Chapter 50
FIFTY
MIGUEL
After the third day, when the sun finishes bleeding out behind the trees, the entire world has gone dark except for our little bubble of light in the branches.
The treehouse glows warm and golden—fairy lights on the railing outside and a couple of lamps inside turned low.
Beyond that, there are black silhouettes of redwoods, a strip of sky salted with stars, and the distant hiss of the ocean.
No cars. No campus noise. Just wind and wood and us.
Caleb is “finishing his journal entry.”
Which is suspicious as hell if you ask me.
“I’m gonna brush my teeth,” I say, stretching as I stand from the couch. “Don’t burn the tree down.”
“Can’t make promises,” he says absently, pen scratching across the page at the little table. “I mean, I have been itching to make some popcorn.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re chaos incarnate,” I say, ruffling his mop of hair as I pass. He makes a face and bats my hand away, but he’s smiling. Silent volume check, his eyes are bright, his shoulders loose.
Whatever it is, it is.
This is like the smallest bathroom on the planet, the mirror a little fogged from our earlier shower after hiking.
Poor ventilation… might wanna bring it up to the owners.
Mold is a bitch to get rid of. I take my time—teeth, face, and a splash of cool water on my neck.
When I step out, rubbing my face dry on the towel, the air in the main room feels… different.
Quieter.
The lamp by the couch is off and only the fairy lights outside and the string of warm bulbs along the loft railing are on, throwing soft, shifting light across the floor.
The table is empty.
“Caleb?” I call, pulse ticking up.
No response.
My eyes adjust.
Then I see it, white against the dark wood of the low table, a folded piece of paper propped against the little welcome basket.
My name, in his messy handwriting.
Seeing it makes my heart do a neat little front flip and then sprint. I pick it up, hands already buzzing.
Miguel,
Not so long ago, you hunted me in our parents’ back property. You made me feel free. Tonight, it’s your turn to run. Only this time, I’ll be the one in the mask.
House rules apply:
– We use the color system.
– You can tap out anytime and I come out of the dark.
– This is not a cry for help. It’s a choice.
I want to feel what you feel when you chase me—terrified and safe all at once.
If this is too much, say “Red” out loud, and I’ll crawl out from under the bed (or wherever I’m lurking) and climb into your lap instead.
If it’s not too much… Run, big brother.
– C
P.S. Check the bed.
I exhale slowly, the air coming out shakier than I’d like. To be honest, this is not the kind of note I would expect from him. This one has rules. The color system. Sarcasm.
Choice.
It’s different.
My body still doesn’t totally know the difference.
“Color?” I mutter to myself, like Luis is sitting on the couch with his damn legal pad. My heart’s pounding, palms slick, nerves lit up like a transformer… But under it, there’s that low, hungry current that has nothing to do with fear.
Green, my gut says. Loud and bright.
But green.
“Okay,” I tell the empty room. “Green.”
The loft glows faintly overhead, light spilling down the ladder. I climb, note still in my hand, taking note that the bed is a mess of blankets and pillows. On my side, my hoodie sits tossed aside from earlier. On Caleb’s side, his notebook, pen, and—
A mask. Almost identical to the one I wore on Halloween and during our little snowy escape. Except this one is neon yellow instead of blue. Stitched mouth, stitched eyes.
My dick twitches like it recognizes an old friend.
“Goddamn it, Caleb,” I mutter, picking it up and reaching down to adjust myself.
It looks almost comical in the soft light—bright and ugly and yet so familiar. My thumb drags over the wire stitches, remembering the way he looked at me when I wore mine and the way I felt the first time I realized that seeing him scared could coexist so perfectly with being turned on.
I swallow.
“Color?” comes his voice from the shadows somewhere below, floating up through the slats like smoke. He sounds altered—lower, a little rough—but steady.
“Green,” I say, louder now. “What about you?”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Also green,” he answers. “Neon. Like I match.”
I huff out a laugh in spite of myself.
“You’re ridiculous,” I call down.
“And you’re still up there,” he says. “Come run, Monster.”
My skin fizzles like an open can of soda.
I set the mask back on the pillow and climb down.
The main room looks empty at first glance.
The kitchen is dark, the counter is clear and the bathroom door is open.
The deck door is barely cracked—just enough that the night air sneaks in, cool and sharp with pine and salt.
I move toward it.
As soon as my hand brushes the knob, a whisper curls over the back of my neck.
“Boo.”
Every muscle in my back seizes and I spin around. Empty space. The couch, the low table with the note.
But no, Caleb.
“Little brat,” I say, but my voice comes out rough.
The air shifts behind me, weight on the little boards leading to the bathroom, a soft creak. I pivot that way. Nothing. Just shadows.
“Your situational awareness is rusty, electrician,” he murmurs, his voice coming from everywhere and nowhere.
“Come say that to my face,” I shoot back. “Coward.”
“Careful,” he says. “You never know what you’re going to be getting into.”
Oh, this is game on.
Last time he taunted me, Caleb ended up naked and shaking and more alive than he’d felt in years.
My mouth goes dry.
“Oh, I know what you’re gonna get, hermoso,” I say. “This cock.”
“That’s what you think.” His tone softens.
There’s a tiny twinge of fear, yeah. But it’s braided tight with anticipation, with this weird, raw pride that he’s the one playing predator this time.
The cracked deck door beckons, so I ease it open and step out. Night hits me full force, cool air, darker than any city sky I’ve known, and the trees looming like giants. The fairy lights along the rope bridge and railing cast small pools of gold, leaving everything beyond in shifting shadow.
The bridge creaks as I step onto it, the boards dip under my feet. The drop below is just a smell and a sense of space.
I move slowly, every sense straining.
Halfway across, the ropes tremble but not from me. From something else.
“You remember the rules?” Caleb’s voice drifts from somewhere ahead. Closer now.
“Color system. I tap out, you stop.”
“And?” he prompts.
“And this is not a cry for help,” I say. “It’s you being a kinky little bastard.”
Caleb laughs, low and delighted. “Good,” he says. “Just wanted that on record. You know, insurance purposes.”
On the far side, the small deck opens up: two chairs, a low table, and a view that’s just an expanse of night broken by a darker line of ocean.
Empty.
I turn in a slow circle, my shoulders prickling with heat.
“Pretty boy,” I sing-song softly. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
“You don’t get to call me that when I’m the one hunting you,” he murmurs from behind me.
I whip around.
Nothing.
Fuck.
“Color?” he asks again, almost gentle.
I inhale slowly, letting the wind fill my lungs. It smells like damp earth and salt. My heart’s racing, but it’s not a free-fall, it’s more like being right at the top of a roller coaster, waiting for that magical rush of adrenaline.
“Green,” I say.
“I like green,” he says, his voice closer, clearer.
Something brushes my forearm—just the rough tickle of a hoodie cuff—and then it disappears. My breath catches.
“You’re terrible at hiding,” he teases. “You breathe like the final girl in a horror movie.”
“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you,” I say, aiming my voice at where I think he is. “You’re six one and a half on a good day, and you stomp around like an elephant when you’re annoyed.”
“Six foot two in my heart,” he counters. “And you love my stomping.”
“Debatable,” I say.
Something grabs my hips from behind and yanks.
I slam back into a body that’s all heat and hoodie and hardness, my hands catching the railing for balance. Cotton-covered chest against my back. Thighs bracketing mine. Breath hot against the shell of my ear.
The mask presses into my shoulder as he leans in.
“Found you,” he whispers.
Everything in me lights up.
The neon glow against the black plastic is bright even in the dark, that stitched-mouth grin flashing in the corner of my vision, catching the fairy lights. It shouldn’t be sexy.
But fuck me, it is.
The sight hits every wired-into-my-brain circuit at once.
Halloween. My breath on his neck. His hands on my thighs and the way fear and arousal tangled until we couldn’t tell one from the other.
Now it’s him behind the grin, not me pretending to be some abstract monster.
No, this is him deciding when and how and where.
My dick throbs like it’s saying hi.
“Color?” he murmurs, hand sliding up my ribs to flatten over my sternum, palm feeling the thud of my heart.
“Green,” I manage. “Super green.”
He hums, pleased with himself. “Neon,” he says. “Good.”
Caleb nuzzles behind my ear through the stupid mask, plastic bumping my skin. “You okay with me touching you,” he adds quietly, “while I’m like this?”
“Yes,” I say, with no hesitation whatsoever. “Fuck, yes.”
His fingers tighten at my chest, pulling me back more fully into him. I can feel his dick—hard, solid, undeniable—pressed against my ass. The rope bridge sways gently beneath us, adding a faint sense of movement to everything.
Don’t freak out, Miggy.
“That’s my good boy,” he breathes.
There’s no rush in the way he’s doing this and I think that’s the biggest part of the mindfuck.
Caleb just… stands there for a second, holding me, breathing with me. Letting my nervous system realize it’s allowed to be turned on and scared and safe at the same time.