Chapter 32 #2
Every step he takes, I take one back. It’s like my body’s moving on its own, like it still remembers the threat even if my mind is spinning too fast to think.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he says, voice as sharp and grating as I remember. The kind that always came before something worse.
“Funny, you didn’t move to a faraway state. I always thought you’d run farther than this.”
My feet stumble into a shelf behind me. I feel cornered, heat rising in my chest even as my blood runs cold. I grind my teeth so hard my jaw aches. My fingers twitch like they’re searching for something to hold on to, anything to ground me.
“What?” Nate sneers. “Still can’t talk?”
The smirk that follows is cruel. Mocking. Like this is a game to him, a game he’s still playing, even after all these years.
Then, with zero warning—no buildup, no mercy—he spits the words that make the ground fall out from under me.
“It’s for the best. You don’t deserve to talk. Or hear. Not after what you did to Tim.”
My stomach lurches. My vision narrows. His voice drops, coated in something dark and festering.
“You remember, don’t you?” he says. “Remember what you did to him? Remember how you did it? Remember his blood, everywhere?”
I stop breathing as the memories I’ve spent years trying to bury rise all at once like black water, flooding my chest, clawing at my throat.
My lungs refuse to pull in air. My nails dig into my palms, sharp and desperate.
Looking for something to help me feel so I can pull myself out of these dark memories.
Don’t fall apart. Not in front of him.
But his words won’t stop.
“You ruined our lives,” he hisses. “Mine. Josh’s. Caleb’s. And Tim—who’s been in a coma for five fucking years because of you.”
The world spins.
I stare at him, dumbfounded, because how? How can he say that?
How can he stand here, looking me in the eye, pretending like it wasn’t them?
Like it wasn’t four of them?
Like it wasn’t me—on my knees, sobbing and choking while they laughed, Like it wasn’t their voices, mocking me, calling me words that chewed their way beneath my skin and made me hate everything I was.
They took everything.
They broke me.
They destroyed my hearing.
Made me not want to use my voice ever again.
Made me this, a ghost walking in his own skin.
And now he’s here… blaming me?
Like, I’m the monster?
I feel it, something deep inside me, trembling. Fragile. Splintering. My hands start to shake so hard that the nail kit rattles in my grip.
I drop it.
The plastic cracks against the floor, but I don’t look down.
My mind ricochets back to that day, to his hands, his voice, the sound of my own muffled screams. It feels like every scar inside me has been ripped open at once.
My knees buckle; every second in this place feels like the walls are folding in.
Like the air is thick and strangling. My body screams at me to move, to run.
So I do.
I turn and bolt. Not caring who’s watching.
The air outside hits my lungs like a slap, cold and sharp. I spot the black car immediately and rush toward it, pushing open the door and sliding in like I’m being chased — because in a way, I am.
Mike glances at me from the driver’s seat, alarmed and brows pinched.
“Is something wrong?” he asks, eyeing me carefully. “Did something happen inside?”
I quickly shake my head, forcing a tight smile even though my chest is still heaving. I type a quick message and show him:
No. Just too crowded in there. I’m fine.
He doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway and pulls out of the lot.
I let my body melt into the seat, finally letting out the breath I’ve been holding since I saw him. My head drops back against the headrest. I close my eyes, trying to reel myself back in.
My heart’s still tied in a knot, and the panic hasn’t left. It’s just… muted now and pressed into silence like I’ve trained myself to do.
It’s Tyler’s birthday.
I won’t let him or any of them take this from me.
Not today.
***
The rest of the day moves in a blur, like muscle memory, like I’ve trained my brain to shut down and perform after breaking.
There’s a pressure in my chest that won’t go away, a trembling under my skin that no one else can see.
I feel the panic coming in slow waves, like the kind that drag you under when you’re already too tired to swim. But I keep moving.
I don’t stop.
I will not go insane or all panic mode during Tyler’s day; I don’t have to make everything about myself.
The chef arrived earlier and started working on the mini dinner and pastries, but I couldn’t even welcome her properly.
I was too busy trying to outrun my thoughts.
I focus on the balcony—the lights, the candles, the plates, the stupid ribbon I’ve fixed and re-fixed a dozen times.
It’s all ready. All done. But my hands still won’t stop.
I keep straightening what’s already straight. Checking things that are already fine.
I have to stay distracted.
I have to keep going.
I can’t let myself fall apart. Not now.
I glance at my phone for the fifth time in a minute, willing Mike’s message to come through. My chest tightens like it’s bracing for a collapse.
After a while, Mike texts me that he has arrived.
I exhale shakily and walk towards the elevator, trying to appear calm. But my fingers won’t stop tugging at the hem of my sweater. My heart is thudding too fast, like it’s trying to outrun something that’s already inside me.
A few minutes later, the elevator doors slide open, Tyler steps in with a curious look, then his mouth drops open—
“Dude. What the hell.”
His voice echoes through the penthouse entrance, eyes wide as he takes in the sweeping marble floors and endless windows drenched in golden city light.
And something inside me… softens.
It doesn’t disappear—not all of it. The fear is still there, lodged somewhere deep. But just seeing him here eases my panic, and I couldn’t help but smile and motion for him to follow me.
“I mean, I know your man is rich,” Tyler says, walking beside me, head tilted back to look at the tall ceilings, “but I didn’t know he lives in this paradise. I swear this is like… twenty grand a month or something.”
“He owns the place,” I sign, holding back a chuckle.
Tyler gasps so dramatically, I swear he might collapse.
“Even better. Damn, Lucas.”
I shake my head with a sigh. Wait till you see the balcony.
Just as we make it to the living area and towards the balcony, Lola steps out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a cloth.
“All set, Mr. Lucas,” she says warmly, ignoring once again my request to drop the ‘Mr.’ “Dinner’s served. Everything’s arranged on the table. I hope you both enjoy your evening.” Then she looks at Tyler and smiles. “You must be the birthday boy. Happy birthday.”
“That’s me,” Tyler says with a grin, clearly charmed.
Lola nods with a smile and walks off, heels clicking lightly on the floor.
I squeeze Tyler’s hand gently and lead him through the balcony doors.
The evening breeze greets us, soft and cool. The lights I strung up glow faintly in the fading light. The table is set. The skyline sprawls out ahead like something out of a dream.
Tyler stops short.
He doesn’t say anything right away, just stands there, staring out.
Then, quietly—
“No way…”
I watch him, trying not to let my own chest cave in.
Just this. Just Tyler. Just tonight.
He turns to me, eyes wide, voice softer now.
“You really did all this?”
I nod. My throat’s too tight to try anything more.
He smiles at me, not the teasing one, not the loud one. The real one. The kind that tells me he sees me.
I swallow hard. Something about that smile breaks something loose inside my chest. I draw in a shaky breath and step closer, heart thudding in my ears.
“Happy birthday, Ty,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Tyler turns his head fully to me. And when our eyes meet, there’s no surprise in his gaze. Just warmth. Because he knows.
He knows those are the only words I manage to say to him every year.
“Nice to hear your voice again,” he says, his voice catching just slightly on the last word.
I look away for a moment, then back at him.
“There are a lot of gifts for you today.” I sign with shaky hands.
For just a heartbeat, I catch it—something in his expression falters. A flicker of disappointment, small but unmistakable. He was hoping I’d say more. Hoping I’d break the silence a little further.
But Tyler, being Tyler, swallows it. Smooths it over with that same soft grin like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t even hope for more.
“Oh really?” he says, perking up. “Can’t wait to open them.”
Then he clutches his stomach dramatically, easing the weight in the room.
“But I’m starving. And the birthday boy needs to cut that cake. Because I swear, it’s calling my name from across the room.”
He reaches out, grabs my hand without hesitation, and tugs me toward the balcony table.
Dinner passes in a blur of warmth, clinking cutlery, and soft city lights that bleed gold through the windows.
I sit across from Tyler, watching him chew excitedly between exaggerated reactions to the chef’s dishes.
His joy is infectious — it always has been.
Even when I’m spiraling, even when my insides feel hollow and cold, he finds a way to fill the room with light.
After dinner, I led him into the home cinema room, already glowing with warm light.
We had planned to rewatch Red, White & Royal Blue.
Once we settle into one of the massive cushions spread across the floor, so big it’s practically a bed, I slip away briefly and return with his gifts, placing the stack on the sofa between us.
Tyler’s eyes go wide. “Wait—all of this is for me?”
I nod, trying to play it cool even though I can feel the smile tugging at my lips. I take a seat beside him, pretending to adjust the pillows, like I’m not watching him vibrate with excitement.