READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE END. THANK YOU

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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

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2021

          I was wide awake then.

          Though I hadn't slept much, both thanks to the weather and to a hyperactive brain, the thought of going back to sleep didn't even cross my mind. It wasn't the first time he called me this late—I didn't like to be treated as a booty call, but I still knew we had to take every opportunity we could find—but he could usually speak in full sentences. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen him drink himself to oblivion, to the point of barely being able to say something coherent, and nauseating dread crept up my chest, lodged in the hollow of my throat.

          "Are you okay?" I asked, pushing away my covers and blankets. When my foot landed on the floor, I recoiled with the sudden change in temperature, even though I was wearing supposedly warm socks. "Did something happen?"

          "I'm fine," he slurred, like the type of person who wasn't fine at all. It wasn't nearly as bad as it could be and I could still understand what he was blabbering, but there still was no reason to leave him on his own while assuming he could handle it. I couldn't put my phone on speaker while I put on a warmer hoodie on top of my sweater, so I had to hold it against my ear with my shoulder, which made the task of getting dressed far harder than it needed to be. "I'm okay. I just can't drive. This city is so goddamn bright. I can't stand it."

          I was the one out of the two of us who was willing to drive under the influence. I was still at his beck and call, after all, and I'd driven to and from his apartment after drinking countless times, but I trusted him not to be that irresponsible. Unlike me, he had other places to be, other places to seek refuge, whereas I only had him, and had to run away from everyone, including my parents, just to find that safe space.

          I was already wearing a pair of cotton leggings—not the warmest piece of clothing out there, so it was no surprise I was shaking from the cold—and only needed to put on a pair of shoes, maybe wrap a scarf around my neck, but that wasn't even the hardest thing I had to do before leaving.

          I still had to get past Ingrid and Savannah.

          Knowing them as I did, they were most likely still awake somewhere, if they were even in the house. Lying to them was particularly exhausting, more than when it came to my parents, as these were the two people I was far more likely to see every day and, therefore, be forced to lie to every single time I had to do something related to Chase. I was almost certain none of my excuses were sticking anymore and I'd attracted too much negative attention to myself and my sneakiness, but I found slight relief in the belief that they didn't know exactly what I was hiding from them. Those moments belonged to me and him, existing in our own little private bubble, and I was determined to keep things that way.

          "Can you message me your location?" I asked, rummaging through my bag in search of my car keys. I wasn't fully sober by that point either, my lousy dinner having done little to calm the tornado in my stomach, and I was still lightheaded, but believed I was fit enough to drive if I drank some water. "Can you get some water while you wait? Try to stay hydrated?"

          "I am hydrated." A sloshing sound came from his side of the line, but the way my heart sank told me it wasn't water that was entering his system, a clear indicator I needed to hurry up. "I probably shouldn't. I can't text you. I can't talk to you."

          "I'm not leaving you."

          "You should."

          I didn't have the time or the energy to argue with him, especially when he'd had so much to drink, but part of me felt the need to keep him talking. As long as he was talking, I'd know he was somewhat safe, still conscious, and I'd get to pat myself on the back for not being too late. It kept him busy enough not to reach out for a bottle or to do something stupid like grabbing his car keys and driving himself home without waiting for me, but I didn't want to risk his voice being heard by Ingrid or Savannah. Savannah in particular would recognize his voice after three years, even over the phone, and I couldn't forget the venom in Ingrid's words about him from earlier that day.

          She didn't like him. Fine. I'd much rather know she didn't like him while being off my back than stressing out over her getting close to him, but, right now, I couldn't seem to get her to back off and stay out of my personal life, be it the parts that involved him or the minority that didn't.

          "Please tell me where you are," I insisted. The pleading tone twisting my voice didn't go by unnoticed. "I'll drive as fast as I can."

          "Like that changes anything." I heard the bottle again. The shattering sound echoing in my ears was that of my heart, not from whatever he was drinking. When he huffed, I clenched my keys inside my hand, tucked between my fingers, suddenly aware I didn't enjoy going out by myself in the dead of night. It left me in a much more vulnerable situation than I was comfortable with, and Chase couldn't come to my rescue this time. "Forget I called. Do that, yeah?"

          "Text me the address. I'll come pick you up."

          He sighed. "Fine."

          I hated that he was making it so difficult for me to do what he'd originally asked me to, but I didn't have the courage to voice it, fearing it could easily trigger him into picking up the bottle once more. If he did so, I wouldn't be the one picking him up, and his ultimate destination wouldn't be his apartment. I hadn't ever needed to get my stomach pumped, but Ingrid had, once during sophomore year, and she'd told me it was the worst thing to have ever happened to her.

          My phone pinged with a notification, bringing me a momentary sense of relief when I realized he hadn't bothered to try and spell out the address, instead sending me the exact location. I loaded it on my Maps app before deleting the message, then realized he hadn't ever hung up the call.

          "I love you," I muttered.

          He scoffed. "Please."

          The line went silent.

          I opened my door, exhaling through my mouth, and refusing to shed one single tear over the stuff that came out of his whenever he had too much to drink. I knew I couldn't take it personally—he certainly didn't when I was the one too intoxicated to blurt out a coherent thought—but maybe it made me an embarrassingly needy person to feel so hurt by that exchange. I wouldn't beg him to say it back, as I'd be sinking far too low, even for myself, and all his past comments about despising desperate people rippled in my brain.

          I would not become what he hated. I would not become his living nightmare. I was stronger than that, better than that, and refused to fall prey to these stupid emotions brought up by the smallest things. I cared far too much, I knew that, but it was a burden I'd carried with me for as long as I could remember. Even when I'd tried to portray myself like Ingrid, aloof and unbothered, I was constantly plagued by the reminder that I wasn't that great at pretending. Deep down, I was boiling from the inside out.

          I was already standing by the front door by the time something happened. In the hallway behind me, a door creaked open and I instantly stiffened, not in the mood to explain what I was doing to either of them. With a huff, I looked back over my shoulder, but the flash of hair I saw down the hall wasn't the platinum I expected.

          "Are you going out?" Savannah asked. Like Chase's, her voice dragged on, but I attributed that to her having just woken up. "It's so late. It's super dark out."

          "I'm going for a drive." I raised my car keys, the metal glistening under the faint cast of moonlight. My keychain—or, better put, everything I attached to my keys so I could fidget with something whenever I felt particularly anxious—clinked together. "I need to clear my head for a bit."

          Savannah stepped out into the hallway, arms crossed. Her braids were twisted into a bun on the top of her head, a hairstyle I hadn't seen her wear in a while, and one of the sleeves of her sweater was slipping down her shoulder. "Do you want me to come with you? I really don't like you going out by yourself this late. It's dangerous."

          I knew this was her version of an olive branch, an apology without ever uttering the words 'I'm sorry'. Under different circumstances, if I weren't in such a desperate need to bolt out of the apartment and get to Chase, I would have gladly accepted it, as it was far better to stay on her good side and I felt bad for having been so mean. However, these were the conditions we had to work under, and I couldn't possibly break down and let her join me.

          "I'll be okay."

          "Penn . . ."

          I recoiled. She'd said Penn, not Penny, like she usually did, and I didn't want to think about the implications of that change.

          "Go back to bed. I'll be back in no time."

          She opened her mouth again, as though there was something else she wanted to tell me, and I even lingered by the door just in case, but she ultimately said nothing. I doubted things between us would ever go back to how they used to be, too maimed by all that had happened, everything I'd said, and I knew she would never forgive me if she found out why she wasn't chosen to be one of the Steele 5.

          With the heaviest heart I'd ever had the burden to carry, I turned my back on my best friend and disappeared into the night.

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          Chase was at the speakeasy where we first met.

          Usually, I'd be over the moon about finding him there, believing he had chosen that place because it meant something to us and he was signaling to me, but the realistic part of my mind reminded me he had probably gone there several times before I even dared to set foot in that place. His life didn't revolve around me, unlike the other way around, an embarrassing fact I was repeatedly reminded of.

          I could see straight now and was more than able to drive adequately, but my stomach was still frail and queasy. My car was freezing after having been parked outside for hours and my teeth were chattering, even with the heating turned up, and the campus was so dark late at night, drowning in fog, I could barely see a thing ahead of me. Once I turned into the city, I finally understood Chase's point.

          The stupid city was too goddamn bright.

          It blinded me for a moment and I covered my eyes with my left hand, a terrible decision to make—my mother had always told me to keep both hands on the steering wheel—but, once my eyes got used to the sudden change in light and scenario, I embraced the familiarity of a city too big to ever care about me.

          The lights were sparkling in the distance now, twinkling stars above me, and the streets were surprisingly busy, with some food carts still open for business (my stomach audibly growled when the smell of hot bagels hit me, and I was just glad to be alone). I drove past buildings and brick walls, feeling as though I'd seen a particular one at least three times during this trip, and I kept wondering if I was driving in circles.

          I had a hard time finding a parking spot, as most of them were already occupied, and I didn't want to waste time with petty things such as walking to and from the speakeasy when I didn't know how much time I currently had. When I finally managed to stop the car, the time on the dashboard read it was already past one, so I rushed outside.

          The cold air of the city bit into my skin, even when I tucked my mouth and chin behind my scarf, and I mentally cursed my legs for not walking fast enough. I knew those streets like the back of my hand, but the gnawing fear of getting lost, of having something happen to me, and a long time had passed since the last time I felt the slightest bit comfortable walking around by myself after dark. Even after the intensive therapy I'd been involved with a few years ago, even though I was doing much better now, some things never fully went away; it came with being a woman.

          The only moment when I finally allowed myself to breathe, to occupy some space, was when I laid eyes on Chase, sitting on the sidewalk. He was by himself, nursing a nearly empty bottle of whiskey, out of all things, and my calves were about to combust from exhaustion, but I got there in time. With half of my face hidden behind my scarf and baggy clothes masking my body, I hoped no one would be able to recognize me like this, no one but him.

          When he looked up at me, crestfallen, all I wanted to do was hold him in my arms, provide the little comfort I was able to, but I couldn't even do that. He was wearing contacts—though I couldn't tell whether the redness and puffiness of his eyes was thanks to them or to something else entirely—and his hair was completely disheveled, a chaotic change from the way he usually presented himself, calm and collected. His bottom lip trembled when he locked eyes with me and I crouched in front of him, just so I could keep my voice low.

          "We have to walk for a bit," I told him, trying to take the bottle, but he was far stronger than I was, even while intoxicated. "I couldn't find a good parking spot, but my car is nearby. Can you walk?"

          "Leave me alone," he groaned, leaning away from me. I lightly touched his arm, a more daring gesture than I'd ever dared to make in public since that first night, and he didn't even shove my hand away like I'd expected him to. "Go away. I can't be seen with you."

          "I'm driving you home. You asked me to come pick you up."

          "Well, I changed my mind." He hiccupped, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and I, once more, tugged at his arm. He deflated ever so slightly, his shoulder relaxing against my chest, and my free hand slid under his jacket, pressed against his spine to help him up. "Stop it."

          "Chase—"

          His eyes, so bright and icy, even in the darkness of the night, even with the light coming from behind him, flashed with red-hot fury. "This is all your fault."

          I fell back on the pavement. No one could ever hurt me quite like he could and, when he wanted to, he could hit hard without even raising a hand, but I needed to remember this was the alcohol talking.

          My whole body hardened, but I still didn't let him go. I wasn't going to leave him out here in the cold, not like this, even though my brain easily went into overdrive to replay everything I'd done lately that could justify being blamed for the current situation. Our conversation regarding my grade hadn't been nearly as catastrophic as it could have been, and I wanted to convince myself I'd behaved like an adult then. Everything else that had followed was my fault—fighting with Ingrid, daring to even listen to a word Sarah said—but the confusion remained.

          I knew he was supposed to meet with my father today, but I didn't imagine my father, out of all people, would come all the way here. He knew better places, much fancier and more secluded, especially when they were meant to keep things under wraps—the manor was a clear first choice. For him to be here by himself, something must have happened during their meeting, though I failed to see how it had been my fault when I'd only heard about it today. Even while replaying everything I'd said, everything I'd done, I couldn't understand.

          "Come on," I whispered, my voice coming out a lot shakier than I wished.

          This time, he didn't fight back and we successfully rose from the sidewalk. He almost fell forward when we stepped forward, with me struggling to hold both of our weights and the cold wind piercing into my skin like a million needles, but we kept going. I found myself wondering if this was how I looked whenever I had too much to drink and had to be carried to places, but that thought made the memories of the night of the frat party return like a punch to the gut.

          Chase was barely conscious at that point, but he could still move, his body warm when it pressed against mine, whereas I had been cold, unconscious, and carried to a stranger's bedroom against my will. In spite of his protests, Chase had let me help him, had asked me to give him a ride, and I hadn't done anything he hadn't asked me to do or that wasn't for his own good . . . or so I thought. The lines had gotten blurred in different, smaller situations, and my guilt wracked me more and more with each heartbeat, tight around my throat.

          I helped him sit on the passenger's seat, buckled the seatbelt, and returned to the driver's side, taking one last deep breath before lowering my hood. I'd had the presence of mind to remember to get some water earlier, and handed it to him in exchange for the bottle he'd been carrying, now that he wasn't as eager to fight with me. The damage had already been done, however, and I had to swallow a stubborn sob as I restarted the car engine, refusing to keep dwelling on what had happened.

          He'd never understand how badly it hurt when he said those things to me, and I'd never find the courage to be honest. There was a thin line between being honest and being cruelly blunt, and I prayed he'd never hurt the way I did in a situation even remotely similar to this. I stayed silent, keeping an eye on him whenever I could, but he didn't try to push the topic or start another conversation, either; I knew he was alive and awake, thankfully, and watched him occasionally sip from the water bottle.

          The smell of alcohol inside the car was intoxicating, but I didn't dare to open a window, both because of the cold and because I didn't want to risk having someone glance our way and recognize us. It made me drive faster, a dangerous thing for someone like me to do, but I couldn't bear to sit in there one minute longer.

          I walked him to his apartment building, to the elevator, and even to his front door. I opened the door for him, yanking the keys out of his fumbling hands when he failed to do it himself, and was aghast at how one of the few places I'd ever been able to call home was suddenly so suffocating. The walls closed around me, like a bird in a golden cage, and I was so desperate to get out and return to my own apartment that I didn't even have time to think about how selfish that was.

          "Will you be okay?" I asked him, standing by the entrance to his bedroom. He nodded, peeling off his sweater, and I tried my hardest not to stare, for it would be incredibly inappropriate. "I should get going, then. I'll text you in the morning."

          He turned to face me. "Can you stay?"

          I shrunk, arms pressed against my chest. "I told Sav I'd come back. She thinks I only went out for a quick drive." Something—I couldn't tell what exactly—flashed across his eyes. "I didn't tell her where I was going, but she expects me to come back. Besides . . ." I took a deep breath, the air so thick it could be petrol. "I don't want to be here and make you feel worse. I don't know what happened tonight, but I don't understand how this was my fault."

          He exhaled, deflating. "It probably wasn't. I'm sorry. It just came out." I nodded, still staring at the floor instead of facing him like any mature person would. "I went in there, confident, thinking I had it in the bag, and then . . . it just didn't work out, I guess."

          I took a shy step inside the bedroom. "What happened? Did he say no?"

          "I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this stupid script, and he took a look at it and I could just tell how disappointed he was." His voice cracked, along with every piece of my heart. "I've been working on it for years, and he made me feel like it was the shittiest effort I'd ever put into anything. He kept going on and on about how it's so similar to what Stephen usually does, like I didn't learn everything I know from him, and thinks it lacks 'identity'. It lacks a differential factor." He fell to the bed, then slid down to the floor. My bottom lip trembled, with everything inside me insisting I needed to go, but I was torn. I couldn't leave him like this. "I told him I could change things, whatever he wanted, but I think he expects me to rewrite the whole thing and just . . . forget all about Stephen. He even said it was the kind of script he expected you to hand to him, like he's only giving me a chance because of you, like it was juvenile and unpolished—"

          My throat tightened. I knew my skills weren't nearly as good as his and would never come close to matching Stephen's, but I also didn't find myself mediocre; to hear him say that was yet another blow to my self-esteem I hardly needed. Again, I forced myself to blame it on the night's events and on the alcohol. "I don't think that's what he meant."

          Chase looked up at me. I still couldn't quite decipher the expression in his eyes—fury, pain, resentment. I cowered away from all of them. "Tell me you didn't say a word to him. Look me in the eye, and tell me you didn't say anything."

          "Chase—"

          "If he suspects anything—"

          "I haven't spoken to my parents in a few days. I didn't tell him anything, I swear. I'm not stupid." I gathered enough courage to move, to approach him, and crouched next to him. Illuminated by the moonlight on one side, and darkened by the shadows on the other, he was still so unbelievably perfect to me. "I don't think he's fully rejecting you. If he were, he would have said it. I know my father. I know how he works. Yours isn't the first heart he's broken."

          "I think he knows." He swallowed. "About us."

          "No."

          "You don't know that."

          "Neither do you, and we've given him no reason to suspect anything. I've never hinted at anything whenever he's around—"

          "Why else would he bring you up, then, if not to hurt me? Why?"

          Every word that poured out of his mouth was a hot sword to the heart, over and over again, and I didn't like the possibility of him being right, but it was still there. Even when I leaned my forehead against his shoulder, the room didn't stop spinning. Even when I kept my distance, even when I did everything right, I still found a way of ruining everything.

          "I think it's because I told them I wanted to learn from Stephen, too," I murmured. "He expects me to not have a clear direction, a clear voice of my own while I'm still in school, still learning. I don't think he was trying to hurt you, but I think he was trying to find some common ground, something you can compare yourself to and use to improve. I'm not saying your script is bad," I rushed to say, before things could get misinterpreted, "but I also know you've been inspired by Stephen's work for years now. You don't need to live in his shadow when I know you're talented enough on your own. You don't need to try to emulate his work."

          He didn't say anything else, and I didn't try to leave.

          I stayed there with him while he cried—the first time I ever saw him cry ever since he and Stephen reunited—and waited patiently for him to remember I was still there. I texted Savannah to let her know I'd be sleeping in my loft, so she wouldn't force herself to stay up until I returned, and I wondered if this was how things would be until the secrecy ended.

          Me, dropping everyone and everything to come to him whenever he needed me. Him, still keeping me at arm's length.

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hii please don't forget to vote & comment. thank u

also please do remember that, while i try my best to get these chapters out in a timely manner, this is still a very hard book to write (you think i'm joking when i say my therapist hates this??). if it takes this long, it's because i need to put myself in the right headspace to be able to write about it, but i also need to keep my distance so it doesn't get to me and undoes years and years of therapy. ok thx melodrama over

would've could've should've is now the soundtrack to this book