Chapter 44
DARE
Love isn’t about the big moments. It’s about who you want around when nothing’s happening at all.
Tru’s face filled my screen. Flushed cheeks, soft lamplight, and that bright smile that twisted my gut with longing.
I was sitting cross-legged on my unmade bed, the sound of the box fan drowning out the crickets outside.
His world looked golden and alive. Mine just looked like laundry piles and the glow of a cracked phone screen.
His hair was a mess from running his hands through it, which he always did when he was excited.
He was rambling about a pitch he’d made at the internship, how they’d actually used his concept for a level redesign, and I tried to keep up.
Behind him, I caught a glimpse of the city through the window—neon reflections, car horns, the kind of noise that never shuts up.
I nodded, I smiled, I said all the right things. But all I could think was—God, I missed him.
He was a thousand miles away, and I’d gotten used to pretending that was fine. The school year had passed in a blur of happiness and settling into my own skin. Before I was ready, I was, once again, saying goodbye to Tru for another summer internship.
We FaceTime’ed every night. We texted constantly. We fell asleep on the phone more often than not, his breathing steady in my ear like a heartbeat I’d forgotten I needed. It was… safe. Surprisingly safe. Trustworthy.
But not enough.
Charlotte messaged daily, cheerful little reminders like, “Focus on building a future together, not the distance,” and, “When Tru’s internship finishes, we’re headed to the mountains for a family vacation!” It helped… somewhat. Mostly, I loved that she was rooting for us.
Tru wore my old practice jersey to bed, just to make me suffer.
He’d hold up his takeout and ask what I was eating, as if we were still sitting in that crappy diner across from campus.
He told me when he was sad or lonely. When he had to work late or go in early, or the subway made him late, or he stepped in gum for the third time that week.
He told me everything.
And me? I tried to fill the space between calls.
I practiced with a couple of the guys from the soccer team who’d stayed for summer training, caught a movie and dinner with my brother last weekend, and worked shifts at the rec center running drills for kids who barely listened.
Most Fridays, I drove home. Helped Dad with yard work, let Mom feed me like I was seventeen again.
It kept me moving. Kept me from thinking too much.
Even so, every night, I ended up here again, with Tru glowing on my phone screen, looking more like home than any of it ever did.
He told me that Jasper was “being chill now” and “honestly just a friend”. And I believed him, which was wild, because I used to believe everyone would leave.
Now I just believe in him.
So when he said, “Hey, you should come up next month. Jasper’s throwing this big end-of-summer thing. Everyone’ll be there,” I didn’t feel that old spike of jealousy or dread. Just a steady hum in my chest.
My clipboard from the rec center sat on the desk beside me, covered in scribbled practice schedules and snack lists. I was supposed to be planning drills for the kids’ tournament this weekend. Instead, I was watching him talk with his hands and trying to memorize every frame.
We were too old for curfews, too young to know what the hell we were doing—but sometimes it still felt like we were those same dumb kids sneaking into R-rated movies and pretending not to be scared.
“Hey,” I said when he paused to take a sip from his mug. “You remember that horror movie we saw when we were twelve? The one that made you hide behind the popcorn tub and then swear you weren’t scared?”
Tru laughed, eyes crinkling. “You mean The Haunting at Hollow Creek? I had nightmares for, like, a week. Why?”
“They’re doing a reboot.” I leaned closer to the screen, smirking. “Figured I’d drag you to see it. For closure.”
“Closure,” he repeated, deadpan. “That’s what we’re calling trauma bonding now?”
I grinned. “C’mon, I’ll even buy you popcorn to hide behind again.”
He rolled his eyes, but his mouth softened into a smile. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “But you love me anyway.”
His gaze lingered on me, warm and tired and a little wistful. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I do.”
The call ended later than it should’ve, both of us pretending we weren’t fighting sleep just to stay in each other’s orbit a little longer. When the screen finally went black, I stared at my reflection for a long minute, the faint smile still tugging at my mouth.
Maybe distance didn’t have to mean gone.
The sun was brutal that afternoon. Late-day heat radiated off the blacktop like the court itself was trying to bake us alive. The kids didn’t care. They tore through the final scrimmage of the day as if it were the World Cup.
“Nice hustle, Rey!” I shouted. “Daneel, don’t ball-watch—track back!”
Daneel groaned but listened. I jogged down the sideline, clapping encouragement. My clipboard was tucked under one arm, sweat dripping down my back, and all I could think about was how Tru would’ve roasted me right then. Something about Coach D being the world’s hottest unpaid intern.
He would’ve said it with that crooked smile. The one that turned me inside out.
I glanced at my phone, where I’d left it near the bleachers. No new texts. Not that I’d expected one. Tru was probably still on the subway or zonked out from staying up all night finishing a mockup for the game development team.
Still, I missed his voice. I missed his everything.
I called for a water break and tossed the kids their bottles, letting them cool off.
Sitting on the edge of the court, legs stretched out, I let the quiet settle into my bones.
One of the moms had brought orange slices—which felt aggressively nostalgic—but the kids were eating them like they were gold.
Out of nowhere, I heard Coach’s voice in my head again from the phone call last week.
“Any regrets about not pursuing soccer?”
I hadn’t hesitated. “Nope. Not a single one. I only play to keep my scholarship.”
He’d laughed. “You helped us win two state championships, Carter. I’d say you’ve earned your full ride.”
I’d shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m looking forward to what’s next.”
Then he’d gone quiet for a second before saying, real soft, “I’m proud of you, Carter.”
That one hit harder than I’d expected.
He’d added, “If you ever come across a kid with even half your potential who needs a ride to college, you call me. I’ll find them a spot on my team.”
At that point, I’d had to hang up before he heard the emotion in my voice.
I looked out at the court, where Daneel was showing Rey how to trap a pass. They were both grinning, sweaty and sunburnt, but happy. Kids who didn’t have anyone else looking out for them right now.
Yeah. I thought I knew what I was supposed to do next.
The sun sank lower, casting long shadows across the rec center court. The temperature finally dipped from oven to toaster, and most of the kids sprawled out on their backs in the grass beside the court, guzzling water and arguing about whose team had won.
I crouched beside Daneel, who was kicking at the asphalt like he wanted to fight it. His cheeks were blotchy, frustration written all over him.
“What’s goin’ on?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
“I suck at this,” he muttered. “Rey made me look stupid.”
I nudged his shoulder with mine. “You didn’t look stupid. You looked like a kid who hasn’t practiced enough yet. That’s fixable.”
He glared up at me, all defiance and fear in one scrunched-up face. “What if I never get it?”
I leaned back on my heels. “You will. I used to trip over my own feet all the time.”
Daneel blinked. “No, you didn’t.”
“I did,” I said. “Once, I fell on my ass so hard during tryouts that someone called me Bambi for a week. You know what I did?”
He lifted one eyebrow.
“I kept showing up. Kept playing. Until I was the one making the plays. You’ve got something in you, Daneel. You just gotta decide it’s worth building.”
That got me a half-smile. “Bambi, huh?”
“Shut up.”
He snorted. “Thanks, Coach D.”
I ruffled his hair with a fond smile. “Don’t make me regret that.”
I headed back to the bench, heart warmed in that quiet, grown-up way that still surprised me. It wasn’t the adrenaline of scoring a goal or winning a game anymore. It was deeper than that, fuller. I was building something that mattered.
I sat down and grabbed my phone to check the time, and found a new text from Tru.
TRU:
Why do I miss your dumb face more when I’m surrounded by people?
Is this codependency or just True Love
I snorted out loud. God, I missed him.
There’s a difference between wanting someone and choosing them. Every single day, I choose him.
It’s the curse of being obsessed with me.
Don’t worry, it’s mutual.
PS: I look amazing today. Your loss.
A picture popped through before I could lock the screen. Tru in his cubicle, hair mussed, lips plush and kissable, wearing my old hoodie. The one I’d told him to keep. He had a pencil stuck behind one ear and was flipping off the camera.
I felt like my chest might burst with how much I loved him.
Daneel yelled something across the court about starting another game. I texted one last line before I got up.
Wait till you see what’s in the mail.
Hope you’re ready to come home.
It was a Wednesday night, close to the end of summer. The last stretch. I’d been counting down the days like a human calendar. Eight more to go.
We were FaceTime’ing as usual. Tru was sprawled on his bed, wearing nothing but my jersey and those ridiculously tiny bikini briefs, trying his best to kill me.
He was talking about how they’d taken him out for tacos to celebrate his internship ending, and I was half-listening, mostly watching the way his mouth moved and wishing there was a way I could jack off to his face without giving myself away.
I was stretched out on my bed with my laptop on my stomach and a half-eaten granola bar sticking out of my mouth.
“So how’s my favorite intern?” I asked.
“Drowning in rough sketches and instant ramen.”
“Sexy.”
He was about to say more when there was a knock. He glanced toward the door, brows knitting. “Hold on.”
He padded out of frame and came back with a large envelope in his hands.
“Who’s it from?” I asked, like I didn’t already know.
He raised an eyebrow. “What did you do?”
“Open it.”
He peeled the tape back and pulled out the papers first. Then a spare key on a silver ring. His hands went still. For a second, he didn’t say anything.
Then his face split wide open. “You asshole,” he whispered, voice cracking.
There was a lease in the envelope. His name and mine, typed neatly at the top. Our new address, close to campus. And a note tucked inside that read,
Room for all your games and art supplies. One bed. No more goodbyes. Move in with me, Truen.
He covered his mouth, eyes turning glassy. “I hate you,” he choked out.
“Liar,” I said.
“I love you,” he said back. “Dare…”
My voice dropped into what he called my porn voice, the one he said was irresistible. “Say yes, Truen.”
He skimmed the lease one more time as a fat tear rolled down his cheek.
“I want to come home to you. Every day. I want to fall asleep next to you, and wake up next to you, and do normal-ass boring shit like take out the trash and fold laundry and fight over where we order dinner from. I want to build a life with you. Starting now.”
“You’re serious,” he whispered.
“I’ve never been more serious about anything.”
“Yes,” he choked out. “Of course, yes.”
“Good. ’Cause I already got us a toaster.”
Tru wore the key on a chain around his neck for the rest of the week. He showed it off on FaceTime as proof. Like I’d proposed or something. And when I picked him up at the end of the week, he ran to me like we hadn’t just survived another one of the hardest summers of our lives.
But we had.
And this time, we got to stay.
On the long drive back home, it occurred to me that missing someone didn’t mean I was incomplete. It just meant I’d finally found the part of me that fit.