Chapter 29 #2
But chaos is what I come from. And it’s knocking on the back door with a familiar smile and blood on its hands.
I take one last drag of the joint, then crush it against the bottom of my boot.
“Thanks for the update,” I say, voice flat. “You can go now.”
But Z doesn’t move.
And neither do I.
Z reaches forward and brushes hair from my face like I’m still that trembling girl sneaking into his room during thunderstorms. His fingers are rough, but the touch is gentle—so gentle it makes my chest ache.
“People don’t change, baby,” he murmurs. “It was always me and you.”
I step back like his hand burns. Because it kind of does. “Z, don’t ruin it.”
Because this isn’t just a moment. It’s a fork in the goddamn road. One path loops back to everything I used to be—anger and constant survival mode. The other leads to something… I don’t know… softer. Riskier. Like family dinners and locked eye contact.
His jaw ticks. “Ruin what?”
The words hang between us like smoke. Heavy with history.
“This,” I say quietly. “Us. We’re better as friends. That’s how it needs to be.”
His face shifts. Something darker flickers behind his eyes. “Why? ’Cause you found someone else?” He gestures at Helen’s curated garden like it personally offended him. “Captain America and his suburban dream house?”
The way he says it makes me want to laugh. Or scream. Because underneath the venom, there’s truth.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I bristle.
“Oh, come on. Even him being on a pretend date is killing you.” Z’s voice is all quiet knives. “You think I can’t see it?”
I flinch. Because he can see it. Of course, he can.
I roll my eyes, scrambling for my sarcasm.
“Stepsister is the number one search term on Pornhub. He’s just a perv. He doesn’t know you like I do.”
“Gross.” I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t need to know your porn stats, thanks.”
I go to smack him, a knee-jerk move I’ve been doing since we were kids. But he catches my hand and presses it against his chest, right over his heart. I feel the steady thud of it beneath my palm—and it’s racing quick and dangerously.
“Just tell me,” he says, voice low, “that it’s still you and me against the world.”
The words hit like a knife in the center of my chest.
Because it was just us. Always. Two dirty kids playing house in the dark, teaching each other how to survive when the adults gave up. He knows which lies get you out of trouble, which windows never lock, and which ribs to avoid when you hug someone covered in bruises.
He’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to family.
But looking at him now—raw and desperate and trying so hard to rewind the clock—I see it for what it is.
Not safety. Not love.
I think… I think maybe it’s a trap shaped like loyalty.
Still, I don’t know how to hurt him. He was there when everyone else let me down. So I nod, the lie like broken glass in my throat. “Of course it is.”
And maybe it used to be. Maybe it still is, in some way that matters.
But I’m not that girl anymore.
Or maybe I’m just trying not to be.
I don’t know. It feels like I don’t know anything most of the time.
All I know is that the truth—the real truth—is pushing at the edges of me like a scream. So I add, quietly, “But we’re gonna grow up someday, Z. People do change. Maybe not Silas. But… things… change. I’ll change.”
I don’t know if I’m trying to convince him or myself.
Because after graduation, Caleb will be gone.
Off to Harvard or Yale or wherever golden boys go to chase their destinies.
I know him saying he’ll take me with him is a pipedream.
I’ll just be a story he tells someone someday.
That one time he slept with the wrong girl.
His stepsister. All the other guys in his frat will laugh and clink red cups with him and slap him on the back.
I’ll be a fucking punchline in a story that ends in a picket fence with someone else.
“I won’t change,” Z says, squeezing my hand like a promise and a threat. “I’ll always be the same Z. Now and forever. You know that, right? No matter what happens.”
And maybe that’s the scariest part.
Because maybe he will always be the same. And maybe… oh god, maybe I will, too. Just like my mom, after all.
“Hey, guys.”
Caleb’s voice cuts through the dark like a thunderclap.
I leap back like I’ve been electrocuted, ripping my hand from Z’s grip. My heart slams against my ribs in panic.
Caleb stands at the edge of the porch, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
Even in the dark, I can see the rigid set of his shoulders. The way he’s standing perfectly still—too still. Like a spring wound so tight it’s about to snap.
His face is blank. But his eyes…
His eyes—There’s fire behind them. Not jealousy. Not yet.
But there’s clearly possession.
My stomach twists.
“You’re home early,” I say, and I hate how guilty I sound.
He doesn’t blink. “It’s ten-thirty-four.”
His voice is controlled. Too controlled. The way it gets when he’s working really hard to keep something in.
I’ve learned to hear what he’s not saying.
“Oh.” I fumble my phone just to confirm it. As if he’d lie. Caleb doesn’t lie. He doesn’t have to. He does things by the book, always. Him and his goddamn rules.
Unlike me.
Z smirks and throws an arm over my shoulder like this is all a joke. “Time flies when you’ve got good company.”
Z is doing this on purpose, pulling me against his chest, all casual and cocky. Marking territory that was never his to begin with.
I snarl under my breath and duck out from under Z’s arm, glaring at him like he just pissed on my shoes.
“What the hell, Z?”
But he just smiles like he’s already won.
And Caleb…
Caleb hasn’t moved. But something about the stillness is different now. Sharper. Like every muscle in his body is locked down to keep from doing something he’ll regret.
His eyes don’t leave the spot where Z’s arm just was.
“I’d say get a room,” Caleb says, voice low and razor-sharp, “but I don’t think Mom would approve of you two fucking in the basement.”
“Caleb!” I snap, stunned.
What the actual fuck?
That’s not him. Caleb doesn’t say shit like that. He doesn’t get crude. Or territorial. Or cruel.
But standing there in the soft spill of light from the kitchen windows, his face shadowed and jaw clenched, he looks… different. Unbuttoned. Unleashed. Like maybe the Golden Retriever has teeth after all.
Too bad Z’s always been a Doberman.
Z just laughs, slow and mean, like he lives for this kind of chaos. “Happy to test out that theory.”
I almost scream.
“Fuck both of you,” I growl, storming up the back steps and yanking the sliding door shut with enough force to make the glass rattle.