Chapter 33
DARE
The Christmas gift that year was finally telling the truth and hoping it didn't burn the whole damn house down.
I woke up tangled in him. My brain was still slow, caught in the haze of sleep and the memory of last night—his mouth, his voice, the way he said my name when he came. I was warm all over, heavy and sticky, everything in me still humming with leftover want.
Then I blinked, looked around, and the room came into focus. Fuck.
“Tru,” I murmured. “I can’t be here.”
His lashes fluttered, and he stirred, still drowsy, still sated. “Huh?”
“I was supposed to go back to my room last night. If they check—”
Now he was blinking too, sitting up. The blanket fell from his chest. He looked wrecked in the best way—hair wild, lips kiss-swollen, my marks sucked into his pale skin like a brand.
He was beautiful. And I was fucked.
“Shit,” he whispered. “I forgot.”
He sounded only mildly panicked, too full of us to really feel it. I started to move, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
“Wait,” Tru said softly, still behind me, still warm. “Just… before you go…”
I glanced over my shoulder.
“Kiss me again.”
I shouldn’t have. I knew that. But he was looking at me softly, a little unsure, and a whole lot needy, and I crawled back over him anyway.
The kiss started slow, lingering. His lips parted, and I sank into him like I had nowhere else to be. My hand found his jaw. His fingers slid into my hair. The kiss deepened, darkened. He sighed into my mouth, and I felt it echo through my chest.
If only we could exist in this perfect bubble forever. No more school, no more hiding, no more reality. Just me and Truen, and this soft bed.
Then he pulled me down, wrapped his legs around me, and I pressed against him. Bare skin to bare skin.
He gasped. “Dare…”
I answered by sliding my hand between his thighs, and guiding myself home. My dick was still somewhat slick from the night before. He winced, body tensing from the soreness of being fucked last night, but then he sighed and he relaxed, letting me in.
Not going to lie, the thought of his mild discomfort, his red-rimmed hole, and the lingering burn made my dick throb harder. I wanted him to hurt a little for me. I wanted him to feel me, even when I wasn’t there. I wanted to live in his body like a memory he couldn’t shake.
Guess that meant I’d just have to fuck him every night and every morning.
We moved together like muscle memory. Quiet. Careful. Slow. I sank into him inch by inch, and his head tipped back with a muffled moan.
Footsteps echoed in the hall. Tru tried to roll away, but I flipped him to his stomach and covered him with my body, trapping him beneath me. I pushed back inside with a sigh that bordered on reverent, my feet sliding down to hook around his calves, keeping his legs spread wide.
“Come on, boys! Let’s see what Santa left under the tree!” Charlotte’s voice floated through the closed door. A soft knock followed, then another one—farther away, across the hall, on my door.
Tru went rigid beneath me, squeezing my cock in pulses. I clamped my hand over his mouth before he could make a sound. My other hand gripped the sheets beside his head as I kept moving inside him.
“Quiet,” I whispered against his throat. “Or they’ll hear you.” My tongue traced the pulse beneath his skin, and I felt it jump.
His eyes went wide, sparkling. He dug his hands into the mattress. I rocked into him again, slow and deep, then followed with short, precise thrusts that pegged his sweet spot.
He made a desperate, muffled sound against my palm.
“I said quiet,” I murmured, even as I made it impossible to obey. I turned his head enough to see his pupils blown wide, nostrils flaring as he struggled to breathe through his nose. The thrill of it—the risk, the need—snapped down my spine like lightning.
Outside, footsteps creaked on the stairs. Laughter. A door opened somewhere down the hall. They were close. I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Tru’s body was too tight, too warm, dragging me deeper with every thrust.
His back arched against my chest. He whimpered into my hand, sounding wrecked and frustrated and so goddamn needy.
“I know,” I breathed against his cheek, voice shaking. “I know. I got you.”
I shifted my angle just enough and hit where he needed it. Again. Again. Again.
He broke on a quiet sob, eyes squeezing shut, hands clawing the sheets. His whole body trembled beneath me.
His release hit fast and hard, his body locking up as his mouth opened under my hand, spilling a strangled sound he couldn’t contain.
I pressed down harder, holding him still, holding him quiet. My name came out raw and muffled against my palm: “Mmph—Dare—”
That was all it took. I slammed into him one last time and spilled deep, shaking from the effort of keeping my voice trapped behind my teeth.
We collapsed together, my chest against his back, my hand still over his mouth as we fought to breathe. His lashes were wet. So were mine.
Outside the door, Charlotte’s laughter faded down the stairs. “Coffee’s on! We’ll open presents in fifteen!”
When the sound finally disappeared, I slid my hand away. Tru was quiet, flushed, his eyes glassy. I rolled him onto his side, pulled him into my arms, and held him tight. He exhaled softly, and I kissed him quick and messy.
“Merry Christmas,” I whispered against his lips.
His mouth curved. “Best gift I ever got.”
I grinned, despite everything. “We’re going to hell.”
“We’ve been in hell,” he murmured, cupping my jaw. “This is heaven.”
We made it downstairs as if nothing had happened.
Well, almost nothing.
Tru’s cheeks were flushed pink from the cold shower, his hair damp and clinging to his forehead. My jeans were buttoned wrong. My coffee mug shook in my hand, so I sat on the floor beside the tree and tried to will my heartbeat to chill the hell out.
Charlotte had cinnamon rolls on a plate, one hand around her cup, the other flipping through the playlist on her phone. My dad was there too—present, calm—and for the first time, I didn’t feel bitter about his attention coming too late. I just… accepted it.
I glanced sideways at Tru.
He sat beside me on the rug with a mug of cocoa, looking lighter than I’d ever seen him, like he’d finally set something heavy down. I wanted to kiss the corner of his mouth. Instead, I took another sip of coffee and watched as he reached under the tree.
“There’s one from us,” he said, emphasizing it like a habit. He handed over a flat package wrapped in brown paper. “To you guys.”
Mom opened it. It was a black-and-white sketch of the four of us—happy, together, a family. He’d framed it beautifully in polished silver.
“I signed it from both of us,” Tru said quietly, glancing my way.
I blinked. I hadn’t known he’d done that. I hadn’t gotten them anything—not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t have a job or time or the faintest clue how to act like a normal step-son when everything about us was still pretending.
But Tru... I shot him a look. Just a flick of the eyes and a small, grateful smile. He saw it and smiled back, shy but proud.
Charlotte dabbed at her eyes. Dad cleared his throat. “Well, now you’ve made your mother cry,” he teased.
“There’s more,” I said suddenly, surprising even myself.
Everyone turned to me. I set my mug down and took a breath. “My present… couldn’t be wrapped.”
Mom and Dad looked expectant, sweet, as if I was about to announce an academic triumph.
“I’m quitting pre-law,” I said.
Charlotte went still. Dad blinked. “You’re what?”
“I’m quitting,” I repeated, slower this time. “I’m not continuing next semester.”
“You mean you’re transferring?” Dad asked. “Changing majors? Taking a break?”
“I mean, I don’t know what I want yet,” I said. “But I’m going to figure it out.”
Charlotte stayed silent. Dad sat back, processing.
“I’m still learning how to listen to myself,” I added, my eyes flicking to Tru for strength. “But I promise, I’ll let you know what I hear.”
The room went quiet except for Harry Connick Jr. singing about Rudolph. Then Charlotte set her coffee down, got to her knees, and pulled me into a hug hard enough to squeeze the air from my lungs.
“Sweetheart,” she whispered. “That’s the bravest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
I swallowed, nodded, and hugged her back.
Dad looked like he was still buffering, but he gave me a slow nod. “Okay,” he said finally. “We’re here for you. Whatever it ends up being.”
But I wasn’t done. My throat tightened around the lump rising there. “Also,” I said quietly as she still held me, “I want to start calling you Mom. Because that’s what you are. It’s what you’ve always been.”
Charlotte was the one in the stands at every game. The one who took me to my first horror movie and checked on me that night, just in case. She took me school shopping with Tru, fed me, loved me—even when I wasn’t speaking to her son.
She gasped softly, squeezing me tighter. “Oh, my gosh,” she said, pulling back to look at me. My eyes were wet. So were hers. “You can call me anything you want. Doesn’t change the fact that you’re my son. Always.”
I glanced at Tru, another set of wet eyes. Dad laughed, surprising me. Not the reaction I was expecting. Hell, I was expecting him to blow up over my confession, not find humor in it.
“You sure know how to sweeten a sour situation,” he said. “Too bad, you’d have made one hell of a lawyer.”
Mom laughed, wiping her eyes. “Wait,” she said suddenly. “There’s one more.” She fished around under the tree and pulled out a small, square box. “It’s for you, Tru.”
Tru blinked. “What?”
She handed it over. He peeled the paper and opened the lid with a click. Inside was a slim, silver cuff—minimalist, elegant. But when he turned it toward the light and read the inscription, he froze.
I dare you to live your truth.
He looked up at me. I shrugged. “Just something a girl gave me once. I’m re-gifting.”
Mom laughed. “Well, that’s very thoughtful.”
But Tru knew. I could see the way his fingers curled around it, the way his thumb traced the engraving like it might fade if he stopped.
A play on our names.
A callback to the game that tore us apart.
A promise that we were rewriting the rules.
I’d sold my law textbooks to afford that bracelet. It was worth every dime.
He slipped it on, hands trembling. “But I didn’t get you anything,” he said, voice breaking.
I leaned in, smiling from the inside out. “Yeah, you did,” I murmured. “And I loved my gift more than anything.”
His whole face broke open into a smile that warmed me from the inside out.