“I want to stop doing this. Whatever this is.”
His mouth twisted. “You think it’s that easy?”
“No,” I said quietly. “But maybe it’s the only chance we’ve got before college turns into round two of hell.”
For a long moment, the rain was the only sound. Then his shoulders dropped, just slightly, enough for me to breathe again. “You should get inside,” he said, but his voice didn’t have any bite left in it.
“So should you.”
“I like it out here.”
“Of course you do,” I muttered, and immediately hated how small it sounded.
He looked up then, eyes glinting under the porch light, rain running down his jaw. “You always think I’m doing this to piss you off.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No,” he said simply. “I just don’t know how else to exist around you.”
The words landed somewhere deep in my chest and stayed there, vibrating against every pulse of thunder.
I swallowed, throat tight. “Then maybe we figure it out. Before college starts.”
“Maybe.” He took a step back, just far enough that the distance felt intentional again. “But not tonight.”
I nodded. It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was something.
He turned and walked toward the house, leaving wet footprints on the deck that disappeared as fast as they formed.
I stayed until the rain slowed to a mist, until my skin prickled cold and my drink was filled with water. Somewhere inside, Mom laughed at something. The party picked back up like nothing had happened.
But I knew something had shifted. Maybe not fixed. Maybe not even mended.
Just… unstuck.
The storm had knocked out the power, drawing the party to a premature end. A single candle flickered on the counter, casting long shadows across the kitchen floor. Empty pizza boxes stacked high on the island. Beer cans and plastic cups lay abandoned like spent fireworks. The storm had passed an hour ago, but the air still felt electric.
I leaned against the sink, chucking red Solo cups into a garbage bag. Everythunkechoed in the silent house—a countdown to something I wasn’t ready for.
Behind me, the back door creaked open. I didn’t turn around.
“Need help?” Dare’s voice was quiet.
Our parents had gone upstairs to change their wet clothes and still hadn’t come back down. The house almost felt lonely after hosting so much life.
I shrugged, keeping my eyes on the pile of plastic. “Sure.”
He moved to my side, popped open the lid to the garbage can, and without a word picked up a slice of cold pizza and tossed it in the bag. His T-shirt was still damp, clinging to his broad shoulders. His dark hair stuck up in spikes from the rain. He looked... normal. Human. It threw me off.
We worked side by side in silence for a moment. He swept up empty bottles; I wiped sticky countertops. The only sound was the candle wick hissing against the breeze from the openwindow.
Finally, I dropped a handful of cups and turned, voice low. “Why’re you doing this?”
Dare paused, cup in hand. He met my eyes, his dark pupils reflecting the tiny flame. “Because you looked like you needed it.”
I scoffed. “You don’t do anything ‘just because,’ not since forever.”
He set the cup down and wiped his hands on a dishtowel. “Maybe I’m tired of what we’ve become, same as you. You asked me to try. So this is me trying.”
