Chapter Eight: Let Loose

Alex

Seth and I are silently preparing toast the next morning when my phone pings.

It’s from Tracey.

‘You’re coming with me to Jess’s party tonight. No excuses. I already told her you’d show.’ It reads.

There’s a smiley face at the end, softening the order. I stare at the screen for a second, thumb hovering over the keypad. My first instinct is to say no because body still feels like it’s recovering from the tension of yesterday, it feels like my skin hasn’t quite settled over my bones yet.

But I think of the way Tracey looked at me before she left and decide that I can’t keep avoiding her forever.

‘Sure. What time?’ I text back.

She responds in seconds. ‘I’ll pick you up at 7. Wear something decent. No stained hoodies.’

We can hear the music from the house before we even pull into the street. There’s music vibrating through the windows and a glow of fairy lights wrapped around the porch like it’s an artsy gathering and not a full-blown college rager.

Tracey looks amazing in her fitted jeans, a rust-colored crop top that shows just enough skin to make me nervous in all the wrong ways. She notices laughing as she grabs my hand and tugs me up the steps.

Inside, it’s crowded in that now familiar way people shouting over the music, someone already dancing on a coffee table, empty bottles lining the kitchen counter. I try not to think too hard about anything and just let her pull me through it.

We start with drinks Tracey hands me a red solo cup, grinning.

“Okay, don’t judge me—this is vodka and something citrusy I found in the fridge.”

I take a sip and squint. “Tastes like floor cleaner.”

“With notes of sunshine,” she says, bumping my hip.

“Regret. Definitely regret.”

“Lightweight,” she teases, looping her arm through mine. “C’mon. I want you to meet some people.”

She pulls me through the crowd and into the corner of the living room, where three people are huddled around a speaker and arguing like their lives depend on the next track.

“Guys! This is Alex,” Tracey says, all sing-song, as she slides close to my side. “Alex, meet Nadia, Jules, and Ramon—my favorite people with zero chill.”

Nadia looks up first. She’s in a leather jacket over what’s either a swimsuit or a very brave top, eyes ringed in black eyeliner like she slept in it and made it fashion. “So you’re the boyfriend.”

“The allegedly real one,” Jules adds. She’s got a pixie cut dyed pink and a resting unimpressed face, though her eyes crinkle like she’s holding back a smile.

Ramon’s lounging in a bean bag, tall and broad, sipping out of a neon blue cup like it’s whiskey at a poker game. “Huh. You’ve got a face. Was starting to think she was dating a ghost.”

I give a weak smile. “Nice to meet you too.”

Tracey leans in like she’s whispering some secret just for me. “They’re harmless.”

“Mm. Debatable.”

She laughs, brushing her fingers against my wrist without seeming to notice. For a second, I try to focus on just being here. Being present. The warmth of her body. The dumb playlist. The vodka-punch-mess I’m drinking.

Then—

“Seth would hate this playlist,” Ramon mutters, scrolling through the queue. “Guy’s got the music taste of a divorced dad going through a crisis.”

My body tenses before I can think. Cup halfway to my mouth.

Tracey glances at me. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I say too quickly. “Just didn’t expect… that name to come up.”

“Oh. Right. Roommate situation,” she says casually, then turns to the others. “Alex lives with my cousin.”

I blink. “Wait. Seth?”

She looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “Yeah. Seth. Didn’t I tell you?”

I stare at her. “No. No, you did not.”

Nadia snorts into her drink. “You really didn’t know?”

Jules raises a brow. “Dude. They literally have the same nose.”

And now that she’s said it, I can’t unsee it. Same sharp cheekbones. Same smug little smirk when they’re amused. Same way they stretch their vowels when they’re trying not to sound pissed.

I feel like an idiot.

“Jesus,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. “I feel like I should’ve… picked up on that.”

Tracey shrugs, sipping her drink. “It’s not a secret. I just assumed you figured it out by now.”

“Yeah, no. I definitely didn’t.”

Ramon chuckles. “This is hilarious. Wait till Seth hears. He’s gonna roast you for weeks.”

“Can we… not tell him?” I ask, half-joking.

Nadia grins. “Oh, sweetie. You’re cute.”

I try to laugh along, but everything in me feels like it’s been set off-balance. Seth. Cousin. Tracey. I’d been running in circles and somehow missed the most obvious sign on the damn track.

Tracey nudges me gently. “Still with me?”

“Yeah,” I say, managing a smile. “Just processing the fact that I’ve probably said a hundred dumb things in front of your cousin.”

“You have,” she says, deadpan. Then winks. “But he’s probably said worse.”

“Come dance with me?” She says invitingly.

I let her tug me into the crowd, the beat too loud, the lights too dim. I move the way you’re supposed to, hands low on her hips, matching her sway. She turns and smiles up at me, eyes shiny from alcohol and the kind of happiness I can’t quite match.

We don’t stay too late. She’s tipsy but not drunk when she presses her lips to my neck and whispers, “Come back to mine?”

I hesitate but not enough to stop her from linking our fingers and pulling me toward the car.

Her apartment is quiet when we enter.

I watch her kick off her shoes and tosses her keys into a bowl by the door and then trail after her like a shadow.

She pours two glasses of water, hands me one without a word. I sip, throat dry in anticipation.

Then she closes the distance.

Her hands find my shoulders, my chest. Her mouth brushes mine she tastes like peach and there’s vodka in her breath.

I kiss her back, it’s like kissing through glass, cold and without emotion

Her fingers slide beneath the hem of my shirt, feather-light over my stomach. My breath hitches and I can’t feel the repulsion to continue rise up like bile in my gut.

I pull back and her lips chase mine, eyes still closed. It’s a fucking repeat of last time and it scares me.

“Trace,” I murmur, placing a hand on her wrist.

She stills and peels open her eyes.

Her voice is soft. “What?”

“I can’t.”

It hangs there between us.

She steps back, hands dropping to her sides. “This keeps happening.”

“I know.”

“You kiss me like you mean it and then everything goes south,” she stops, brows furrowing. “Is it me?”

“No. God, no.” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated with myself more than anything. “You’re… you’re beautiful, Trace. You cannot be the problem.”

She looks at me with patient confusion. “Then what is it?”

I want to give her an answer, one that makes sense and doesn’t sound like I’m broken or cruel or confused beyond saving.

“I’m sorry.” I settle for.

She lets out a long breath and sits on the edge of her bed.

“You know,” she says, “I keep thinking if I’m patient enough, you’ll come back. Like, really come back.”

“I never left,” I say, but even I don’t believe it.

Her eyes meet mine, and for a second I think she might cry, she doesn’t.

Instead, she nods. “Okay. If that’s all you can give right now.”

“I think I should go.”

“Yeah.” Her voice is quiet. “I figured.”

The walk back to my dorm is longer than usual. Or maybe it just feels that way because the air’s so cold, and I can’t stop thinking about how much I’m hurting her.

The dorm is dim when I enter. I half-expect Seth to be asleep, headphones on, lost in one of his endless playlists.

But he’s not home.

For a second, the silence feels like a punishment.

I sit on the edge of my bed, pull off my shoes, stare at the floor for a long time.

I wish I could go back to the party. Not to do anything differently. Just to stay a little longer in the space before things got complicated again.

Before Tracey looked at me with that mixture of hope and disappointment.

Before I had to say no. Again.

I lie back and stare at the ceiling. The room smells like Seth’s shampoo and the detergent we both pretend doesn’t smell like lavender.

I think about Tracey’s touch.

And then, I think about Seth’s laugh. That crooked smile he gives when he’s trying not to say what he really means.

I close my eyes.

I’m so fucking tired of this.

Of not knowing who I’m supposed to be.

Of hurting people I care about.

Of looking in the mirror and not recognizing the guy staring back.

Most of all, I’m tired of pretending it’s not already too late to go back to the version of myself I used to believe in.