They’re arguing again, this time about ice cream flavors. Cherry Garcia versus Half Baked. I’d laugh if I didn’t want to jam popsicle sticks in my ears.
I lean against JJ’s truck, their noise gnawing on my nerves, and remind myself for the hundredth time this is a job and not the real me.
Ex-con. Parolee. Small-town burnout with anger issues and no real future. The only part that’s true? I don’t have a future. Not the kind I want, anyway.
Everything else is bullshit. Even my time in prison was just a part of my cover.
I wasn’t always this single-minded. The day I left Baywood was the worst day of my life. I was raw and desperate, heartbroken for having to leave Cole behind. Finding out Dad’s killer became the sole purpose for my existence. Frankie’s friend got me into the police training program in Briar Gap.
That first week hit hard. Bunkhouse with six strangers, powdered eggs, blisters on my blisters. I learned how to shoot, disarm, restrain. I got nicknamed “Steel” by week three because I didn’t smile, didn’t talk unless I had to, didn’t flinch under pressure. One instructor told me I looked like I’d either be a detective or a headline. I didn’t care which one if it got me what I wanted: Dad’s killer, or killers, behind bars.
Frankie believed me from day one. Said quiet towns were the loudest when it came to secrets. Said Dad had been sniffing aroundsomething before he died. Maybe Dad would’ve told me what it was if I hadn’t been kissing Cole into a breathless, pink-cheeked puddle instead of helping him like he had asked.
The radio hums low, and I know the song instantly. Hozier.Take Me to Church.
Just like that, I’m sixteen again, on the floor of Cole’s room, trying to help him through equations.
Trying to understand my feelings.
***
Cole was sprawled on the floor with his guitar, pencil behind his ear, strumming like it was the only thing worth knowing.
I sat there, trying to focus on algebra, but my eyes kept drifting.
He hummed Hozier under his breath, curls falling into his eyes, and he looked so perfect it made me ache.
A sound slipped out of me before I could stop it — half a groan, half a sigh. “Cole.” I meant it as a warning, or maybe a plea.
He glanced up, freckles catching the afternoon light. “What?”
My hands were almost shaking. “Did you even try number eight?” I asked, too quickly, drowning heat in math.
Cole’s mouth quirked. “Define try,” he muttered. “I looked at it. Once. Didn’t make sense.”
He grinned, bashful and daring all at once, and it hit me straight in the chest.
My heart stuttered.I panicked. Stood so fast my book hit the floor with a thud.
“I should go,” I blurted.
“Wait. What?” His voice was careful now. “You okay, Xaden? I can put the guitar away.”
That was worse — him offering to tuck away the thing he loved, just to make me stay.
“No, it’s just… what I forgot. So yeah, bye.”
I didn’t look at him as I slipped out. Couldn’t.
I hid for three days, claiming I had a cold.
By the time I saw Cole again, I’d managed to plaster myself back together enough to pretend nothing had changed.Except everything had.
Because I had finally admitted it to myself.
I was in love with my best friend.
***
