Chapter 13
Tate
I’m already two rounds deep before I start paying attention to the names I’m crushing. Headshot. Knife. Grenade down the vent shaft.
NoOneGhost [AR] xXDomDaddyXx
I don’t smile. I don’t celebrate. I’m not here to climb. I’m here because he’s here.
His name’s been bouncing around in my head since Haven went quiet after her match.
It was the way she said “GG” after the match, tight, like it scraped coming out of her throat.
The kind of tone she used when she was pretending not to feel something.
I’d know. I’ve used that tone my whole life.
Fuck that, she won’t break. Not if I have anything to say about it.
I plant a claymore at the corner of a blown-out stairwell and circle around the edge of the map. My heart isn’t even up yet. I’m not hyped. I’m steady, focused. There’s a message pinging in my ear. I try to ignore it, another ping. I glance at chat.
milxx: Didn’t she fuck both those streamers? Lmao figures.
XtraClout69: Classic—ride the d, climb the rank.
XtraClout69: Ghost gonna simp next?
I freeze for a moment before I smile and turn my mic on. “Say it again.” I toggle to the asshole’s handle. Memorize it. “@XtraClout69, You got a lot to say for someone with a 1.3 KD and a default skin.”
Carter wouldn’t go this far. Haven wouldn’t let him, but I’m not Carter. And Haven isn’t fucking here right now.
“She doesn’t owe you shit,” I add, “Not her time. Not her rank. Not her body.”
I toggle off voice. Leave the mic hot just long enough to sigh then blow another player out of the top tower with a perfectly-timed grenade.
NoOneGhost [Grenade] SpawnCamper99
I clean out the map with clinical precision no chaos, no flair.
Just methodical kills, each one smoother than the last. I don’t talk, I don’t smile, my kill count climbs.
I top the bracket. When the match ends, I open the chat one last time.
Haven’s still offline. Carter’s probably checking in on her.
I lean forward, click into her chat, and type just one thing.
NoOneGhost: He’s not gonna touch you again. Promise.
Then I log off. I pull off my headset, roll my neck, crack my knuckles. The silence that fills the room afterward is sharp in contrast, almost jarring.
It always is, but right now that kind of focus, that level of control it’s costing me the calm I never really had to begin with. That’s the thing about control, it always costs something.
Now that the match is over, my hands won’t stop shaking. My jaw’s tight. My ribs feel like they’re laced with barbed wire. Because I didn’t do it for rank, or pride. I did it for her.
So I stand before I explode. Walk down the hall, push Haven’s bedroom door open without knocking.
Carter is sprawled out at the foot of her bed with his laptop, and Haven in her chair, twisting a pen between her fingers, eyes flicking over the bracket list again like she’s still trying to process what the fuck just happened.
She looks up when I step inside. “You crushed it.”
I lean against the doorway. “So did you.”
Carter glances up from the bed, stretching. “That move you pulled in the stairwell was filthy.”
I shrug. “He was camping. It was earned.”
Haven snorts and closes the tab on her monitor. “I need a shower after that match. My whole body feels wired.”
Carter grins. “Same. I want one next.”
“Then just go with her.”
Carter freezes before Haven does.
I cross my arms. “What? I’ll shower after. You two go steam off or whatever the fuck. I’m claiming the couch and ten minutes of not hearing gunfire in my ears.”
Carter glances at Haven, then back at me. “You sure?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t make it weird, golden boy. I’ll be fine.”
Haven bites her lip to hide a smile. “You’re unbelievable.”
I wink. “You love it.”
She gets up, tugging Carter with her by the hand. He follows like he’s helpless to do anything else. When they disappear into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind them, I exhale and roll my shoulders.
I pace the length of her living room. I stop at her shelf, run my hand along the row of games and collectibles, fingertips brushing over every glossy box spine and limited edition badge.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the pocketknife I forgot was there one of the smaller ones I keep for travel.
Flip it open. Close it again, just once.
The blade’s not sharp enough to break skin but it doesn’t need to be.
Just the weight of it, the sound it makes.
The memory. One day, I’ll press it against her thigh.
Just to feel her still beneath me, to hear her breath catch.
Not to scare her. I do that just fine with my teeth.
I don’t care how deep she’s cut into me.
The couch creaks as I sink into it. For now, I don’t need to be on guard. I close my eyes.
But not for long before the bathroom door opens with a burst of steam.
Carter walks out first, hair damp, a little flushed, hoodie sleeves pushed up as he tugs at the collar like he still hasn’t cooled off. Haven trails behind him, wrapped in one of her oversized towels, skin dewy and legs bare.
I glance up from the couch, legs kicked out, one hand resting on my stomach.
“Bout time,” I chuckle. “Thought I was gonna have to send a search party.”
Haven smirks. “Would’ve been the most chaotic rescue attempt of all time.”
Carter runs a hand through his hair. “Your turn. We left you some hot water.”
“Generous,” I deadpan, pushing to my feet. “You two didn’t fog the mirrors into another dimension?”
Carter rolls his eyes. Haven just grins.
I walk past them, then pause at the hallway with a glance over my shoulder. “I’m crashing on the couch, by the way.”
Haven raises a brow. “Still not ready to sleep in the same bed as your brother?”
Carter chokes on his water.
I shrug. “Not unless you wanna hold hands.”
Carter flips me off. Haven outright laughs, her towel slipping slightly off one shoulder.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she teases.
I point at her as I back toward the bathroom. “This mouth is gonna get you in trouble.”
“Already has.”
I shut the door behind me, but I’m still smiling when I step under the water.
The couch is too fucking quiet.
Not in a peaceful way. Not in a sleepy, post-shower, way.
No. It’s that hollow kind of quiet, but the kind that hums at the base of your spine and makes your skin too aware of the space around it.
The kind that creeps into your chest like fog and makes everything ache a little sharper than it should.
I’m on my back, one arm thrown across my eyes, blanket tangled around my legs like a half-assed shield. The room’s still warm from the steam drifting out of the hallway. I can hear Carter’s voice through the cracked bedroom door followed by Haven’s laugh.
I could get up. I could knock on the door. I could make a stupid joke, but I don’t. I stay here, still and silent, pretending I’m already asleep. I almost convince myself I am, until I hear the faintest creak of the floor.
She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t announce herself, just moves with that barefoot-soft grace I’ve memorized. She’s always trying not to disturb the room, even when she is the room. She stops at the couch.
My pulse stutters, I keep my breathing even. My eyes closed.
Then her hand, so gentle I almost doubt it’s real sinks into my hair.
Just her fingertips at first, combing once through the front, then back again.
It’s not rhythmic, not calculated. It’s just honest, the kind of touch that asks for nothing, that gives without a single demand in return.
I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing it.
But it unravels me. Slowly, quietly and painfully.
I’ve never been handled like this before.
Like I’m not dangerous. Like I’m not made of sharp edges and bad decisions.
Her touch lingers. Trails down until her palm rests briefly against the side of my face.
That’s what breaks me. Not loud, or visible.
But deep, a fault line in the center of my ribs that finally splits.
I speak before I can stop myself. “You’re the only thing I don’t want to lose.”
My voice barely clears my throat. Rough, it’s been clawing to get out for days and only just found the air to do it.
She freezes. I feel it—the way her breath catches. The way her hand stiffens, then curls softly in my hair again.
I don’t open my eyes. I don’t move. If I look at her now, I’ll fucking crumble. And the truth is, I’ve been holding my shit together with duct tape and spite for years. For her, I’m trying to be something better. But this? This moment right here? It strips me to bone.
She leans down, slow and careful, like she’s afraid I’ll pull away if she moves too fast.
Then I feel her lips soft and warm press against my temple. She stays there. She doesn’t say anything or push. Doesn’t ask for more than I can give.
She just… rests there. Her forehead against mine. Her hand in my hair, her other arm sliding gently over my chest like she can feel my heart trying to punch its way out.
Something inside me, something loud and scared and unrelenting goes quiet for the first time in years.
I don’t say another word. For the first time since I was old enough to understand what survival meant I feel safe.