Chapter Thirteen:

Home didn’t feel like home anymore.

The walls were the same—light gray with the little scuff marks near the baseboards from when I used to drag my desk chair around. My books were still stacked in the corner, alphabetized, untouched. Even my favorite hoodie was still hanging from the bedpost, exactly where I’d left it the day I walked out.

But everything felt different now. Off.

Maybe it was because this wasn’t just my home anymore. It was Nick’s too.

After Mom left Dad and I became this two-person universe. And the woman I called her a second mother, well she did actually try to get me to open up, in other words, she tried to replace my mother but I hate her guts.

Then I couldn’t take it anymore and moved to Kaylee’s. I just wished they would leave me alone but two weeks later, dad and Nick showed up with the police.

They said a bunch of things like how I wasn’t eighteen and didn’t have the right to decide for myself and blah, blah, blah.

So here I was.

Back in a house I no longer trusted, lying on a bed that didn’t feel like mine, staring at the ceiling like it had answers it refused to share.

I kept replaying the scene from the ice cream shop in my head.

The way Beatrice had swooped in, claws bared, ready to shred me for sport. The usual routine. But then Liam had stood up. Not just in the literal sense—but for me. Defended me. Shut her down.

I didn’t understand it.

He didn’t have to. No one ever had.

People tolerated me. Sometimes they admired me—from a distance. Occasionally they feared me, if I was in the right mood. But no one defended me. Not like that.

And definitely not someone like Liam Hunter.

I rolled onto my side, hugging a pillow to my chest, trying to shake the memory of his voice—calm, deliberate, protective.

“Back off, Beatrice.”

“You don’t get to treat people like trash just because you’re bored.”

“Maybe I already have.”

What the hell was I supposed to do with that?

Liam had always been the kind of guy I hated on principle. Too charming. Too arrogant. The kind of boy who played hearts like they were just buttons to press. I’d seen him flirt with half the school and forget their names the next week. I had reasons for keeping my guard up.

But today… he flipped the script.

And I couldn’t lie to myself—when he looked at me like that, when he stood next to me like I mattered—I felt something.

Not butterflies.

More like fireflies. Wild and glowing, trapped in a jar I couldn’t seal shut.

I sat up, restless, and padded across the room to shut the door. Not that Nick was home—he was probably out with Kaylee, playing the doting boyfriend, pretending like he didn’t know exactly what kind of fracture he’d left in his wake.

The betrayal still stung.

Kaylee was my person. My one place of softness in a world made of sharp edges. And she chose him. My stepbrother. The same boy who stole everything from me.

I’d tried to ignore it. Forgive her. Pretend like it didn’t matter.

But it did.

I felt alone in a house that used to be my sanctuary. With a best friend I didn’t quite trust anymore. And a boy I swore I hated now spinning my thoughts like a carousel.

I flopped back onto the bed, groaning into my pillow.

“This is so dumb,” I whispered to no one.

But it wasn’t.

It was terrifying. Unexpected. Real.

Because I’d seen something in Liam’s eyes today—something I wasn’t ready for.

And worse… something I wanted to believe in.

*************

I hated that I was waiting for him.

Not out loud, of course. I’d rather choke than say something like that. But somewhere between getting ready for school and picking at my cereal, I kept checking the clock more times than I should have. Like he might show up early. Like he might be waiting by my locker again.

He wasn’t. Not at first.

But by second period, I found myself glancing toward the door every time it opened. Every time sneakers squeaked on tile, every time someone laughed a little too loud down the hallway, I felt this weird tug in my chest.

I was anticipating him.

Liam Hunter.

The boy I swore I hated. The one who used to get under my skin just for fun.

Now he was getting under it for real.

And the worst part? He wasn’t even trying that hard.

It started with small things. Tiny, quiet moments that didn’t feel like much at first. The way he leaned against my locker every morning now, like it was some unspoken agreement. He’d toss a lazy grin my way and say something like, “Survived another night under the same roof as Nick?” or “Didn’t know sarcasm could look this good in a Monday morning.”

I always rolled my eyes. Called him annoying. Told him to get lost.

But I never actually wanted him to leave.

Then it bled into our classes. He’d pass me little notes in AP History, written in annoyingly perfect handwriting:

“I bet Jefferson would’ve hated you.”

“Stop pretending you’re not interested in me. It’s embarrassing—for both of us.”

I’d scribble something mean in response. And he’d laugh like I was the only person in the room.

It shouldn’t have meant anything. But it did.

By Thursday, I caught myself checking the cafeteria before walking in. Not for Kaylee. Not for Nick. But for Liam.

I was becoming predictable. Soft, even.

And I hated that I didn’t hate it.

Because he wasn’t being obvious. There were no grand gestures, no schoolwide declarations. Just quiet consistency. Eye contact that lasted a second too long. Brushing his arm against mine when we passed in the hallway. Holding the door for me even when I muttered, “I’m not helpless, Hunter.”

He just smiled. “Never said you were.”

He wasn’t teasing like before.

He was… observing. Showing up. Constantly in orbit.

And despite everything in me that screamed don’t, I started noticing things too.

The way he ran his fingers through his hair when he was thinking. The way his jaw clenched when Nick passed by, like he knew exactly how I felt. The way his laugh—real, unguarded—was softer than I expected.

I told myself it didn’t matter.

That I was just lonely. That this was just convenient attention from someone I already knew how to handle. That whatever this was… it would pass.

But then came Friday.

I was walking to the front of the school to get my bike when I heard him call out.

“Zara.”

I turned, heartbeat betraying me as I saw him jogging to catch up, hair a little messy from gym, tie loose, sleeves rolled.

“Hey,” he said, falling into step beside me. “What are you doing this weekend?”

“Why?” I asked warily.

He smirked. “I asked first.”

“Probably doing homework. Avoiding Kaylee. Pretending Nick doesn’t exist.”

“Sounds thrilling.”

“It’s a gift,” I deadpanned.

He nudged me gently with his shoulder. “You wanna go somewhere?”

I blinked. “Go where?”

“I don’t know. Drive around. Get more ice cream. Go somewhere we can breathe.”

I should’ve said no.

I should’ve reminded him of every reason we weren’t friends. That he’d dated Beatrice. That I didn’t trust people like him. That I was still raw and bitter and angry at the world.

But instead… I hesitated.

Just long enough for him to smile that crooked smile—the one that made my stomach feel like static—and say, “Think about it. I’ll pick you up Saturday night. If you don’t come out, I’ll assume you hate happiness.”

And just like that, he was gone.

And I was standing there, staring after him, heart pounding, mouth dry, wondering when exactly he stopped being the boy I hated… and became the one I was starting to want.