Chapter 46
DARE
We’ve had a lot of firsts. First kiss. First fight. First apartment. But this one feels like the start of forever.
I sat in the third row of graduates, sweating through my gown and straining to catch a glimpse of him two blocks back in the sea of caps and gowns.
My stomach was a wreck. It wasn’t nerves; it was impatience.
I’d never been good at waiting for anything, and right then I was counting down the minutes until I could wrap my arms around Tru and say, We did it.
They read the names alphabetically, which meant Tru wasn’t even in shouting distance, and I had to sit next to some sweaty finance bro named Cooper Cates who kept sniffing like he was about to cry.
We should’ve had the same last name by now. If we did, I’d have been sitting next to Tru, knees bumping, trading dumb doodles on our programs. I’d have been able to whisper something inappropriate right before they called his name and make him laugh.
But I’d fix that. Soon. We were going to share everything.
When they called my name—“Darien Carter, Number Nine, Two-Time College Cup Champion”—I forced myself to walk slowly across the stage.
My heart was hammering for reasons that had nothing to do with achievements.
My eyes flicked toward the back rows just in time to catch Tru springing up from his seat, cupping his hands around his mouth and hooting for me like I’d just won the damn World Cup.
I didn’t even care that it was loud or embarrassing. I grinned like a fool, threw him a wink, and pumped my diploma overhead like a victory flag.
When they finally called “Truen Jameson, Summa Cum Laude,” I leapt to my feet, whistled through my teeth, and shouted, “That’s my man!
” He scanned the crowd and, when he found me, his face flushed bright red beneath his cap, but he shot me the softest, happiest look as he crossed the stage, and I swear everything in me went still.
God, he was beautiful. And he was mine.
After the ceremony, the quad turned to chaos—grads throwing caps, families hugging, flashes from camera phones going off like fireworks. I broke free of the crowd just in time to catch Tru as he came down the hill.
“Hey, Mr. Jameson.” I tugged him into a hug so hard we nearly knocked over a sign. “Nice gown.”
He leaned back with a smirk, then subtly pulled the zipper down just enough to flash my soccer jersey beneath—Number 9.
“You did not,” I whispered.
“Oh, I did,” he said, cocky and sweet. “Call it sentimental, but I wanted a piece of you with me.”
I kissed him right there in the middle of the lawn, people be damned. Because I could. Because it was graduation. Because it was us.
Charlotte was the one who found us, camera already poised and clicking.
“You boys,” she cooed, snapping another dozen shots as Tru groaned.
“Mom—”
“I can’t help it!” she chirped. “You look so cute together, I just can’t stop.”
Dad clapped me on the back. “We’re proud of you, Dare. Both of you.”
We went to dinner with our parents at some fancy restaurant where Charlotte ordered champagne for the whole table and Dad insisted on a toast that turned into a lecture on shared purpose and long-term planning. We survived it, barely.
Charlotte wanted more photos. Dad wanted to hear all about our post-grad plans.
“So what’s next?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. “You’re only twenty-two. The world’s your oyster.”
Tru grinned. “I’m going back to New York for a bit. They offered me a full-time position at the gaming company’s satellite office downtown, but I want to keep interning over the summer before I start officially.”
“You’re killing it,” I said, stealing a fry from his plate.
Tru narrowed his eyes. “That was my last one.”
I shrugged. “You snooze, you lose.”
“And you, Dare?” Charlotte asked. “Still planning to stay on at the rec center?”
“Yeah. I love it there. I’m hoping to develop a mentorship program for the kids, maybe even get a few scholarships in the works down the line.”
Charlotte dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “I love that. You’re such a good role model.”
Tru bumped his knee against mine under the table. “You’re more than that,” he murmured. “You’re their hero.”
Whatever. As long as he saw me that way, that was all that mattered.
After dinner, when we were saying our goodbyes, Tru started fidgeting like he had ants in his pocket. I caught his hand and kissed his knuckles. “What’s up?”
“I, uh…” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Made something for you.”
He handed it to me, then immediately snatched it back. “Wait, wrong one.”
“What the hell?”
Too late. I grabbed it and unfolded it.
“What’s this?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Tru tried to snatch it again. “Nothing! Give it—”
I held it high. “A Fuck’et List?”
He groaned into his hands. “It’s like… a bucket list. But for places I want us to—”
“To fuck. Got it,” I said, already laughing. “Let’s see. Locker room in the athletic building. Wow. Real original.”
“You said you had that fantasy too!”
“I do. Just didn’t write it down and doodle little hearts over the i’s.”
Tru flushed as I kept reading.
Backseat of the car—crossed out. Been there, done that.
On a float in the pool at my parents’ house. Kinky.
On a fire escape. Must be a New York thing.
On a rooftop at midnight.
In our childhood fort—“You’re such a perv,” I said, grinning. “I’m keeping this.”
“Dare—”
“Mine now.”
I folded it and slipped it into my wallet, still grinning as he pouted.
“So what did you mean to give me?”
He sighed and pulled out a second note. This one was neater, folded like he actually planned it. I opened it slowly.
It was filled with doodles of names.
Tru Carter.
Truen Carter.
Truen Jameson Carter.
Tru and Dare Carter.
The Carters est. 2025. Or 2013?
Truerien? (crossed out with a big god no)
Truen and Darien Carter.
Druen?
My heart caught.
I looked up, and Tru was staring at his feet, cheeks a little red. “It’s just a not-so-subtle hint. Now that we’re starting the rest of our lives.”
“You were never known for subtlety,” I said, pocketing that one too. “And I’m framing this.”
His head jerked up. “You are?”
I nodded.
“Why?”
“Because you doodled my last name next to yours eight times, and it’s the best damn gift I’ve ever gotten.”
He leaned into me, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Yeah?”
I rested my forehead against his. “Yeah.”
The following evening, Tru and I were alone in our apartment after a long day of entertaining friends open-house style.
I didn’t know how long we’d been dancing.
The Bluetooth speaker had died, my phone battery had given up twenty minutes ago, and we were just swaying barefoot in the quiet of our living room, surrounded by the hum of the city and the steady thump of Tru’s heart against my chest.
His cheek was pressed to my shoulder. He smelled like citrus soap and champagne. My sweatshirt hung off one shoulder, and he was wearing my old gym shorts like he didn’t even notice they didn’t fit. His bags were packed and waiting by the door for New York.
And despite knowing we were going to spend the next six weeks apart, that was the night I asked him to stay—for good.
“Remember that night in the closet?” I murmured.
Tru made a low noise. “Unfortunately.”
“You said you wished you could go back and change what happened.”
“Yeah.”
“I wouldn’t,” I said. “Not anymore.”
He lifted his head, eyebrows raised. “No?”
“Nah. ’Cause it got us here. Got us this.”
He was quiet. I knew how hard it was for him to believe sometimes that anything good could last. That love like this wouldn’t vanish if he blinked too long.
There are moments you look back on and know—That changed everything.
The night in the closet.
The day we moved in together.
The second I realized I didn’t want to live another day without hearing Tru’s laugh.
Those were the moments that shaped me.
When I looked at Tru, I saw everything I’d ever been scared to want. And that night, I was done being scared.
So I did the one thing I’d been too afraid to do for years. I stepped back.
“Don’t freak out,” I said quickly, reaching for the envelope I’d stashed behind the throw pillow on the couch.
Tru’s eyes narrowed. “What are you—”
“Just—stay with me.”
I handed him the envelope. It was heavy. Thicker than a letter. He peeked inside and pulled out puzzle pieces, hand-cut and painted in watercolor. His favorite shades of blue.
He poured them onto the table, looking confused.
“Put it together,” I said softly.
He glanced up at me. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Tru knelt on the floor in his too-big shorts, tongue between his teeth like he always did when he was focused, fitting piece into piece until the picture emerged.
It was us, drawn in soft lines, sitting cross-legged on our dorm bed, sharing headphones. He was laughing, and I was looking at him like I’d lost my heart, irrevocably. The inspiration had come straight from his sketchbook.
And at the bottom, in my messy all-caps handwriting:
“WILL YOU STAY? FOR KEEPS?”
Tru stared at it for a long time, fingers trembling as he brushed over the words.
I dropped to one knee and pulled the ring from my pocket. It had been hiding in my sock drawer for weeks. Yeah, I know—real classy. But he’d have found it anywhere else.
“Truen Jameson,” I said, heart pounding.
“You’ve been my almost, my always, and my favorite pain in the ass since the day I met you twelve years ago.
I want to be your husband. I want to fight over where the laundry goes, watch you fall asleep on the couch every Friday night, and figure out where the hell we keep the scissors because we can never find them.
I want you by my side, for every morning, every storm, and every version of who we become. ”
I looked up at him. “Will you marry me?”
He didn’t say anything for a second. He threw his arms around me and breathed into my neck.
“Yes. Yes, you idiot. I love you so fucking much.”
When I slid the ring onto his finger, it was slightly crooked, but he didn’t care. He was crying and laughing and still kneeling on the puzzle pieces, saying yes over and over like the word finally belonged to him.
We kissed as if it were our first.
Hell, it was better than our first.
And when we finally lay down on the hardwood floor, tangled in each other and framed by our mess and life and clutter, I kissed his neck and whispered, “You were always the piece I couldn’t figure out. But I wasn’t complete without you.”
Tru pressed his forehead to mine. “That’s ’cause you were missing one too.”
We stayed like that for a long time—breathing the same air, surrounded by the wreckage of wrapping paper, puzzle dust, and the quiet hum of the city outside our window.
Every version of us—the awkward kids, the scared teens, the stubborn, broken almost’s—seemed to settle into this one moment, finally at rest.
I thought about how many times I’d wanted to go back and start over, to fix the mistakes and say the right things. But maybe love wasn’t about rewinding. Maybe it was about surviving all the wrong turns until you ended up exactly where you were supposed to be.
Tru’s fingers found mine, his ring catching the light. His smile was small but no less brilliant. “We’re really doing this,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” I said, brushing my thumb over the black tungsten band on his finger. “We already are.”
Outside, a siren wailed somewhere far away, and the city carried on. Inside, it felt like everything finally stopped moving.
For once, I didn’t want to be anywhere else.