I didn’t care. I stopped in front of Tru.
“You,” I said, voice low. “Get up.”
Laughter around us hiccupped. People shifted, whispers rising. Fuckface stammered something, half protest, half challenge. I ignored him.
Tru stood slowly, like he knew better. He always knew better, and he still came anyway.
“I don’t think—” he started.
I grabbed the cup from his hand and set it on the table. My fingers brushed his. He recoiled like my touch burned.
“Just go with it,” I muttered.
He stared up at me, blinking slowly. That same expression he used to give me when we were kids, equal parts trust and apprehension. I didn’t give him time to think. I kissed him. Hard. Meaning to leave a mark. Trying to erase the last six years with my mouth.
His lips were soft and still at first—surprised, stunned—but they tasted of cherry soda. He didn’t move. Not away. Not closer. Just stood there, letting me crash into him like a wave that had no business coming back to shore.
I could feel the scrape of his belt buckle against my stomach. The startled hitch of his breath. My scent on his shirt.Myshirt. His hands remained at his sides in tight fists that didn’t know what to do.
For a second, I let myself imagine he was kissing me back. That if I didn’t pull away, he’d soften, lean in, forget we weren’t thirteen anymore. Forget we’d wasted years.
But I pulled back first, and in that breathless, echoing moment… I saw it in his eyes. Shock… Hurt… Rage, maybe. But beneath it all—ache. That same ache I’d been trying to destroy in both of us.
If I’d known how right his lips would feel on mine, I wouldn’t have waited six years to kiss him again.
His boyfriend shouted something, but I couldn’t hear it. My ears were ringing.
Tru wiped his mouth like he could erase me. “Fuck you,” he whispered, all the fight bleeding out of him.
I took a step back, swallowed hard, and laughed like it didn’t matter. “Hope that counted for your dare,” I muttered to whoever was still watching.
Then I walked out. Because if I stayed another second, I was going to drop to my knees and beg him not to hate me. And I didn’t beg.
Not even for him.
PART FIVE: THE TRUTH
CHAPTER 28
TRU
They say, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Dare made me feel ashamed each time.
I waited up.
It was stupid. I knew he wasn’t coming back anytime soon, not while the party was still going, not afterthat. But I waited anyway. Pretending I was just scrolling on my phone. Pretending I was comfortable sitting on my bed fully dressed, shoes still on, staring at the door, willing it to open.
But it didn’t.
I kept tasting the kiss. Kept seeing his face when he pulled away, flushed, breathless, like he wasalmostproud of what he'd done, before he remembered he wasn’t supposed to be. As if he was trying not tohope.
That look wrecked me worse than the kiss because for one second, I thought maybe hemeantit. But then he left andproved he hadn’t.
I must’ve dozed off around three. Somewhere between the guilt and the slow, creeping dread, I’d let myself believe in something I should’ve known better than to want. Again.
Not after everything. Not after six years of pretending we never mattered. Our friendship didn’t break last night. It shattered a long time ago. This was just another aftershock of Earthquake Darien.
When I woke, the blanket was tugged over my shoulders, my shoes were off, and the lights were out. He’d been here, and I’d missed it.
