Chapter 28
TRU
They say, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Dare made me feel ashamed each time.
I waited up.
It was stupid. I knew he wasn’t coming back anytime soon, not while the party was still going, not after that. But I waited anyway. Pretending I was just scrolling on my phone. Pretending I was comfortable sitting on my bed fully dressed, shoes still on, staring at the door, willing it to open.
But it didn’t.
I kept tasting the kiss. Kept seeing his face when he pulled away, flushed, breathless, like he was almost proud of what he'd done, before he remembered he wasn’t supposed to be. As if he was trying not to hope.
That look wrecked me worse than the kiss because for one second, I thought maybe he meant it. But then he left and proved he hadn’t.
I must’ve dozed off around three. Somewhere between the guilt and the slow, creeping dread, I’d let myself believe in something I should’ve known better than to want. Again.
Not after everything. Not after six years of pretending we never mattered. Our friendship didn’t break last night. It shattered a long time ago. This was just another aftershock of Earthquake Darien.
When I woke, the blanket was tugged over my shoulders, my shoes were off, and the lights were out. He’d been here, and I’d missed it.
I lay there a while, pretending I was still asleep, just in case he came back. The room was cold and quiet. I should’ve felt safer under the blanket, but it made my skin itch. I turned over and reached for my phone.
One new message.
Brian:
You should’ve just told me.
My stomach dropped. Brian deserved better than that humiliating display last night.
But what was I supposed to say? That I’d been in love with Dare since I was thirteen? That I dreamt about him every night for a year straight and still sometimes wake up breathless? That every crush I’d ever had was a cheap replica, someone I could mold into something almost close enough?
I didn’t ask him to kiss me. I didn’t ask for anything.
But deep down, in the quiet, in the dark, I wanted it. God, I wanted it. Every day. Every hour. For years.
That’s what I was guilty of. Not the kiss. The wanting.
I shoved the phone face down under the pillow like that could erase it.
Brian was supposed to be my reset. My second chance. Vargas, back in high school, hadn’t helped me to get over Dare, nor had it seemed to make him jealous and regretful like I’d hoped. But with Brian, I’d tried, really tried.
Tried to like him.
Tried to feel attracted when he smiled at me.
Tried to muster those butterflies in my stomach when he kissed me.
I desperately wanted him to be the solution to my problem. But my traitorous heart had a one-track mind, and after Dare’s kiss last night, I was afraid that would never change.
I went the entire day without a word from Dare.
He didn’t look at me when we passed in the hall.
He just… brushed past me as if I wasn’t there.
As if last night hadn’t happened and he hadn’t kissed me so hard that he stole the air out of my lungs.
As though he hadn’t made me believe for one split second that maybe he wanted me.
I clamped down on the inside of my cheek until pain sharpened my focus. If this was how he wanted to play it, fine. I’d survived worse from him. I’d survived silence. Avoidance. Cruelty. I’d survive this, too. Even if it killed me.
Dare didn’t come back to the room all day. His shoes stayed where they were by the closet. His phone charger was gone. So was his backpack. But his scent still lingered on the pillow he slept on.
I should’ve kicked him in the nuts. Gotten mad. I had a boyfriend. I did. Sort of. I stared down at my phone, thumb hovering over the unread text.
Brian:
“Everything good? You ghosted.”
Last night, I hadn’t replied or tried to explain what had happened. I didn’t know how. It felt like lying to say nothing. But the truth tasted like betrayal before it even left my mouth.
I hadn’t asked for the kiss, but I’d wanted it, and to me, that was the same thing. Every goddamn day, I’d watched Dare tie his cleats or towel off after practice or stalk into a room like he owned the air—and I’d wanted. Quietly. Pathetically. Hopelessly.
I was guilty of that, wasn’t I? Maybe if I remembered all the hurt and pain he’d inflicted on me, I’d forget the scorching burn of his mouth on mine. The heat. The pressure. The way his hands had gripped my shirt like he was afraid I’d vanish.
Except he’d disappeared. It was seventh grade all over again.
I went home from that party hurting, confused, wondering if I’d done something wrong, if I should’ve stopped it. If he’d ever talk to me again. And now here I was, older and dumber and still waiting for him to come back. Still waiting to be chosen.
My skin still burned where he touched me. My lips still tingled. And my head kept replaying every second of it, every breath, every heartbeat between us, trying to decode the meaning.
Trying to convince myself that I didn’t imagine it. Didn’t dream it.
I finally spotted him across the quad later that afternoon, walking with a few teammates, laughing as if nothing happened. He didn’t even look my way, not once, not even a flash of recognition.
I didn’t exist.
How could he pretend he hadn’t kissed me like he meant it? That he hadn’t grabbed my shirt and pulled me in like he’d die if he didn’t. I stood there feeling small and foolish, wondering how he could carry on like that.
Why was it always me staring after him, hoping—desperately, pathetically—that he’d turn around?
And for the second time in my life, Darien Carter left me standing in the wreckage of his mistakes and regrets.
It was nearly two a.m. when the door creaked open.
I heard it even through sleep, a whisper brushing the edge of a dream.
My eyes cracked open in the dark, blurry with confusion, and for a second, I thought I was imagining the figure that moved across the room.
But then the mattress dipped behind me, slow and cautious, and I felt the weight of him settle like a truth I’d spent years trying not to believe.
Dare didn’t say anything right away. He just lay there, not touching me, not even breathing loudly. But the air changed. I could feel him, warm and real and heartbreakingly close. And then, in a voice so raw it sounded like it hurt to speak, he said,
“I’ve been in love with you since I was thirteen.”
I went still.
He swallowed loudly behind me. “I didn’t know it then, not really. I just knew I wanted you around all the time. Knew I hated it when you looked at other people. When you smiled at them the way you smiled at me.”
He let out a slow, shaking breath. “I ruined it. I ruined us. I pushed you away and acted like I hated you because I didn’t know what the fuck else to do with all these feelings. It was too big. And I thought if I buried it deep enough, maybe I could kill it.”
He paused, voice breaking. “But it didn’t die.
It just…sat there. Grew teeth. And the sharper they got, the worse the bite was gonna be when the jaws of truth finally closed around my throat.
I was afraid—so damn afraid—of my dad, my brother, other people.
I had no idea the most painful bite was going to be from you.
Losing you, watching you suffer because of my cowardice. Or… seeing you move on.”
I rolled slowly, facing him in the dark. His face was barely lit by the sliver of moonlight slipping through the blinds, but I could see enough. His eyes were red, his cheeks blotchy, like he’d cried before he even got here.
“I think about that kiss in the closet every day,” he whispered. “I think about how you looked at me, and how I left you alone in it. And then I kissed you again last night, and for a second, I let myself believe there was still a chance. That maybe I didn’t screw it all up forever.”
I reached for him without thinking, my hand curling into his shirt. “You didn’t.”
He looked at me like he couldn’t believe I was real. And then, time slowed down, and he kissed me. No audience, no dare. Just two boys in the dark trying to unbreak something.
His lips were soft and trembling against mine, as if he was still afraid I’d vanish. I kissed him back like I’d been holding my breath for years and finally remembered how to live. There was no tongue, no lust, just a joining of body heat and longing. An apology and an understanding.
When we finally pulled apart, he curled into me instinctively, his body remembering the shape of mine. And I held him because I’d been waiting years to do so again. It felt like childhood. When we’d sneak into each other’s sleeping bags and whisper secrets until we fell asleep. It felt like home.
The torn halves of my heart mended together.
And for the first time in years, I didn’t dream of losing him. I dreamed of finding him, again.