching you sweat.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Is it?”
A couple passed us on their way to the bathrooms, giggling, then glanced at how close we were standing. I stepped back half an inch, my face heating.
Tru didn’t move. His voice dropped lower, rougher. “You asked if I picked the school to stalk you.” He leaned in just enough that I felt the whisper of his breath. “Maybe I did.”
My heart kicked hard against my ribs.
“Why?” I asked, barely audible.
He held my gaze boldly. “Because you ran away first.”
My throat tightened. “I didn’t?—”
“You did.” His voice broke the tiniest amount, fast and painful. “And I’m tired of pretending that didn’t destroy me.”
Silence swelled between us. Thick. Charged. Dangerous.
Over the din of clattering plates and chatter from the dining room, I heard my father laugh—loud, bright—oblivious to my world breaking apart.
Tru looked toward the sound, jaw ticking. “Go back,” he said. “Your dad’s gonna wonder.”
“I don’t care.”
“Yeah,” Tru breathed, stepping around me, brushing my shoulder so lightly it felt intentional. “You do. That’s kind of the problem.”
He walked away without looking back.
And I stood there, gutted, furious, and terrified that he might be right.
CHAPTER 20
TRU
The worst part isn’t that he hates me. It’s that part of me that still hopes he doesn’t.
I toldmyself I wouldn’t go.
I wasn’t in the mood to celebrate—what, exactly? That we made it out alive? That four years of emotional warfare had earned me a paper diploma and a heart full of rot?
But Amira insisted. And when she showed up at my front door with glitter on her eyelids and a bottle of hairspray in her hand, there wasn’t much room to argue.
Now I stood under strings of backyard lights, fake laughter echoing in my ears, and a red plastic cup sweating in my hand. The damp grass soaked through my sneakers. Everything smelled like cheap beer and barbecue smoke and whatever body spray the soccer team had decided was “manly.”
I was doing fine. Smiling. Pretending. Until I sawhim.
Dare leaned against the deck railing, beer in hand, wearingthat tight black t-shirt that made girls stare and made me want to kick something. His date, Lauren, stood too close, laughing at whatever he said.
I didn’t look. Ididn’tlook.
Except I did.
When she leaned up and kissed him—just a short one, a smack of her glossy lips—I felt it punch through my chest.
