CHAPTER 12
1172 Words
(Makayla POV)
If I had my way, I wouldn’t be going to prom.
It feels wrong to celebrate anything right now. With everything that’s happened—Dad’s accident, the hospital stay, and the truth about the blood test—I feel like I’m balancing on the edge of a cliff. One wrong step and I’ll shatter into pieces I’ll never put back together.
But Jessa doesn’t take no for an answer.
“You’re not skipping this,” she says firmly as she tosses a duffel bag in the backseat of her car. “I’ve already packed everything we need. Hair tools, makeup, body glitter, snacks. I’m coming over and we’re doing this right.”
“I don’t really feel like glitter,” I mumble.
“That’s okay. You’ll be radiant without it,” she says, already pulling me toward the door.
And somehow, she ends up at my house, sitting in my room with soft music playing, curling our hair while she recounts the latest gossip. It’s easy to let her take the lead—she always does—and the comfort of her voice settles something in my chest.
When we’re finally ready, we make our way downstairs, dresses rustling softly with each step. I’m in emerald green, silky and backless, the neckline delicate and elegant. Jessa’s in soft blue, her hair pinned in loose waves, her eyes sparkling.
As we descend, the noise from downstairs fades. My mom is standing at the foot of the stairs, her hand covering her mouth. Dad—Tom—is beside her, silent, a stunned smile tugging at his lips.
“Girls,” my mom breathes. “You look like… you’re not little girls anymore.”
Jessa beams and spins once for them. I manage a smile, but there’s a weight pressing down on my chest. My dad—Tom—looks at me like he always has: like he’s proud, like he’d do anything for me.
And yet, in the back of my mind, all I hear is: You’re not his.
We take photos. I hug him. I let myself enjoy the moment—for them. For me. Even if it’s tainted.
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The prom venue is unrecognizable. The community hall has been transformed with fairy lights, white fabric draped from the ceiling, and glittering centerpieces on every table. Music pulses through the room, loud and upbeat, and everyone’s already dancing or laughing or posing for selfies.
I don’t think I’m going to have fun—but then I do.
Jessa spins me onto the dance floor. We lose ourselves in the music. There’s punch—and yes, it’s definitely spiked—but I drink it anyway. It warms me, loosens the knot in my chest.
We’re twirling, laughing, when someone steps into our circle.
Micah.
He offers his hand, casual but with a gleam in his eye. “May I?”
Jessa raises an eyebrow at me but shrugs and melts back into the crowd. I let Micah take my hand.
He’s confident, smooth, a natural on the dance floor. It’s easy to smile with him, easy to lean into the sway of the music. His grip on my waist is steady. A little too steady. His hand lingers on my back. He leans in close, murmuring jokes in my ear, and I laugh even when they’re not that funny.
Then I glance across the dance floor—and my smile falters.
Jared is watching. He’s standing near the edge of the crowd, jaw tight, arms crossed. Lyra is next to him, saying something animatedly, but he’s not looking at her. He’s only looking at me.
For a second, I falter. Then something inside me shifts.
I turn my attention fully to Micah. I let myself enjoy it. I flirt. I laugh louder. I press in closer. Micah’s smile grows bolder, and his hands begin to wander—subtle, daring.
He twirls me suddenly, dramatically—and when I spin back—
I don’t land in his arms.
Jared catches me.
His grip is firm. His expression is thunder.
Micah steps forward. “Dude—”
“Dance with someone else,” Jared says flatly, not even glancing at him.
Micah mutters something under his breath and disappears into the crowd.
And just like that, I’m in Jared’s arms. The music shifts, slower now. More intimate. My hands rest on his shoulders. His hand is at my waist. Our bodies are close. Too close.
He says nothing. But his eyes say everything. Hunger. Anger. Something deeper.
We move in slow, fluid steps. I hate how easy it is to fall into rhythm with him. How natural it feels to be held by him. How badly
I’ve missed this.
For a breathless moment, I let myself fall. Let myself believe it’s okay.
But then my chest tightens. The truth rushes back like a wave.
This isn’t real. This doesn’t solve anything.
I pull away. “I can’t.”
He looks at me, startled.
And I turn and run.
I make it out the front doors, my heels clicking on the concrete, the cool air biting at my flushed skin.
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“Kay!” His voice behind me.
I keep going.
He catches my arm gently, stopping me. I spin around, breathing hard.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks. “About Cal State?”
My stomach sinks. “It didn’t matter—”
“It does matter!” he snaps. “You’ve been distant for weeks. Not just after your dad’s accident. Before that. Don’t pretend this is just about him.”
“I was overwhelmed,” I whisper. “It’s not simple—”
“Yes, it is!” His voice breaks. “It’s simple. I’ve been there for you. Every damn day. And you’ve just been… fading away. You keep pulling back like I don’t matter to you.”
“That’s not fair,” I say. “I care about you, I do, but everything’s just—”
“Then say it,” he cuts in. “Say you care. Say you don’t want to leave without me. Say I matter. Because I’m losing my mind trying to figure out where we stand.”
Tears sting my eyes.
And then he says it.
“Don’t you understand that I love you?”
I freeze. The words echo in my chest like thunder.
He steps closer, eyes searching mine. “I love you, Kay. I’ve loved you for a long time. And I don’t want to watch you walk away.”
My heart beats once. Twice. Then I surge forward.
His lips meet mine in a kiss that’s soft at first—tentative, searching. But then I wrap my arms around his neck and press closer, kissing him like I’ve waited forever.
Because I have. Because I’m done pretending I haven’t wanted this. Because loving Jared Booth is terrifying—but not loving him would be worse.
And for the first time in weeks, I stop running.
- Writer
