60. Addy
Chapter sixty
Addy
T he warmth of the morning light spills across the room, and I know it’s time. Chess is already up, moving quietly around my space with a familiarity that both surprises and comforts me. He's laying out clothes on the bed—a selection he brought over himself—and my heart gives an odd little skip at the gesture.
"Whatcha think, Addy?" His voice is light, but there’s an undercurrent of something else in it.
I rise from the bed, still feeling the ghost of his presence beside me from the night before. The options before me are more than just fabric; they're choices I've never had the luxury to make before. I run my fingers over the soft knits, the denim, the playful patterns. It's not just about wearing something new; it's about shedding an old skin.
"High-waisted jeans," I murmur, picking them up and feeling their weight. "And this one." My hands find a soft sweater, slightly cropped, and perfect for the crisp autumn air.
"Nice choice." Chess leans against the wall, arms crossed, his mischievous haircut falling into his hazel eyes as he watches me.
I can't help but squeal a little as I pull on the jeans, because they fit like they’re made for me—like they were waiting for this moment. The sweater follows, hugging me in all the right places. I slip into the flats, a final touch that makes me feel grounded. Looking in the mirror, I see myself—really see myself—and it's like meeting someone new.
"You look incredible, Addy." His words aren't just words; they're an affirmation, a truth I'm only starting to believe.
"Thank you," I say, catching his eye in the reflection. But the gratitude is short-lived, because the joy bubbling within me demands to be felt without debts.
"No," he corrects gently, stepping forward. "Thanks to you, for being brave enough to wear them."
For a moment, we're both silent, sharing something fragile and new. Then, impulsively, I reach out and grab his hand, squeezing it tight. Chess doesn't flinch or tease; he squeezes back, understanding the unspoken words between us.
"Let's do this," I say, more to myself than to him. But the way he nods tells me he's with me, every step of the way.
The engine roars to life, and the world outside becomes a blur as Chess hits the gas. The bass from the speakers vibrates through the car, wrapping around me like a second skin. I throw my head back, laughing at the sheer audacity of the volume. We're in our own bubble, hurtling towards liberty with every mile.
"Come on, Addy! Sing!" Chess shouts over the music, his voice filled with that infectious enthusiasm he always has.
I don't hesitate. My voice joins his, loud and maybe a little off-key, but it doesn't matter. It's the feeling that counts—the freedom of singing without fear, without worrying about being judged or shamed. The words come easy, a song I've known by heart but never felt until now.
"Free falling," I belt out, hands drumming against my thighs.
"Free falling," Chess echoes, grinning from ear to ear.
Every note is a declaration, an anthem for the person I am becoming. For so long, I've been a chameleon, changing colors to blend into the expectations around me. But as we sing, something shifts inside me. It's like I'm shedding layers, revealing the true hues of my spirit. And it feels fucking amazing.
As the school comes into view, Chess lowers the volume, but the echo of our voices lingers, a reminder of the small yet significant rebellion we've just shared.
"Ready?" he asks, parking the car.
"More than ever," I reply, stepping out into the fresh morning air.
Saint, Dre, and Gen are there, a trio of anticipation. Their smiles are so genuine, so full of delight when they see me, it warms me more than the sweater ever could. Gen's eyes sparkle as she rushes over, her excitement palpable.
"Look at you, girl! You're slaying that outfit!"
"Thanks, Gen," I say, my cheeks flushing with pleasure.
Before I can respond further, Saint closes the distance between us, his presence enveloping me. His arms wrap around me, lifting me off the ground, and I can't help but laugh, caught up in the whirlwind of his affection.
"Missed you," he murmurs against my hair before setting me down to kiss me, soft and sweet—a contrast to his usual tough exterior.
"Missed you too," I whisper back, my heart skipping a beat. And, I realize I mean it. This isn't just some charade to get me out of the Winthrop's house. It's becoming real.
He pulls back slightly to look at me, his dark curls framing earnest eyes. "How do you feel in your new clothes?"
"Like I can conquer the world," I admit, a smile playing at my lips.
"Good," Saint says, his voice low and approving. "That's exactly how you should always feel."
Their acceptance is a balm to all the wounds I've collected over the years. Standing here, with them, I think I might just be ready to trust; to believe in this strange, beautiful thing we're building together.
Saint's hands linger on my waist for a moment longer than necessary after the kiss, and I can feel the heat of his touch even through the fabric of my new sweater. As he finally sets me down, Dre and Chess instinctively shuffle closer, their bodies forming a protective barrier at my back. The air around us is charged with an unspoken bond, as if their presence alone could shield me from the world.
"Looking fierce, Addy," Dre says, a smirk playing on his lips, his ice blue eyes glinting with a hint of pride. He tugs a strand of my hair, his eyes dancing with promise.
Chess gives a low chuckle, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yeah, you're killing it."
Their words are simple, but they resonate deep within me. I've never felt this sense of safety before, not with anyone, let alone a group of boys who've seen the darkest parts of life. Yet here I am, flanked by their strength and sincerity, feeling like I belong.
"Thanks, guys," I reply, the smile on my face a reflection of the joy bubbling inside me.
We turn together towards the looming entrance of the school, the morning sun casting long shadows on the concrete. It's then that I feel a pair of eyes boring into me. Looking up, I catch Wesley's gaze across the courtyard. His expression is twisted in disgust, the lines of privilege and disdain etched onto his features like a permanent marker. A familiar shiver threatens to creep up my spine, but I quash it immediately.
"Let's not worry about him," Chess murmurs, noticing the silent exchange. There's a fierceness to his tone that tells me he'd stand against a thousand Wesleys if he had to.
"Who?" Dre asks nonchalantly, though I know he's seen it too.
"Wesley," I say, keeping my voice steady. "But he doesn't matter."
"Damn right," Saint adds, sliding an arm around my shoulders as we start walking forward again, our steps in sync.
"Exactly. Screw him," Dre chimes in, his shoulder brushing mine reassuringly.
We move as one entity, leaving behind whispers and judgmental stares. With each step, I can feel the shackles of my old self loosening, falling away to reveal someone new—someone strong. Surrounded by these boys who've become my protectors, my friends, my... whatever this is, I realize that I'm no longer the girl they once knew. And as Wesley's contemptuous gaze fades behind us, so does the power it once held over me.
"Ready for the day?" Chess asks, his voice light, pulling me back to the present.
"More ready than ever," I respond, and I mean it. Here with Saint, Dre, and Chess, I have found an unexpected sanctuary. Together, we step through the doors of the school.
The whispers snake through the halls like a chilling breeze, but they can't touch me—not anymore. I'm ensconced in an aura of newfound confidence, the soft fabric of my sweater a shield against the judgement.
"Addy, what the hell are you wearing?" The question comes sharp from Sera, her perfectly plucked brows arching in disdain.
"Something comfortable," I reply, and my own voice surprises me with its even tenor.
"Since when do you dress like—" Penelope begins, but I don't need to hear the end of that sentence.
"Like myself?" I finish for her, and a smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. "Since today."
They share a look that's a mix of confusion and revulsion, as if I've sprouted a second head right before their eyes. It's almost comical, the way they reel from this break in their expectations.
"Whatever," Sera huffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Let's go, Pen."
They leave without another word, their backs rigid with offense. As they walk away, something inside me swells—a realization, bright and fierce. They're not my friends, not really. Friends don't condition their affection on compliance.
I let out a slow breath, feeling the last vestiges of a life lived pleasing others dissipate. I've allowed myself so little, confined my world to such a narrow space. But no more. From now on, I choose. I choose who I am, what I wear, who I love.
And it hits me like a sunrise after the longest night—I'm ready to trust them. Chess, Dre, Saint, and even Gen, they've shown me nothing but acceptance. Wesley's scornful glare in the hallway, the cold shoulders of the girls I used to call friends—it's all background noise now.
"Hey, Addy, you good?" A concerned voice slices through the remnants of my epiphany.
I turn and see Chess leaning against the doorframe, his eyes searching mine for distress. For once, I can look back at him and smile, not out of obligation, but because there's real joy bubbling up inside me.
"Better than good," I assure him, and the truth rings clear in my words.