Chapter 19 Dare
DARE
Some endings don’t come with closure. They just disguise themselves as new beginnings.
The envelope sat there like a landmine. I didn’t even want to open it.
It was supposed to be good news. A celebration. The kind of moment parents frame and hang next to school portraits and baby pictures.
Charlotte had her phone out already, recording. My dad was trying too hard to look casual, like he hadn’t just refreshed the college website twenty times that morning, waiting for the result.
I already knew.
I’d known the second Tru blinked fast and handed his letter off to Charlotte. He didn’t want to be the one to say it out loud.
“I got in,” he said quickly. His voice cracked on the last word.
My stomach turned.
To our school.
Not his dream school. Not some faraway artsy liberal campus where he could disappear into murals and oil paints and dorm room hookups with boys who liked boys and didn’t hate themselves for it.
Nope. He got into my school. My backup. My safety.
The place I picked because it was close enough for Dad to say he was proud and far enough for me to breathe.
The school I chose so I could start over—cut out the cancer, cauterize the wound, and be anyone other than the angry, broken version of me that festered under this roof.
And now he was coming with me.
Four more years.
Four more fucking years.
With his silence. His slow blinks. His long, searching stares and soft smiles. With the boy I tried so hard to bury coming back to haunt me on a campus where I was supposed to be free. Fate had just shoved me in a coffin and nailed the lid shut.
Same hell, different zip code.
I thought turning eighteen meant freedom, but not in this house. Freedom didn’t exist in this family.
Charlotte clapped her hands, beaming. “You boys—same college! Can you believe it?”
My father chuckled, nudging my arm. “Guess fate has a sense of humor.”
I gave him a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. "Yeah. Hilarious."
Tru stood stiff beside me, his hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie. He didn’t look at me. Not once. Just nodded absently when Charlotte suggested we go out to celebrate.
“We should make a reservation,” she said, already scrolling her phone. “Someplace nice. It’s a huge day.”
“I’m not really hungry,” Tru murmured.
I could feel heat crawling up the back of my neck, angry heat. “Come on, Tru,” I said, voice flat. “Don’t ruin the big family moment.”
His eyes flicked toward me briefly, and they were stone-cold.
“I’m not the one who ruined anything.”
Charlotte missed it. My dad, too. But I caught it. It sliced between us sharp as a razor. And just like always, we smiled for them, pretending we weren’t standing on opposite sides of the same burning bridge.
The steak was overcooked. Or maybe I just didn’t have an appetite anymore.
“So,” Charlotte said, stabbing a green bean with her fork, “we were thinking. Since you boys are both going to the same school, it might make sense to share a dorm. Or maybe even an apartment off-campus?”
I choked. Literally. A piece of steak lodged in my throat, and for a second I saw stars. Tru startled beside me, his hand twitching like he was going to reach for me, but he didn’t.
My dad clapped me on the back a little too hard. “You okay?”
I coughed, coughed again, and swallowed fire. “Fine,” I rasped, grabbing my water and downing half of it.
Charlotte blinked innocently. “Well, it just makes sense, right? You two know each other. It’d save money. You’d have each other to lean on…”
I looked across the table at Tru. He wasn’t looking back. He continued to cut his food into tiny, perfect pieces, his mouth set in a tight line.
“Sure,” I said. My voice was hoarse. Bitter. “Rooming with my stepbrother sounds like a dream come true.”
Charlotte either didn’t catch the sarcasm or pretended not to. “You two were inseparable once.”
My stomach twisted, and I dropped my fork. “Yeah. Once.”
Tru stood abruptly, his chair scraping the floor. “I need to use the restroom.” He disappeared across the restaurant like his ass was on fire.
My dad sighed. “What the hell’s his problem?”
I didn’t answer because I knew, and if I said it out loud, it’d ruin everything.
Just like the kiss had.
I pushed back from the table before Dad could launch into a lecture about Tru’s “attitude problem”. My pulse thudded in my ears, hot and uneven. I muttered something about checking on him and got up fast enough that Charlotte called after me, but I didn’t turn around.
Tru wasn’t hard to find. He’d ducked down the hallway toward the restrooms, shoulders rigid, pace clipped. I caught up just as he reached the corner. My hand shot out on instinct, gripping his arm.
He froze. Then he turned, slow and dangerous, as if I’d just pulled the tail of some quiet animal that might bite.
“What?” he asked, voice low and edged.
I didn’t let go. “You could’ve told me.”
“Told you what?” His brows lifted, wide-eyed innocence sharpened into a blade.
I stepped closer, almost chest-to-chest, anger simmering under my skin. “Don’t play dumb. You know what. College. That school. The same one I applied to months ago.”
He shrugged, a small, infuriating roll of his shoulders. “Guess we had the same idea.”
“No,” I hissed. “We didn’t. I picked that school on purpose. You picked it because—”
Words snagged in my throat. Fear, jealousy, confusion—take your pick. They all tasted the same. “Why did you pick it, Tru? Why follow me there?”
His lips twitched. That soft, taunting thing he did when he wanted to poke the bear. “Maybe I like their art program.”
“You could’ve gone anywhere.”
“Maybe I wanted to stay close to home.”
“Didn’t you say they had a second-rate art program?”
He tilted his head, meeting my glare with a steadiness that felt like a slap. “Maybe I had a different reason, Dare.”
My pulse jumped. “Like what?”
His smile was sharp, lethal, calculating. “Maybe I wanted to see how long it’d take before you cornered me in a hallway like this. Maybe I wanted to watch you lose your mind over it.”
My grip tightened without permission. “So you did choose it on purpose.”
“Maybe.”
He said it like a dare, wanting me to react. Wanting me to care.
“Why would you do that to yourself?” My voice cracked, stupidly human. “Why would you—after everything—why would you want to be anywhere near me?”
His eyes softened for a fraction of a second. Just enough to gut me. Then he straightened, mask snapping back in place. “Who says I want to be near you? Maybe I just like watching you sweat.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Is it?”
A couple passed us on their way to the bathrooms, giggling, then glanced at how close we were standing. I stepped back half an inch, my face heating.
Tru didn’t move. His voice dropped lower, rougher. “You asked if I picked the school to stalk you.” He leaned in just enough that I felt the whisper of his breath. “Maybe I did.”
My heart kicked hard against my ribs.
“Why?” I asked, barely audible.
He held my gaze boldly. “Because you ran away first.”
My throat tightened. “I didn’t—”
“You did.” His voice broke the tiniest amount, fast and painful. “And I’m tired of pretending that didn’t destroy me.”
Silence swelled between us. Thick. Charged. Dangerous.
Over the din of clattering plates and chatter from the dining room, I heard my father laugh—loud, bright—oblivious to my world breaking apart.
Tru looked toward the sound, jaw ticking. “Go back,” he said. “Your dad’s gonna wonder.”
“I don’t care.”
“Yeah,” Tru breathed, stepping around me, brushing my shoulder so lightly it felt intentional. “You do. That’s kind of the problem.”
He walked away without looking back.
And I stood there, gutted, furious, and terrified that he might be right.