Tru didn’t move away. He didn’t even blink. He just laughed at something that asshole said and tipped his head back,not a care in the world. Like his whole fucking heart hadn’t once belonged to me.
I took another drink, trying to drown the burn in my throat, but it didn’t work.
Because here’s the thing no one tells you about jealousy—it’s not just anger. It’s grief. It’s watching someone else unwrap the life you could’ve had and knowing it’s too late to stop them.
I should’ve been the one making him laugh like that. Should’ve been the one who knew how he liked his drink and what cologne made his skin smell like home.
Instead, I pushed him away so hard he fell straight into someone else’s arms.
My fault. All of it.
I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things they might do. All the firsts that should’ve been ours. His first college kiss. His first real sleepover with someone who gets to hold him all night. His first time trying that stupid couple’s pose in a photo booth. That dumb matching hoodie thing.
He’ll do it all—withhim.
Not me. Not the boy who used to know the exact way he liked his toast and the sound of his laugh when he got the giggles at 2 a.m. Not the boy who knew how many laps he could swim without tiring. Or his favorite cartoon. Or his favorite Pokémon card.
Not the boy who kissed him in a dark closet and then broke everything afterward.
I pressed the rim of the cup to my lips but didn't drink. I couldn’t. My stomach was already full of acid and regret.
If I’d just been brave enough…
If I’d justtried…
But no. I let the years slip away. I let him become a stranger while I carved out a version of myself that my dad could tolerate and I could barely stand. Now I was stuck watching him live the life I never let myself want.
The next time I go home, the ramp,our ramp, will have
Tru + Fuckface
written in Sharpie where our names used to be.
Shit. I’m gonna be fucking sick.
Someone must’ve noticed I was spiraling. Or maybe I just looked like I was five seconds away from throwing a punch or throwing up.
“Yo, Carter,” one of my teammates called from across the room. “You look like you need a distraction.”
I didn’t answer.
He grinned anyway. “Truth or dare?”
I looked up slowly and felt every eye in the circle shift to me. Including Tru’s. His smile was gone, his arm still loosely draped around his boyfriend’s shoulders, but I saw the way his fingers twitched. Like maybe he wasn’t as relaxed as he looked.
“Aren’t we a little old for that?”
“Quit being a little bitch,” Anders laughed. He was wasted. They all were.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and smirked, all teeth. “Let’s play.”
It started out stupid, like all their games do.
They formed a circle in the kitchen, half the soccer team,and their tagalongs. Someone passed around a bottle of cinnamon whiskey, and someone else shoutedTruth or Dare!like we were in eighth grade instead of one step from college midterms.
I stayed near the edge, leaning against the doorframe, beer in hand. Watching. Pretending not to care.
Tru was across the room, half-curled beside his boyfriend on the floor, one leg stretched out in front of him as if he didn’t have a care in the world. I could barely see his face, but I could see the way the other guy leaned into him—familiar, smug—and I wanted to punch a hole in the drywall just thinking about what they might be whispering to each other.
