We’d spent countless Christmases under the same roof, but this time I was showing up for him.
Tru’s handwas already on the gearshift when I tapped the window. He startled, that blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flinch he gave whenever he wasn’t expecting me, which was fair. I hadn’t exactly been consistent lately.
I lifted my duffel in answer before he could say anything and popped the passenger door open. He didn’t stop me. Didn’t say a word. Just watched me climb in, as if he couldn’t decide if this was good or bad or just another letdown dressed in false hope.
The engine purred low between us. The heater was already on, warm air ghosting over my knuckles as I buckled up. We didn’t speak.
Tru and I reached for the radio at the same time. His fingers brushed mine, and we both froze. He gave me asharp look and turned the dial to a soft indie station. I waited maybe ten seconds before twisting it toward something heavier. Grunge. Angsty and loud. He didn’t say anything, just turned it back.
We did that twice more, petty, silent, the kind of stubborn standoff we used to fall into when we were younger, when it still felt like a game.
Now it felt like a challenge. Testing how far we could push each other before something cracked.
I lost.
“I miss you,” I blurted, feeling my emotions close to the surface.
It came out quiet. Hoarse. Not planned at all. But once it was out there, I couldn’t take it back, nor did I want to.
Tru’s fingers tightened around the wheel, and I saw his throat bob when he swallowed. I almost left it at that. Pretended that was enough. But it wasn’t, not anymore.
“I know I’ve been a dick,” I added, staring straight ahead. “You don’t have to say it. I know. I’ve been scared. And I’ve hurt you. I see it every time you look at me like I’m something you shouldn’t touch.”
His silence felt like a verdict.
I looked down at my hands. “But I’m here. I packed. I want to come home with you. I want to try… if you’ll let me.”
Still nothing. Then the radio clicked off. Quietly, he reached across the console and rested his hand palm-up between us, waiting.
I didn’t deserve it. But I laced our fingers together anyway. And this time, he didn’t pull away.
In the scheme of grand gestures, it was nothing—dumb,really—but when I reached into the glove box and pulled out his cherry air freshener, clipping it to the rearview, Tru smiled like Christmas came early. And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe maybe we still had a chance to get it right.
We’d been stepping around each other all week. Long glances over cocoa mugs, brushed shoulders in the hallway, a stolen kiss behind the fridge door while the rest of the family watched a movie ten feet away.
Even when we were apart, I felt him. Even when I was across the room pretending to watch football with my dad and brother, I felt the burn of his gaze on my spine. He knew I was lying with every casual laugh.
Two days before Christmas, I finally cracked.
“Get your coat,” I muttered, brushing Tru’s hand as we passed each other in the hallway. His eyes snapped to mine. “You’ll need boots, too.”
He followed without asking questions. Of course he did. That’s always been the problem. Tru never needed a reason to choose me. Not then, not now.
The wind bit hard, but the cold helped keep my mouth shut until we hit the edge of the neighborhood. I could tell the moment Tru realized where we were headed.
“The ramp?” he asked, breath puffing white, a little smile curling up like muscle memory. “It’s still here?”
I didn’t answer. Just kept walking until the warped boards of the old skate ramp came into view, half-buried in snow andweeds. The thing looked like hell. We used to spend hours here every summer, bruising our knees and pretending it would last forever.
He followed me beneath it, ducking under the weathered beams. It sagged in the middle, filled with crumpled leaves and a few rusted energy drink cans that had somehow survived years of weather. And in the far corner, wrapped in old comics and string, was a box.
Tru stared at it. Then at me. “But it’s not Christmas yet.”
“I know.” I nudged the box toward him with my boot. “It’s not a Christmas present.”
He gave me that look. The one that peeled all the layers off me until it was just Dare underneath. I cleared my throat. “It’s for your birthday. Or birthdays. I guess. I missed a few.”
“It’s not my birthday, either,” he said with a soft smile. His fingers shook when he untied the string. Inside was the drawing he’d given me in eighth grade, the one I’d pretended to throw away but kept in a lockbox at the back of my closet. A silver ring I’d stolen from his mom’s drawer the night before we left for college. She’d said it belonged to her mother, Tru’s grandmother, and at the time, I thought I’d just wanted to take a piece of Charlotte with me. But now I knew, it was always about Truen. And a mixtape—yes, an actual CD—of songs we used to scream in the car before everything went to shit.
