Chapter 1: Liam
I shouldn't be here.
The thought hit me as I crossed the bridge from Riverside to Kingswell, the river dark and cold beneath my feet. The air smelled like October—wet leaves and rain. My breath fogged in front of me.
Two days since the closet. Two days since I'd had Alex pressed against me in the dark, his mouth on mine, his hands everywhere. Two days since I'd cheated on Emily.
Cheated.
The word sat heavy in my chest and made my stomach twist.
I wasn't sure if Emily and I were broken up but it felt like we should be. She said she needed time to think about us, which probably meant it was over. Or it would be over.
Kingswell's campus opened up ahead—all those Gothic towers and manicured quad lawns. Students walked past, heading to the library or wherever rich kids went on Saturday nights. Nobody gave me a second glance, which was good. I didn't belong here.
Langford Hall rose in front of me—brick and stone, tall windows glowing warm against the darkness. The sophomore dorm that somehow looked more like a mansion than student housing.
I pulled out my phone and checked Alex's last text. Third floor. Room 221.
The building smelled different than my dorm. Cleaner. Like wood polish and money instead of microwaved food and old carpet. My footsteps echoed in the stairwell as I climbed.
Third floor. Long hallway with dark wood paneling and brass light fixtures. I counted the room numbers. 215. 217. 219.
I stood there for a long moment, hand raised to knock.
What the hell am I doing?
We'd made plans on Wednesday. Said we'd talk before Monday's joint practices started. Figure out what happened in the closet. Make sure we could handle being around each other without it being weird.
That was the plan. Talk. Set boundaries. Keep it professional?
I don't know.
But standing there, heart hammering against my ribs, I knew that wasn't why I'd come.
I knocked.
Footsteps inside, then the door opened.
Alex stood there in sweatpants and a Kingswell crew t-shirt, barefoot, hair damp like he'd just showered. A smile cut across his face when he saw me.
"Liam."
Just my name. But the way he said it made my chest tight.
"Hey." My voice came out rough. "Can I come in?"
He didn't hesitate. Just stepped back and opened the door wider. "Yeah. Come in."
His room was exactly what I'd expected—perfectly organized, everything in its place. Desk clear except for a laptop and a lamp. Clothes hung by color in the closet. Bed made with precision. Even his mini-fridge—more like one of those fancy wine fridges—looked like it was arranged with a fucking ruler.
The only sign he actually lived here was a framed photo on the desk—Alex with his stuffy family at Brackett Lake on their boat, smiling those perfect smiles.
"You always this organized?" I asked.
"My mother." Alex closed the door behind me. Locked it. The click echoed too loud in the quiet room. "She has... 'standards.'"
We stood there. The silence stretched between us, heavy and loaded.
