Chapter 43 #2
When he turns to look at me, it’s not anger that hits me first—it’s the crack beneath it. A flash of hurt in his eyes so raw it punches a hole straight through my chest.
His voice is low. Controlled. But not calm.
“No,” he says. “But I might as well be.”
I blink, mouth parted, but he’s not done.
“It’s not like yours give a shit about you anyway, and mine is a sore ass loser too. So yeah—I’m taking care of myself, and you, because that’s what I do. Because you’re my best friend, Lucas, and that hasn’t changed since we were five.”
My throat tightens. Guilt swells in my chest like rising water, and I look down, ashamed. I want to say I’m sorry. I want to tell him I didn’t mean it, that I know he’s the only one who’s stayed.
But before I can, a loud engine splits the air and a black convertible swings up beside us.
Quinton’s behind the wheel, shades on, music thumping like a heartbeat with too much caffeine. He’s grinning like he owns the world.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he says to Tyler, throwing him a wink. “Ready to go?”
Tyler doesn’t answer immediately. He forces a smile that barely stretches his mouth, then turns to me. I can see it—the way his anger dissolves, the way concern seeps back in.
The kind that says he’s not ready to leave me like this.
“I’ll be back by seven,” he says quietly, like a promise. “We can go to the treehouse then, yeah?”
Before I can nod, Quinton is already talking over him.
“We’re going out of town, babe. Won’t be back tonight.”
Tyler’s brow furrows. “Why not?”
Quinton’s smile turns smug. “It’s our Two-month anniversary. I booked us dinner after bowling. Then… we’ve got a place for the night.” His voice drops an octave, dripping with implication. “Just us.”
Tyler falters. I see it in his eyes—the hesitance. The weight of choice that’s tightening in his chest. He turns back to me, and I know what’s coming. He’ll tell Quinton no. He’ll choose me over Quinton, because he always does.
So I make the choice for him.
Before he can speak, I reach out and tug gently at the hem of his sleeve.
“It’s fine,” I say. My voice is soft, but steady. “Go.”
“Lucas—”
“I’ll be okay,” I add, offering a small smile, “And I’m sorry… for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean it. And you’ve been everything to me.”
His face softens, but it’s quickly swallowed by concern.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “Just… promise me. As soon as you give him the stuff, you leave that treehouse. Don’t hang around, don’t let him talk you into anything. And if anything feels even a little off—anything, Lucas—you call me. You understand?”
I nod, touched by how serious he looks. “I promise.”
“I’m going to be texting you every few minutes,” he adds, and his tone is so Tyler it makes me smile for real.
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
He stares at me for a moment longer, eyes searching mine. I can see him second-guessing everything—Quinton, the dinner, the drive, the night away.
And I can also see him let go.
Slowly, he nods. “Text me,” he says, quiet again. “If anything feels off. Just… text me.”
“I will.”
He slides in beside Quinton, who whoops and hits the gas, the car peeling away into the late afternoon sun.
I let out a long breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, brushing the hair from my forehead, then glance down at the camera still hanging in my hands, the red light blinking lazily. It’s been recording everything. Every word. Every look.
“Guess that’s enough filming for now,” I say, lifting it slightly toward my face with a tired smile. “I’ll pick you up again at the treehouse. Sunday school first.”
I pause the recording, then start heading towards the church.
***
The screen flickers on. Rain drums softly in the background, a faint rhythm against the wooden planks overhead.
“I’ve been here about thirty minutes now, and still no sign of Nate,” I say, leaning into the camera with a faint grin. “It’s raining, though, so I guess that’s slowing him down.”
The camera pans slightly as I shift it to give a better view of the space around me.
The treehouse isn’t much, but it has character.
The walls are scuffed and covered in faded Sharpie signatures, initials carved into the beams from years of teenage secrets and dumb dares.
A long wooden bench runs along one side.
A worn cushion with a suspicious stain sits in the corner.
I’m pretending not to wonder what it’s from.
A few fairy lights are strung up overhead, most burnt out, but the ones still working give the place a dim, cozy glow.
It smells faintly of damp wood, sweat, and cheap deodorant, typical jock hangout.
My phone buzzes. I glance down and read the message on the cracked screen:
Nate: I’ll be there soon, please
be patient. The rain’s annoying.
I let out a small laugh and send back a thumbs-up emoji. Then I look back at the camera and shrug.
“He just texted—he’ll be here soon. In the meantime…” I scoot back and sit cross-legged on the floor in front of the lens. “Let’s keep each other company, yeah?”
I pause, then smile
“So, I’ve been thinking… I’d really love to go to Blackwoods University.”
I glance off to the side like I can see it from the treehouse window, like if I imagine it hard enough, I’ll already be there.
“I know, I know, it’s just a dream. And it’s expensive as hell.
But I went to the city last weekend and saw this group of college kids sitting at a restaurant.
They weren’t even doing anything fancy, just eating fries and talking.
But something about them—” I snap my fingers, “They had that vibe, you know? Like they were made of something shinier. They looked like they had somewhere to be, something to become.”
I lean forward a little, voice softer now. “One of them told me they go to Blackwoods when I asked. He was nice. Even had a little sticker on his laptop with the school’s crest on it. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”
I sigh and fiddle with the button of my suit jacket.
“It’s not just about the image, though. I’m good at math.
Like—really good. Numbers just… make sense to me.
They’re clean. Predictable. So I’ve been thinking I might study finance.
Or business. Or accounting? Engineering, too, maybe.
Honestly, I don’t know yet. But I want to learn.
I want to be surrounded by smart people. I want to have options.”
Then I smile again, more playful this time.
“Or… maybe I’ll just marry rich and be a stay-at-home husband. Make breakfast, go out on dates, and wear silk robes. Who knows?”
I chuckle, looking down at my hands. There’s a moment of quiet before my voice drops a little softer.
“Maybe even have kids. Not a lot—just enough to give the house a heartbeat. I’d probably be a good dad, y’know? I’d be around all day. I’d make sure they never felt ignored.”
I pause, then smile a little to myself.
“Of course… I’d still make my own money. Something small—maybe an online store, or freelance stuff, or even do YouTube videos, I just want to feel like I contribute.”
A real laugh escapes me this time, a bit more sheepish, a bit more honest.
“This is so ridiculous,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “But I guess what I’m really trying to say is… I want more.”
I glance around the treehouse as I speak, voice quieter now—a hint of longing in it.
“A nicer life, a happy one. Just… something better than this town. Something that’s mine. A life that feels like I chose it, not like I got stuck in it.”
I pause as the sound of footsteps climbing the ladder cuts through the rain. My head snaps up.
“Shit, I think he’s here.”
I jump up, grab the camera, and rush to the window. There’s a cactus flower vase sitting on the ledge. I lean up and wedge the camera just behind it, leaving just enough room for the lens to peek out.
“I’m going to video our conversation, so I need to hide you,” I whisper. “Please record properly.”
With a final check of the angle, I step back and move toward the worn-out cushion, trying to act natural. The footsteps grow louder. Then the weak wooden door creaks open, and Nate steps inside, shaking water from his jacket.
Blonde hair, broad shoulders, that all-American jock look every girl and half the school swoons over. Honestly, he’s not even my type—but for some reason, I’ve got this little crush on him I can’t explain.
He stops short when he sees me.
“What are you wearing?” he asks, eyes scanning me from head to toe.
I roll my eyes and gesture at my clothes. “Relax. I just came back from church.”
“You go to church?” Nate asks, raising an eyebrow. “And even if you did, why are you wearing a suit jacket that looks like it’s about to swallow you whole?”
I shrug and move over to my crossbody bag, not bothering to answer that. I pull out a small ziplock bag and hold it out to him.
“There. That’s what you came for, right?”
He looks at my hand, then back up at my face—but doesn’t take it. Instead, he steps closer. My brows pull together.
“You’re not wearing any makeup today,” he says, almost like it’s a complaint.
I stare at him, head tilted. “I don’t wear it every day. It’s just eyeliner and mascara when I do.”
“And that lip gloss you use?” he says, smirking. “Tempting as fuck. You’ve got these full lips, like a girl’s. Honestly, you look like a girl when you’re not wearing crap like this.”
Right. Isn’t this loser supposed to be here to apologize? Or did I miss that part?
I let out a slow sigh.
“What exactly do you want me to do with that information, Nate?”
I keep the ziplock bag stretched out. “Do you want the weed or not? It’s getting late, and I should be heading home.”
He doesn’t move. Just watches me, eyes dragging over my face like he’s looking for something. The silence stretches too long, and the way he’s staring starts to mess with my head. There’s something about it—too direct, too confident, too… invasive.
Then he shrugs and slides his hands into his jeans pockets. “I want your mouth.”
The words hit harder than they should. Not sweet. Not soft. Just flat and final.
I blink. “What?”
But before he can say anything else, I hear footsteps climbing up the steps of the tree house. I look toward the door, frowning. He doesn’t even flinch—like he knew this was coming.
The door swings open.
Tim walks in first. Then Josh. Then Caleb.
The whole friend group.
My bullies.
And just like that, my stomach drops.
“What is this?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level. But inside, I can already feel something unraveling.
Tim smirks, voice scratchy with leftover smoke and cruelty.
“What do you think it is? The graduation party just ended. We figured we’d keep the celebration going.”
I force a shrug. “Cool. Then I guess this is my cue to leave.”
I slip the ziplock back into my bag and zip it shut. My camera is still where I left it—wedged behind the cactus on the window ledge, it’s a pocket-sized camera, so it’s tucked just enough to go unnoticed. I’ll come back for it later. Midnight, maybe, when I know this place will be empty.
With everything in me. I walk across the creaky floor toward the door.
Their eyes track me like I’m prey.
Caleb is already there, standing in front of the exit like a wall. He’s the biggest of them—broad shoulders, long arms. Taller than me by a good head. I lift my chin and glare up at him.
“Move,” I say through my teeth.
He doesn’t. Just stands there, smug and silent. Behind me, the others laugh—too loud, too familiar, like this is all one big inside joke and I’m the punchline.
Even Nate laughs.
I whip my head toward him, heart sinking.
“Didn’t you tell me you wanted to apologize?” I ask, voice sharp now, trying to hold on to something—anger, disbelief, anything to keep the fear from showing.
He looks at me like I’m pathetic. Like I missed the joke.
“I’m not apologizing for something I wanted to do, Lucas,” he says, folding his arms.
Then, with the coldest smirk I’ve ever seen, he adds,
“I told you. I need to know what that mouth of yours can do.”