Chapter 36
TRU
Be careful what you wish for. Sometimes, you get it—and it costs everything.
It was after midnight when we snuck onto the soccer field.
The sky was smeared with stars, and slushies and laughter buzzed through us. It was the kind of night that felt endless even though we knew it wouldn’t last.
It wasn’t often we got the chance to be together—to be us—carefree and happy and falling in love outside the secrecy of our room.
Dare had his hoodie on backward, on purpose, because I told him it was hot. He said, “Yeah?” and flipped it around like he was in an Abercrombie ad, grinning the whole time. I swear I fell a little harder in that moment.
“Come here,” I said, tugging him down to the grass.
He flopped beside me and exhaled, arms behind his head. “You think we’ll ever look back on this and think, ‘Damn, we peaked in high school’?”
I arched an eyebrow. “You think this is peaking?”
He smirked. “Nah. I think this is surviving.”
He said it like a joke, but it landed too true. I glanced at him sideways. The soft light from the lampposts caught his cheekbone, his throat. I wanted to sketch him just like that, wild and loose and a little uncertain.
“I talked to Coach today,” he said after a beat.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Told him I was thinking about maybe… doing something more with the whole nonprofit thing.”
My chest swelled. “That’s amazing.”
Dare snorted. “It’s the kind of career that doesn’t actually need a college degree, even though it requires one.”
“Maybe,” I agreed, “but it’s also the kind that makes you feel good at the end of the day.”
He rolled over on me, grinning, and tickled my ribs. My lips parted on a laugh, and he stole the opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth.
He pulled back, still grinning. “It’s the kind that leaves you balls-deep in student loans ten years later because it pays crap.”
He looked at me then—really looked—trying to see the future in my eyes.
“What about you?” he asked.
“Who knows? Maybe comics. Maybe design. Maybe… something else I haven’t found yet.”
“You will.”
“I think for me, it’ll come down to luck. Landing a sweet internship or a chance introduction to the right person.”
We were quiet for a while, lying on our backs, staring up at the sky. The crickets filled the silence like a soundtrack.
“I’d follow you,” Dare said suddenly.
I turned my head. “What?”
“If you went somewhere. For college, work, for whatever. I’d go.”
The words made the slushie in my stomach churn. “That’s not how it works.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re supposed to do what’s right for you, Dare. Not chase me around like some sad golden retriever.”
He laughed. “I’m way too pretty to be a retriever.”
I bit back a smile. “Border collie, maybe.”
He tackled me before I finished the insult, and I ended up beneath him again, laughing as he tried to bite my nose. His hand found mine on the grass, fingers threading through. When our laughter died down, he rested his forehead against mine.
“I’d still follow you, though,” he murmured. “Even if it was just to see where you end up.”
My tongue slid along his lips, teasing and wet, until he let me in. Dare kissed me back, dragging out the moment with a slow, drugging sweep of his mouth.
The stars spun above us, and for a little while, everything felt possible.
I woke to the soft hum and warmth of Dare’s breathing.
His arm was slung over my waist, my back fitted to his chest. We were still tangled in yesterday, smelling of sweet grass and sex.
My sketchbook lay half-open on the floor beside the bed, a corner of the page curling up.
I must’ve dropped it before falling asleep, right after I finished drawing him.
I shifted, reaching for my phone on the side table. It was barely nine a.m., but I already had three notifications and one email.
Subject: Summer Mentorship – Final Interview Invitation
My pulse kicked up as I read.
Congratulations, Truen Jameson. You’ve advanced to the final round of interviews for our Summer Media & Arts Initiative...
I didn’t need to finish. I already knew. It was everything I’d said I wanted before him.
He stirred behind me and mumbled, “You good?”
“Yeah,” I said too fast, locking my screen and sliding the phone under the pillow.
He kissed the back of my neck like he always did when he was half-asleep and happy. “Come back to sleep.”
Sleep didn’t come. My mind was already running, chasing possibilities. Because now I had to decide—not just what to do about the internship, but what to do about us.
If I went, I’d leave him behind. If I stayed, I’d resent what I lost. Either way, something would break.
Sometimes I thought about the boy I used to be. The things I didn’t say. The love I didn’t fight for. And I wondered if I was still him, if I’d ever stop being him.
Later that afternoon, Dare was napping peacefully.
He’d crashed hard after practice, the kind of deadweight sleep only athletes and toddlers can pull off. He had one arm flung wide, his mouth open just enough to snore.
I sat cross-legged on my desk chair, sketchbook in my lap, watching him like a creep. Every few seconds, my gaze flicked to my phone, where the interview reminder still glowed:
Friday, 2 p.m. Video call. NYC rep.
I should’ve been thrilled. This was everything I’d worked for. But the truth settled heavily in my chest. I could see both futures clearly, and both hurt.
Setting the sketchbook down, I padded to the bed, careful not to wake him. He murmured something I didn’t catch, rolling toward me. My knees bumped the edge of the mattress, and I sank down beside him.
I traced a finger over his shoulder, the curve of his neck, the scar behind his ear. He was all fire and impulse, never much for planning, but he was trying. Meetings with his coach. Volunteering with kids. Building a life that meant something.
And me? I was lying by omission.
I slipped under the blanket, curling toward his warmth. Dare made a sleepy sound and wrapped his arms around me without even opening his eyes.
“Tru,” he murmured, voice rough. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “I’m just cold.”
It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly.
He shifted, tucking me closer, his breath warm against my neck. “I got you.”
And he did. In every way that mattered.
Which was why I didn’t know how to tell him I might leave.