Chapter 4. 2
“Truth or dare, Adam Payne?” she asks, her voice deceptively sweet.
“Truth,” Adam says, his tone casual, almost unsuspecting. He probably thinks he’s playing it safe—unlike earlier when he had to show his phone.
Emilia’s face lights up—she’s been waiting for this, and she’s not even trying to hide it. “Why didn’t you come to my birthdays all these years?” she asks, her voice casual but razor-sharp beneath the surface.
Adam’s expression gives nothing away at first, so I think the question didn’t hit like she hoped. But then half a minute stretches by, and Adam still hasn’t answered. The silence feels heavier with every second. His jaw tightens, and a faint flush creeps up his neck. He exhales slowly before finally saying, “I didn’t want to come.”
“Why?” Millie asks, refusing to let it go.
Before Adam can respond, Peter steps in. “Millie.” There’s a warning in his tone—kind, but firm.
“What?” Millie shoots him a quick look. “The answer can’t be vague—that’s the rule.”
“It wasn’t vague,” Peter says. “You know why he didn’t come, and you’re not supposed to ask follow-ups.”
You know why he didn’t come. My stomach sinks. Millie knows it’s because of me , and now Adam knows that she knows—because Peter just spelled it out. And Peter doesn’t realize that I know .
I look at Adam, but his expression gives nothing away. Peter, on the other hand, looks genuinely frustrated that we’re pushing this so far.
“Fine,” Millie mutters, lifting her hands like she’s giving up, though it’s obvious she’s annoyed Peter’s siding with Adam.
A knot tightens in my stomach—Peter and Millie don’t argue about stuff like this. It feels weird, like watching your parents bicker. And even though I didn’t ask the question, it still feels like my fault.
Millie’s gaze flicks to mine, and I shake my head slightly, hoping she’ll get the message: Let’s not push Adam anymore.
“Let’s play something else,” Chara suggests.
I nod, forcing some cheer into my tone. “We could put on a movie or something.”
I can feel Adam’s eyes on me, but I keep my focus elsewhere, unwilling to look his way.
“ Lord of the Rings ?” Amira suggests.
Everyone agrees—even Millie, though there’s a flicker of disappointment on her face. She was clearly hoping she’d get some answers from Adam during the game.
While Chara sets up the screen, the rest of us head to the table to refill our plates with snacks and appetizers. The room hums with the noise of movement and chatter as everyone piles food onto their plates. Once I’m done, I grab my plate—stacked with cheese balls, canapés, and breadsticks—and settle onto the floor near the coffee table.
To my surprise, a moment later, Adam sits down beside me.
He’s so close that I feel the warmth radiating from him. Balanced on his bent knee is a plate with at least six mini pizzas, and in his hand, a glass of wine filled to the brim.
“You’re going to eat all that?” I ask, quirking up an eyebrow.
Adam glances at me with a flicker of amusement. “Take some if you want,” he says, his lips curving into a smile.
“Thanks,” I say, taking a mini-pizza from his plate and biting into it. But I feel his attention lingering. He’s watching me, eyes glossy and distant—until, for the briefest moment, his gaze dips to my lips, something raw flickering across his face.
A shiver rolls through me, my insides melting. He’s drunk—I can tell.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice measured.
Adam gives a small nod and drinks his wine before meeting my gaze again.
“You already know, don’t you?” His words just barely cutting through the hum of conversation around us.
“Know what?” I murmur, leaning in slightly, my brows pulling together.
“That I stopped coming to Millie’s birthdays because of you.”
My heart stutters, then starts beating so fast it feels like my chest might cave in. “I…suspected,” I admit carefully. After a beat, I ask, “Was it because of what I did?”
He nods, his expression distant. The glass lingers near his lips before he takes a sip, stalling.
“I’m sorry if I did something to offend you,” I whisper, my stomach tightening like a coiled spring. “I was so drunk, I don’t remember what happened.”
Adam turns to me a little too quickly, his green eyes fixed on mine. “You don’t?” he asks, genuinely surprised.
“Nope,” I say, heat flooding my cheeks. “Did I kiss you or something?”
“You really don’t remember?” Adam asks again, like he can’t wrap his head around it.
“No.” I shake my head, unable to look at him—shame curling hot in my gut.
But before we can continue, the rest of the group returns to the sofa, laughter and chatter filling the space around us as they settle back in. Adam looks at me, his expression unreadable, just before Chara turns off the lights.
Disappointment blooms inside me, sharp and bitter. I was so close.
When the movie starts, I try to focus, but my mind refuses to cooperate. I love The Lord of the Rings —I’ve seen it so many times I could probably recite the lines—but tonight, I’m stuck in my head, analyzing the conversation Adam and I just had and overthinking everything that I said. My gaze keeps drifting to Adam, sitting right next to me, unmoving, focused on the screen. But there’s a tension in the way he sits, like his stillness is forced and his mind is elsewhere.
The minutes crawl by, each scene dragging as I wait for the credits to roll. When the movie finally ends and the lights flicker on, everyone stretches and starts moving around, pouring drinks and grabbing more food. I stay where I am, my gaze flicking to Adam, hoping—half expecting—him to stay, to pick up where we left off. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he stands and joins Peter at the snack table. I watch them talk as the dull ache grows, spreading through me like a quiet void.
As Chara and Millie refill their wine glasses, Tina connects her phone to the speakers, and a slow song I don’t recognize starts playing—probably from one of her old movie playlists. The soft melody fills the room, and I can feel the tears welling up, uninvited and ready to spill.
I watch as Amira takes Tina’s hand, guiding her to the open space by the snack table. They sway together in a quiet embrace, and I sit there for what feels like minutes, just watching them—blinking hard to clear the tears blurring my vision.
“Hey, peppermint,” Millie says as she flops onto the floor beside me. “You okay?”
“Yup.” I say, lowering my voice. “You?”
“Yeah… I saw you two talking.”
“It didn’t work,” I say, cutting her off before she can get her hopes up. The emptiness in my chest keeps spreading. “I tried, but I don’t think he wants to talk to me. I told him I’m sorry and that I don’t even remember what I did.”
“What did he say?” Millie asks.
“Nothing.” I shrug. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Millie. I didn’t mean to turn your birthday into my pity party.”
Millie slips an arm around me and presses a soft kiss to my temple. “It’s okay, baby,” she whispers. “You did good—it’s enough that you apologized.”
“I think I kissed him that night,” I admit, the embarrassment burning through me.
“Yeah, I figured,” Millie says gently. “Even if you did, you probably just read the signals wrong. So stop imagining you did something terrible—because I know that’s where your mind always goes. You didn’t. I’m sure of it.”
I sigh and let it all sink in. The sadness I feel is crushing—because I’ve just realized I’m still so in love with Adam, and he probably can’t stand me. But even through the pain, I’m grateful for Millie, who doesn’t try to fix anything or force me to talk—she just stays by my side. And that’s enough.
The doorbell rings, and Millie and I exchange surprised looks.
“Who’s that?” I ask as she shrugs.
Before either of us can move, Chara rushes past us into the hallway.
“Is that Sean?” I frown, glancing at Millie, who looks just as puzzled as I am.
We follow Chara into the hallway, and when she opens the door, there he is—Sean, standing on the threshold with a massive bouquet. He’s so tall he has to duck slightly to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe.
He kisses Chara quickly before stepping inside and handing the bouquet to Millie.
“Happy birthday, Millie,” he says, pulling her into a hug.
“You made it!” Millie beams, her smile wide.
“Couldn’t miss all the fun,” Sean says with a warm smile. Then he glances at me. “Hey, Sammy, what’s with the sour face? Not happy to see me?”
I let out a chuckle. “Sorry,” I say. “I’m happy to see you—I’m just the only sober one here while everybody’s getting hammered.”
Sean laughs and pulls me into a quick hug. “Don’t worry—I brought a ton of gummy worms just for you. You can get a sugar rush so big, it’ll feel better than alcohol.”
True to his word, he pulls a heavy paper bag out of his backpack and hands it to me.
I stare at him, blinking. “Is this seriously for me?”
Sean nods, grinning. “I figured you’d be miserable without a drink.” He chuckles, but when I catch Chara’s gaze, I know exactly what’s going on. She must’ve seen me sulking all night and decided to work her magic. She knows better than anyone that gummy worms are the ultimate cure for my sour mood.
“You’re the best,” I tell Sean, pulling him into another quick hug before turning to hug my sister. “You too, Chara.”
She laughs and hugs me back.
Once Sean kicks off his boots and takes off his coat, the four of us head back to the living room. Peter, Adam, Tina, and Amira come over to greet him, and for a while, we all just stand around, talking and laughing over the music.
After a few minutes, while everyone’s caught up in conversation, I slip out of the living room and into the kitchen. I put the kettle on and start rummaging through the cupboards for black tea. Tea and gummy worms feel like the perfect remedy for my lovesick heart—at least for tonight.
The soft hum of the kettle fills the room as I dig through boxes and tins. Then I hear the kitchen door open and quietly click shut.
Nobody says anything.
I turn around and freeze. Adam is standing there, just looking at me. My head spins, and the room tilts for a moment.
“Hi,” I say, not really knowing what else to say.
“Hey,” he replies, looking just as thrown off as I am.
“Want some tea?” I ask, mostly to fill the silence.
“Yeah, thanks,” Adam says, his eyes still locked on mine.
I force myself to turn away and grab two cups from the cupboard, pretending I can’t feel his presence like a heat at the back of my neck. As I keep searching for the tea bags, I feel him still standing there, watching me.
When I finally find the tea, I turn around—and almost jump out of my skin. Adam is right behind me, towering over me.
“Fuck,” I breathe, my heart pounding wildly. “You scared me.”
“Sorry,” Adam murmurs, the words barely more than a whisper.
He’s so close—just inches away—and I catch the faint scent of wine on his breath mixed with that clean, familiar smell of laundry detergent and aftershave. My mind is still scrambling to process what’s happening when Adam suddenly reaches out and takes my hand in his.
He gently pulls me, guiding my arm around his neck and wrapping his own arm around my waist. His free hand finds mine, and before I can even process what’s happening, he leans in and pulls me close, like we’re dancing. His chin rests lightly against my temple as he starts swaying us side to side, moving to the faint music drifting in from the living room.
The moment feels so fragile, so impossibly tender, that my chest tightens with shock and something dangerously close to happiness. We step in place, then shift together again, our bodies pressed close. I can feel the solid muscle of his chest beneath his shirt, and for the first time in so long, I feel drunk—on this, on him—and I don’t care why it’s happening, only that it is.
I don’t know how long we sway like that—long enough for everything else to fade into the background. The warmth of Adam’s hand on my back, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it all feels surreal, like I’ve slipped into a dream.
The soft creak of the kitchen door pulls me back to reality. Adam and I break apart instantly, like we’ve been caught doing something we shouldn’t.
Peter stands in the doorway, his grin wide as though he’s just walked in on something scandalous.
“Oh,” he says, pausing for a beat, his eyebrows rising. “Don’t mind me, you guys.” Then, with an exaggerated step backward, he shuts the door behind him.
The room falls silent after the door clicks shut. I shift awkwardly, suddenly hyper-aware of how small the space feels. When I glance at Adam, I realize he’s already watching me. Our eyes meet, and I freeze—he’s calm, unflinching. My breath hitches.
“Sorry,” I mutter, shame rushing through me—like Peter walking in was somehow my fault.
“Stop saying sorry,” Adam says, his voice rough. “You didn’t do anything.”
And I know he doesn’t just mean now—he means four years ago, too.
I blink, the weight lifting so fast it almost knocks me off balance. My chest tightens with relief as tears sting the corners of my eyes.
“I didn’t?” I whisper.
Adam shakes his head.
“Then why did you avoid me all this time?”
He lets out a loud sigh, as if bracing himself. When he opens them again, he looks right at me. “Because I told you I was in love with you,” he says.
My pulse hammers in my chest as the words sink in. But I know there’s more—something else he’s holding back.
“And then I kissed you,” he says, his words quieter now. “And you asked me to stop…you said…you had a boyfriend.”
I blink, my mind reeling. The weight of his confession hits me like a wave I never saw coming, knocking the breath from my lungs.