Too good.
My chest had done this stupid flip when I’d seen it. Just his name on my screen—Liam—and suddenly I couldn’t breathe right.
Come to the dorm tomorrow night. Harper Hall Room 312. 8pm.
Simple. Direct. Business. Exactly what this was.
Except my heart was racing like I was headed to something that mattered. Like this was more than just solving a problem.Like seeing him again meant something beyond deleting a video that could destroy us both.
I told myself it was just nerves. Just the adrenaline of finally dealing with this threat that had been hanging over my head for weeks.
Just do this tonight and it will be over. The video gone. The blackmail finished.
Ethan’s words kept echoing in my head.I want you to stop lying. To me, to yourself, to everyone.
I was so tired of lying. Tired of calculating every word, every gesture, every interaction. Tired of being afraid.
Maybe once the video was dealt with, I could just... tell Liam. Tell him the truth. That I’d thought about him every day since Brackett Lake. That I wanted him in ways that terrified me. That I was gay and exhausted from pretending otherwise.
Maybe I could finally be free.
Except it didn’t matter, did it?
Liam had a girlfriend. And even if he didn’t, who knew if Liam was even... what? Gay? Bi? Or had that summer just been experimentation for him? A summer mistake he’d already moved past?
The video had connected us and once it was gone, we’d have no reason to talk again.
Something in my chest fell at the thought of us not having a reason to talk.
I crossed the bridge that connected our campuses, the river moving dark and steady beneath me. From here I could see both schools—Kingswell’s lit Gothic towers on one side, Riverside’s functional concrete buildings on the other. Two different worlds separated by a hundred yards of cold water.
Riverside’s campus opened up before me—utilitarian buildings, cracked sidewalks, students in hoodies andsweatpants heading to the library. It felt lived-in. Real. Nothing like Kingswell.
It took me a minute to find the right dorm. Harper Hall. Three stories of brick that had seen better days, windows glowing warm against the darkness.
I checked Liam’s text again for the room number. Third floor. 312.
The building smelled like old carpet and microwaved food. A group of guys passed me in the stairwell, laughing about something, not giving me a second glance.
I found room 312 and knocked.
Noah opened the door—slim build, messy curls, and round glasses. “Come in.”
The dorm room was small. Two beds, two desks, a narrow strip of floor between them. One side was organized—bed made, everything in its place.
The other side was chaos. Rowing gear piled on the chair, textbooks stacked haphazardly, bed unmade.
Liam was lying back on that bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
My breath caught.
He was wearing a gray t-shirt that clung to his shoulders and chest in ways that made it hard to look away. His hair was still damp from a shower, dark and messy. The line of his jaw. The way his arms flexed behind his head.
I wanted to be in that bed with him.
The thought hit me so hard I almost stumbled.
Liam sat up when he saw me. Our eyes met and everything else disappeared for half a second.
