Chapter 10 #2
“They’re not going to ask her,” I say.
Tristan raises an eyebrow. “And why not?”
“Because she’s not going to say yes.”
“Bold assumption.”
I know how it sounds. Arrogant. Entitled. Stupid.
But the idea of some other guy putting his hands on her at the gala makes my vision go white around the edges.
“She’s not ready,” I say, forcing myself to sound calm. “She’s still dealing with—everything.”
“Yeah, and you’re giving her zero emotional stability,” Tristan fires back. “If I were her, I’d date ten guys out of spite.”
“I’d date one,” X says. “Ten sounds like a scheduling issue.”
They’re trying to joke.
I know they are.
But all I can see is Jade leaning under the chandeliers at the gala in some dress that kills me, and someone else standing with her in all the photos.
And it guts me.
“She wouldn’t,” I mutter.
Tristan looks at me with something close to pity.
“Leo,” he says, “you’ve seen her lately, right? Because if you push her away far enough, at some point she’s not going to chase you back. Somebody else will be there.”
The worst part is…
He’s right.
We don’t even finish lunch.
The bell rings and the cafeteria erupts, but the three of us stand up like it was planned. No eye contact with anyone. No jokes. No bravado.
Phones go straight into our backpacks by the exit doors.
Xavier’s first. Power off. Zip. Tristan follows, jaw tight, movements sharp like he’s angry at the device itself. Mine’s last. I hesitate—then shove it in deep and zip the bag hard, like I’m sealing something away.
Outside, November hits us full force.
Cold, biting wind off the water. Gray sky pressed low like it’s trying to crush the campus into the ground. Leaves skitter across the quad, dead and brittle, scraping over stone like they’re trying to get away from something too.
We walk past the benches, past the students laughing and filming and living, and head toward the far edge of campus where the cameras don’t bother reaching.
The old oak tree stands there stripped bare, branches like black veins against the sky.
We stop.
No one sits. It’s too cold for that.
Tristan shoves his hands into his coat pockets and stares out at nothing. Xavier rocks back on his heels, breath fogging. I cross my arms, feeling the wind cut straight through my jacket.
This weather fits.
This conversation deserves it.
Tristan exhales first. Not dramatic. Just tired.
“So,” he says. “We screwed this up.”
The wind howls through the branches overhead. No one rushes to argue.
Xavier nods once. “We were trying to help.”
“I know,” Tristan snaps, then reins it in. “That’s the problem.”
I look down at the ground, at the dirt packed hard from cold and footsteps. “Say it. All of it.”
Tristan glances at me, then away. When he speaks again, it’s the lawyer voice he hates—controlled, precise, ugly.
“In our rush to protect Jade, we took evidence into our own hands. Receipts. Conversations with Bianca’s and Nadia’s hired help. We didn’t let the police do their jobs.”
“And we spooked them,” Xavier adds quietly.
My jaw tightens. “Meaning?”
“Meaning someone talked,” Tristan says. “And because the police didn’t collect the receipts themselves—because three prep school boys with money and influence touched them first—the evidence is compromised.”
The word lands heavy.
Compromised.
“So criminal court’s out,” I say.
“Not completely,” he answers. “But weakened. The receipts aren’t admissible now. Chain of custody’s broken. We can still push civil suits. Depositions. Pressure.”
“But Jade wanted charges,” I say.
“She wanted accountability,” Tristan says. “Real consequences.”
The wind snaps my coat open and I don’t bother closing it.
Xavier curses under his breath. “We thought speed mattered.”
“It does,” Tristan says. “Just not when it’s the wrong people moving fast.”
That stings.
Because it’s us.
It’s always us.
We’re used to fixing things. Throwing money, influence, connections at problems until they go away. Used to being told we’re helping even when we’re controlling.
“We should’ve handed everything straight to the cops,” I say.
“Yes,” Tristan says flatly. “My lawyers were livid. Next time, they said, you give law enforcement the trail and you step back. You don’t play hero.”
I laugh once, sharp and humorless. “Hero.”
Silence stretches.
Then it hits me, hard and cold as the wind.
“She never asked us to do this,” I say.
Neither of them looks at me.
“She didn’t want saving,” Xavier murmurs. “She wanted truth.”
“And we almost ruined that,” Tristan says.
Almost.
I drag a hand down my face, feeling the burn of the cold. “We did it because we couldn’t stand seeing her hurt.”
“I know,” Tristan says. “But intention doesn’t undo damage.”
I look up at the bare branches, at the sky the same dull gray as Jade’s eyes have been lately when she looks through me instead of at me.
“This is what growing up feels like,” I say quietly. “Realizing you don’t get to control outcomes just because you care.”
Xavier nods. “And that sometimes the right thing is knowing when to get out of the way.”
We stand there, three silhouettes against a dying November afternoon, stripped of illusions the same way the trees are stripped of leaves.
Phones stay zipped away.
No one reaches for them.
We don’t fix anything today.
But for the first time, we understand why we shouldn’t have tried.
And somehow, that feels like the first honest step any of us have taken.
Basketball practice that afternoon is a blur of whistles and sweat.
Coach is in a mood, screaming about discipline and defense and how this year is “state or bust.” It’s normally the kind of thing that hypes me up.
Today I’m on autopilot.
My body knows what to do.
Drive. Pivot. Shoot.
Run the play.
Call the shot.
But every time I jump for a layup, I’m seeing her.
Jade sprinting down the soccer field.
Jade flipping her hair back and laughing.
Jade staring into the camera talking about grit and scars like she’s reading from my soul.
I brick a free throw.
Coach blows the whistle. “Holt! What the hell was that?”
“Sorry, Coach.”
“Be sorry by not sucking.”
I reset. Shoot again. It goes in this time.
But it doesn’t feel like a win.
Scrimmage starts. X is on my team. Tristan’s on the opposing side being a menace, as usual. The gym smells like rubber and sweat and the faint, permanent scent of old popcorn from concession stands.
I go hard.
Partially because I love the game.
Mostly because I need to burn something out of my system before I go nuclear.
By the end, my shirt is plastered to my back, my lungs are on fire, and Coach still looks like he’s trying to decide whether I’m his star or his problem.
“Hit the showers,” he says finally.
In the locker room, steam curls around us. The guys are talking about Jade — of course they are.
Not loudly. Not where they think I can hear. But I do.
“…did you see that second video—”
“…she turned down six figures, bro—”
“…my sister said she’s like, an icon now…”
“…lowkey, I’d ask her out if Leo didn’t…”
I slam my locker a little too hard. I’m crashing out.
X appears at my elbow, towel slung over his shoulder. Tristan slides in on the other side, still dripping, hair a mess.
“You good?” X asks.
“No.”
“Cool,” Tristan says. “So. Gala talk—”
“Don’t start,” I warn.
“Tough,” Tristan replies. “Other people are starting. I’m just keeping you informed.”
I glare. “I don’t want to hear—”
“There are, minimum, four guys planning to ask her,” X cuts in. “Two seniors, one junior, and that BC High transfer. I’ve heard them. Directly.”
I close my eyes.
Tristan adds, “And if you’re wondering if she noticed? Yes. She noticed. Shani told me she’s been getting DMs too.”
My jaw goes tight.
“Say something real to her, bro,” Tristan says. “Or get used to seeing her in someone else’s arms.”
“You think I don’t want to?” I snap. “Every time I try to talk to her, she wants to set me on fire.”
“Yeah,” he says. “And you kind of deserve that.”
“Tris,” X warns.
“No,” I say. “He’s right.”
The three of us go quiet.
The sound of water hitting tile fills the space.
X finally breaks the silence. “Look… Jade is doing something bigger than you right now.”
I look up.
“Bigger than you,” he repeats. “Bigger than us. Bigger than Royal Oaks. She’s stepping into something national. Maybe global.”
“I know.”
“Then maybe,” X says, “the best thing you can do for her is let her.
I grab my shirt, pull it on, and head out without answering.
Driving home, I flip through the stations on the radio.
On one of the local talk shows, they’re discussing her.
“…this student, Jade Bryan, is going viral for refusing a hush settlement from her private school…”
“…some people are calling her the ‘anti-bullying girlboss’—”
“…she’s already getting attention from college coaches…some won’t touch her others are curious about the D1 potential striker with a heart of steel.”
I turn it off.
When I hit downtown, I see it.
Her face on a digital ad screen over a storefront.
It’s just an image — from the cliff walk. The leather jacket, the wind, the eyes. Text below:
“They didn’t break me. They revealed me.”
Sponsored by some teen mental health non-profit Tristan’s PR team hooked up with.
I pull over again.
I get out and just stand there on the sidewalk, staring up.
Cars pass. People walk by. Someone nearby points up at the screen and says, “That’s that girl from TikTok.”
I shove my hands in my pockets.
“I fucking love you,” I say under my breath.
The words taste like truth and defeat at the same time.
She has no idea I’m standing here, looking up at a ten-foot version of her. She’s living a life that’s expanding every second.
And here I am.
Staring at a billboard.
Trying to figure out how to be worthy of even talking to her again.
That night, I end up at Xavier’s place because being in my own house feels like trying to breathe underwater.
His den is chaos as always. Music on low, snacks everywhere, a game muted on the TV.
Mindy’s at the dining table with her laptop and a pair of noise-canceling headphones, analyzing engagement and reach like she was born doing this. She gives me a little salute when I walk in. Tristan is already there drinking something that looks old and illegal.
“Star-crossed idiot,” she says. “Welcome.”
“Traitor informant,” I reply.
She grins and goes back to work.
Tristan tosses me a drink — soda, not beer. He knows better than to give me alcohol in this state.
X pats the couch. “Come suffer with us.”
I drop down, stretch my legs out, and stare at nothing.
“Thanksgiving weekend,” Tristan says. “Your parents doing the big ridiculous dinner?”
“Yeah,” I say. “You?”
“Flying to Aspen right after,” he says. “But not until Monday. My mom has to be seen giving to the ‘less fortunate’ first.”
X smirks. “We’re hosting three other families. It’s going to be a nightmare. Mindy is coming as my plus one of course.”
They both look at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Jade’s parents are coming in, right?” X says.
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “They’re driving up.”
Tristan wiggles his eyebrows. “So she’s going to have her whole little support squad on-site for the next wave.”
“Next wave?” I echo.
He stares at me like I’m dumb. “You think this stops at TikTok and local news? No, my sweet summer child. She’s got at least three national segments lined up. Maybe more. If she doesn’t cancel. She’s getting cold feet.”
Mindy raises her head. “Five,” she corrects. “If we count the European outlets. I’ll talk to her.”
I blink. “Europe?”
“You’re dating an emerging global brand,” Mindy says. “Or, well. You were.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly.
“Just stating facts.”
X nudges me with his knee. “You’re either going to get your shit together and meet her at that level… or watch someone else do it.”
“Speaking of someone else,” Tristan says, “Scott from hockey asked me if she liked seafood. Said he was thinking of taking her to The Mooring before the gala.”
I see red for a second.
“He’s not taking her anywhere,” I say.
“You sure?” Tristan pushes. “Because last I checked, you and her weren’t exactly on ‘double date’ terms.”
I stare at the ceiling.
Every muscle in my body feels tight.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say finally.
Tristan grins. “Then you show up for Jade in a way that proves you’re not your mother’s puppet.”
“Is that even possible?” I mutter.
X shrugs. “That’s on you.”
We sit there for a while. The muted game flickers on the screen. Mindy types furiously. Somewhere in the background, a timer goes off and someone yells about pizza.
Outside, the air is cold, the sky clear, Thanksgiving creeping closer.
Inside, everything feels like it’s vibrating — pressure, anticipation, dread.
I close my eyes and see her again.
Jade on the cliff.
Jade in front of the lawyer’s office.
Jade walking past me in the hall with her head high and her eyes steel.
Thanksgiving is in three days.
Her parents will be in town.
She’ll be bouncing between family, interviews, visits, strategy meetings.
The story will keep getting bigger.
And at some point, everything we’ve been holding back — the evidence, the legal stuff, the tension, the feelings, the mistakes — it’s all going to collide.
My gut tells me I’m running out of time.
And that’s when I decide.
Tomorrow is the opening varsity basketball game.
My first chance to make a move.
My first chance to remind her exactly who the hell I am.
Not the broken version.
Not the coward she walked away from.
The king.
And if she’s the phoenix rising, then I’m about to meet her flame with fire of my own.