Jace
Iknew this was coming the moment I saw their faces.
I’ve seen that look before. On teachers. On parents. On girls who decide I’m fun until I’m not. That tense, evaluating stare that indicates they’ve already judged who I am and what I’m worth. It no longer surprises me; it just confirms what I already know.
People see only what they expect and nothing more. I gave up trying because it’s simpler to be what they believe I am than to keep disappointing them by being something else completely.
But when Lola’s voice cracks slightly on the word hospital, something inside me shifts. I glance up without meaning to, my eyes finding her through the windshield.
I’ve seen her be sarcastic. I’ve seen her throw insults that land cleaner than a right hook. But I’ve never seen her do this. Defending me.
Standing on her front lawn, telling her best friends that I showed up, that I mattered, that what I did means something.
It does something dangerous to my chest. Not a punch or a rush of adrenaline. It’s something slower. Heavier. Something that spreads under my ribs and makes it hard to breathe properly. It makes my throat tight in a way that has nothing to do with the cold morning air.
No one has ever fought for me. People tolerate me, but they don’t stand up for me. They won’t risk their friendships to defend my honor because everyone knows I don’t have any worth defending. Except apparently Lola does.
Lola, the girl who is currently tearing into her friends with the same vicious precision she once used on me.
My hands clench in my lap.
When Aubrey asks if she slept with me, my hand instinctively reaches for the door handle, muscles tensing as I feel the urge to bail, to get out of the situation before it worsens.
Because that question is loaded.
I know exactly what it sounds like—what they’re really asking. Not if we had sex, but if she’s stupid enough to be another name on the very list of girls who thought they were different, in a long line of mistakes I’ve walked away from and never looked back.
But Lola handles it.
“None of your business.”
Calm. Controlled. Not defensive. Not embarrassed. Just firm. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world to tell them to back off. As if she’s not ashamed of whatever did or didn’t happen between us. As if their judgment doesn’t have the power to make her second-guess herself.
The realization hits harder than I anticipate.
She didn’t push me away because someone looked down on me. She didn’t shrink or scramble to explain, justify, or distance herself from the trash sitting in her passenger seat.
She stands there, steady, claiming me in front of the people whose opinions truly matter to her.
No one in my life has ever done that. No one has ever looked someone else in the eye and said, “Yeah, him. So what?”
But Lola is standing on her lawn, voice trembling with anger and exhaustion, telling her best friends that I showed up when they didn’t and that I matter. That I’m worth giving a fuck about.
My chest feels too tight, as if something is expanding inside me and has nowhere to go. I don’t know what to do with this feeling. I don’t know how to process the fact that someone is standing up for me without expecting anything in return—without keeping score, without waiting for me to fuck up so they can say they knew better all along.
Lola’s face is locked in that hard mask she wears when she’s trying not to fall apart, but I can see the pain underneath it. The cracks in the foundation.
It’s not about me. It’s about everything. Her dad. The hospital. The exhaustion simmering beneath her skin, turning her bones to lead. And how Aubrey and Sam have been too caught up in their own perfect little worlds to notice she was drowning.
And I also take ownership of that because I’m the wedge now—what’s driving them apart. The proof that she’s making bad decisions, spiraling, and choosing all the wrong things.
They’re right. She deserves someone better than me. But here I am sitting in the passenger seat of her car as she burns bridges for me.
Eventually, Sam shakes her head and mutters something I can’t make out. Aubrey grabs her arm and guides her toward the blue hatchback. They don’t give Lola the chance to change her mind or take any of it back. They just leave.
Only when their car disappears around the corner does Lola breathe easily.
I watch her chest rise, see her exhale something that seems painful. She watches them go and just stands there a second longer than she needs to, staring at the empty street where her best friends used to be.
