Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Dustin
I sit across from Halsey at the small, round table in the corner of her apartment, a takeout container of noodles in front of me, untouched.
The aroma of soy sauce and sesame oil fills the air, mingling with the soft, sweet scent of vanilla from one of the candles flickering on the counter.
Neither of us seems particularly interested in eating.
She’s poking at her food with her chopsticks, just like I am, as if the act of eating has become too much effort.
The silence between us stretches on, heavy but not uncomfortable.
It’s the kind of quiet that speaks louder than words, like both of us are carrying too much inside, but neither of us knows where to begin.
I steal a glance at her, catching the way the dim light from the candle reflects in her hair, the soft shadows it casts across her face.
Even in this dim light, I can see the tension there—the slight furrow of her brow, the way her lips press together as she stirs her noodles without taking a bite.
“What are you thinking?” My voice barely above a whisper, like I’m afraid to shatter the fragile peace between us.
She doesn’t look up immediately, her chopsticks still as she considers her answer.
Finally, she speaks, her voice soft but filled with something sharp underneath.
“I don’t understand. You knew where I was all this time.
You never reached out. But the second you think someone kept me from you, it pisses you off? ”
I scoff, pissing me off doesn’t describe how I feel about knowing that she needed us and we weren’t there for her because someone in our team decided to block her.
Tomorrow I’m calling Gavin and I’ll find out who it was.
They’ll pay for not giving me the message.
So sure, let’s say I’m upset and not ready to cut somebody’s throat, or worse.
I shrug slightly and ask, “Did I ever mention you’re better off without us?”
Her eyes snap up to meet mine, and the look on her face cuts deep.
“That wasn’t your decision to make,” she says, her tone firm, the hurt behind it unmistakable.
“You’re no different than my parents. They thought they knew what was best for me too.
Thought they knew what was right, like I couldn’t decide for myself.
How could I be letting two boys touch me?
” She pauses, her voice lowering with a mix of anger and something more vulnerable.
“They judged me for it. For everything they thought we could’ve done during our sleepovers. ”
My lips twitch, trying to ease the tension with a smirk. “We did some pretty hot stuff . . . not just during our sleepovers. Though, there’s still more we never quite got to accomplish.”
Her cheeks flush instantly, and for a moment, it’s like we’ve been pulled back in time.
That familiar blush, the way her eyes flicker with something shy and uncertain—it’s like a glimpse of the girl I used to know.
The one who would turn red at the slightest tease, even though we both knew she liked it.
She was never afraid to explore, to let us touch her, to ask for more and push the boundaries. She liked the thrill of it, the way we made her feel. And here she is, still the same in some ways, even though the years have changed us all.
Her glare sharpens, but there’s a flicker of playfulness beneath it. “Don’t,” she warns, her voice a little too serious for the situation, though the corners of her mouth twitch, like she’s fighting a smile.
For a moment, it feels like we’re suspended between the past and present—caught in this tug-of-war between who we used to be and who we are now. The tension is both familiar and new, a bittersweet reminder of what we once had . . . and what could’ve been.
“Come on,” I tease, leaning back in my chair, my smirk widening. “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. About us . . . about everything we were. And what we could be as we grew up.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the way her blush deepens, the irritation on her face barely masking the warmth that lingers in her expression. “I’ve thought about a lot of things,” she admits, her voice softer now. “But that’s not the point.”
“No?” I challenge, hoping to ease the tension with a bit of humor, but the look she gives me stops me cold.
It’s not just frustration—it’s sadness, regret, something deeper than I was expecting. And I realize this conversation isn’t just about teasing, or memories of old times. It’s about the years we lost. The choices I made.
“It’s not,” she repeats, her tone firmer.
“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me.
Not then, and not now. The moment you could’ve reached out, the moment you knew where I was…
you should have.” Her gaze hardens, and for the first time in years, I see the hurt. And it’s more than I ever realized.
I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair, frustration and guilt swirling together. “I thought I was doing you a favor, Hals. I thought keeping my distance was what you needed.”
“Well, you were wrong,” she snaps, but her voice wavers, the emotion in it making it tremble. “You don’t get to make that choice for me. I needed you, Dustin. Where were you when I needed someone to take care of me?”
Her words hang in the air, and they hit harder than I expected. I hadn’t meant to hurt her—never did. But I did. And now I can’t take it back.
Silence stretches between us, heavy with everything we’ve never said. I want to respond, but the words get tangled up in my throat.
“I did try to take care of you,” I mumble, the words weak even as I say them. They’re not enough.
“Really? How?” she shoots back, crossing her arms, her eyes searching mine for answers I don’t know how to give.
“With all my ridiculous plans, my so-called cockamamie schemes—as Gavin calls them,” I reply, a bit of defensiveness creeping into my voice. “Who paid for your full ride when your parents refused to cover your tuition? Who made sure you had everything you needed? How do you think you got to—”
“You . . . you were behind all those last-minute scholarships, grants, and internships that kept landing in my lap?” she interrupts, her eyes widen, and she cuts me off, realization dawning on her.
I shrug, trying to play it cool, but there’s a knot forming in my throat. “Someone had to make your dreams come true, baby.”
Her eyes soften, but the hurt doesn’t fully leave them. “I would’ve rather been with you than chasing those dreams. You’re more important than anything else.”
She looks down at the table, her shoulders slumping slightly, the fight draining out of her. “I could’ve made my own decisions. You should’ve let me.”
I swallow hard, forcing the words out. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, knowing it’s not enough.
“I get it, you know,” she says quietly, her voice full of sadness. “We didn’t choose this. They made us . . . they separated us. I’m upset at them, but not at you.”
Her words cut deeper than anything else could.
She’s letting me off the hook, and somehow, that makes it worse.
“You’re just giving me pity because you see how messed up I am,” I say, the bitterness slipping through as I meet her gaze.
“You’re looking at me like I’m some poor guy who’s lost everything. ”
Her brow furrows, and she shakes her head softly, her eyes full of emotion.
“It’s not pity, Dusty. My heart breaks for you.
I see what’s happened to you, to us. But don’t you get it?
I never needed you to be perfect. I just wanted you.
Just you, as you were. I didn’t care about the money or the scholarships—I wanted you. I needed you.”
Her words hit me harder than anything else.
The truth in them digs deep, and I can’t hold her gaze anymore.
I look away, jaw clenched, the frustration boiling up inside.
“I didn’t know how to let you in,” I admit, my voice rough, raw.
“I didn’t know how to reach out back then.
I’m trying to stay sane. Trying to stay clean. It’s too fucking hard.”
“You don’t have to do it alone,” she says, her voice soft but steady. “Where’s your support system?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. What support system? There isn’t one.
She shakes her head like she’s already figured it out. “San and I should’ve been there for you. You’ve got to stop thinking you’re beyond saving. You’re not broken, Dustin. You’re just . . . lost. And I’m here. I’ve always been here, even when we were apart.”
Her hand moves across the table and rests on mine. Her touch is light, comforting, and for just a moment, the storm inside my head calms. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m a mess—a mess she doesn’t deserve to deal with.
“I’m trying,” I mutter. “I’m trying, but it never feels like enough.”
“You don’t have to do it alone.” Her fingers curl around mine, reassuring me in a way I haven’t felt in years. “This time, we’ll figure it out together.”
I want to argue, to tell her it’s always been about us—what we could’ve been, what we lost—but the words get stuck in my throat.
“Okay,” I finally say, my gaze dropping to the food in front of me.
The noodles blur as I drift back to the memories—the day she left, the day everything shattered.
“I . . . I’ve never known how to ask for help.
I was always an inconvenience to my parents.
And my grandparents . . . they didn’t know what to do with me.
It was easier to just . . . ignore the bad stuff. ”
Her eyes soften, but she doesn’t speak right away. Instead, she reaches for a dumpling, moving slowly, as if weighing each word before speaking.
“I thought about you, you know?” I say quietly, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “All the time. But I . . . I couldn’t.”
Halsey picks up her chopsticks again, and I follow her lead.
“I get it,” she says gently as she moves her noodles around the box.
“You’ve always been the one to give, never to take.
You hate taking up space, hate being a burden.
But you’re not. Therapy can help you realize that.
We’ll find someone who can remind your inner child that it’s okay to take up space.
That he’s loved. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll get to know each other again. Fall back in love, if it’s possible.”
Her words hang in the air, but they cut deep. “Is this your way of telling me you don’t love me anymore?” I ask, hating how vulnerable I sound.
She gives me a sad, half-smile. “I’ll always love you, Dusty. But I’m not in love with you. How could I be when I don’t even know who you are now?”
Her honesty stings, but it’s a truth I can’t argue with. She’s right. How could she love me when I barely recognize myself?
But then she glances up at me, and for a split second, I see it. That spark. That connection. It’s still there, buried beneath the years and the hurt and the distance. And maybe—just maybe—it’s not too late to find our way back.