Dare killed the engine, and the hush that followed felt deafening. I could feel his gaze on me—waiting for my reaction. I turned toward him, meeting his eyes.
“It’s… different,” I said.
He nodded, the movement tight. “We’ll figure it out.”
We climbed out of the car. The late-afternoon air was warm, smelling faintly of cherry blossoms and exhaust. Orange leaves drifted around us like slow-motion goodbyes. I slung my backpack over one shoulder, feeling suddenly exposed, as if all the versions of us that used to exist had been stripped bare in the sunlight.
Dare shut his door with a soft thud. He glanced at me, then offered a quick, reluctant smile. It wasn’t much, but it was real enough to sting.
“Welcome to the next chapter.” My voice came out rougher than I meant.
He blew out a breath that sounded too shaky for comfort. “Yeah.”
We walked toward Gerrard Hall—two brothers stepping into the unknown, carrying more than just suitcases. The building loomed tall, red brick against the blue sky, ivy crawling up its sides as if time refused to let go. Families scattered across the lawn—parents hugging, siblings smiling, friends posing for pictures. I couldn’t help noticing how everyone else seemed sure of their place.
We passed a cluster of freshmen lugging suitcases, laughing with that shaky blend of nerves and excitement. A girl in a denim jacket wrapped her mom in a full-body hug. A guy in a university sweatshirt bumped shoulders with his dad, grinning ear to ear. Families everywhere, but our last shared moment of ‘home’ felt miles behind us.
We’d convinced our parents not to come, blaming logistics, traffic, beingfineon our own—but really, neither of us wanted Mom standing in the quad, blotting her eyes and saying things like,“My boys are all grown up.”The woman cried at cereal commercials. Move-in day would’ve drowned the entire campus. Things were awkward enough already without adding tears and feelings to the equation.
Beside me, Dare kept his hands buried in his pockets, his shoulders drawn tight.
“Let’s do this, roomie,” I said, trying to sound light, but it came out brittle.
“Right.”
The word hit like a wall. He didn’t mean it to hurt, but itdid. He was building something around himself again—quietly, carefully.
I wanted to saywe don’t have to keep doing this. I wanted to ask if he remembered the pool, the look we shared before it all broke open. Instead, I said, “We should?—”
“It’s fine, Tru.”
His tone wasn’t sharp, but it closed the door just the same.
We reached the front steps. The doors of Gerrard Hall stood open, sunlight spilling inside like a dare.
“After you,” I said.
Dare hesitated, barely a flicker of doubt, before stepping through. The hallway smelled of new beginnings—fresh paint, waxed floors, and faint detergent from someone’s laundry down the hall.
I followed, suitcase bumping against my leg, each step echoing louder than the last.
For the first time since we were kids, we were on level ground again. Two names on the same dorm assignment. Two hearts pretending they weren’t carrying everything that came before.
And I couldn’t tell if we’d just started over, or if we were about to fall apart all over again.
CHAPTER 22
DARE
I never thought I’d spend my first night of freedom sleeping next to the one person who never lets me breathe—my stepbrother.
Boxes and duffels litteredthe floor, half-unpacked like our lives had been dumped there and left for someone else to sort out. The room smelled stale, old carpet and whatever died in the mini-fridge last semester. I sat on my bed, unzipped my duffel, and pulled out exactly five T-shirts, three pairs of jeans, my workout clothes, and a box of cables.
Minimalist. Efficient. Emotionally detached.
Across the room, Tru’s side already looked like an art student’s fever dream. A half-assembled lamp towered over a bare mattress, a leaning stack of sketchbooks threatened to collapse a caddy of art supplies, and there were enough hoodies scattered across his bed to open a thrift store. He was unwrappinga framed photo of us barefoot in the driveway, both of us grinning like idiots. I’d forgotten that picture existed.
I cleared my throat. “Whoa. You bringing your entire life up here?”
