LOGINTruth Or Dare?
Julian's POV
This is exactly what I live for.
The Morrison house is packed with people, music loud enough to make conversation impossible unless you're shouting. Beer everywhere, students from Blackridge getting drunk and stupid.
And they're all looking at me like I'm the reason this party matters.
I'm holding court in the main living room, sprawled across the biggest couch with my teammates flanking me like bodyguards. Marcus is telling some story about practice yesterday, but I'm only half listening. I'm too busy enjoying the way people keep glancing over at us, the way conversations pause when I laugh, the way girls keep finding excuses to walk past our corner.
This is my world. These are my people.
Jake appears with another round of drinks, expensive stuff that his parents probably don't even know is missing from their liquor cabinet.
"Hayes," he says, handing me a beer. "You see the turnout? Half the freshman class showed up just because they heard you'd be here."
I take a sip and grin. "What can I say? I'm irresistible."
The guys laugh, and a few girls nearby giggle like I've said something incredibly clever. It's all so easy, so natural. This is where I belong - at the center of everything, with everyone wanting to be close to me.
I'm scanning the crowd, noting who's here and who's trying too hard to get my attention, when I spot something that makes me do a double-take.
No way.
Across the crowded room, standing near the kitchen entrance, is the coffee shop disaster himself. The little brunette transfer student who's been occupying way too much space in my head lately.
What the hell is he doing here?
He looks completely out of place, just like he did that first day on campus. His clothes are wrong - some cheap button-down shirt that probably came from a department store, jeans that don't fit quite right. But somehow he's not standing alone in a corner like I expected.
He's talking to a group of girls.
And they're laughing.
I watch, irritated, as one of the girls touches his arm while she says something. He smiles - that shy, genuine smile that makes his whole face light up - and I feel something hot and uncomfortable twist in my chest.
Since when do people find him charming?
"Earth to Julian," Tyler says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. "You okay, man? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I'm fine," I mutter, forcing myself to look away from the brunette.
But I can't stop glancing back. Every time I look, he's still there, still talking to those girls, still looking perfectly comfortable despite being surrounded by people who should be way out of his league.
It's irritating as hell.
"Oh, this is going to be fun," someone shouts from across the room. "Truth or dare time!"
A cheer goes up from the crowd, and I watch as people start gathering in the center of the living room, pushing furniture aside to make space for a circle. It's juvenile as hell - the kind of game we played in middle school - but at parties like this, people will do anything for entertainment.
"Come on, Julian," Jake says, standing up. "You know you can't miss this."
He's right. I never back down from anything, especially not party games that give me another chance to be the center of attention. Plus, if I'm being honest, I'm curious to see if the transfer student will join in.
I don't have to wonder for long. As the circle forms, I watch the group of girls he was talking to literally drag him into the ring of people sitting on the floor. He looks nervous but not scared, and when his eyes meet mine across the circle, there's something defiant in them.
Interesting.
The game starts with some easy truths and boring dares. Sarah admits to hooking up with her TA, and Tom has to text his ex; it's typical college party stuff. But the energy builds as the bottle keeps spinning, and people start getting more creative with their challenges.
Then the bottle lands on him.
The brunette stares at the bottle pointing directly at him, and the room goes quiet for a beat. Someone calls out "Truth or dare?" and without hesitating, he says, "Dare."
His voice is steady, confident even. There's a challenge in the way he says it, like he's daring us to try to embarrass him.
"Dance on the coffee table!" someone shouts from across the circle.
A few people laugh, but the brunette just nods and stands up. I expect him to be awkward, maybe stumble through some embarrassing attempt at dancing that will give everyone something to laugh about.
I'm completely wrong.
The music shifts to something with a beat, and he steps onto the coffee table. For a second, he just stands there. Then he starts to move.
And it's good. Really good.
He knows how to dance, not like the awkward stuff most guys do at parties. His whole body moves with the music, confident and smooth. Like he's done this before.
The room goes quiet except for the music. Everyone's staring as this quiet transfer student turns into something completely different. Something that makes people pay attention.
Several people whistle appreciatively. A few girls call out encouragement. But I can't make a sound. I can't even breathe properly.
When the song ends, he climbs down from the table. His face is red from moving around, his hair messed up. He's got this smile like he knows everyone's still staring.
His eyes find mine across the circle, and there's something there. Like he's asking what I think now.
My mouth is dry.
The bottle spins again, and this time it lands on me. The room buzzes with anticipation - everyone knows I never back down from a dare, and they're all waiting to see what I'll choose.
"Truth or dare, Hayes?" Jake asks, grinning like he already knows what I'll say.
"Dare," I say automatically, even though my head is still spinning from watching that dance.
There's a moment of excited whispering as people try to come up with something good. Finally, a voice calls out from somewhere in the circle.
"Kiss the hottest person in the room!"
The crowd erupts in cheers and laughter. It's exactly the kind of dare they'd give me - something that plays into my reputation, something that gives me a chance to show off.
I should pick one of the girls who's been eyeing me all night. Should choose someone safe, someone expected. Should play this exactly the way everyone thinks I will.
Instead, I look right at the brunette sitting across the circle. Still red-faced from dancing, still looking at me like he's waiting for something.
He's the hottest person in this room.
That thought hits me hard.
I shake my head and force myself to look away. What the hell am I thinking?
"Come on, Julian!" someone shouts. "Pick someone!"
I scan the circle and grab the first safe option I see. Some blonde girl who's been eyeing me all night. She squeals when I walk over and kiss her, and the crowd cheers.
But the whole time, I can feel dark eyes watching me from across the circle.
Home sweet homeJulian POVYears have passed since the hospital room where we first held our daughters. The twins are five going to six now. Maya and Sophie. Loud and curious and completely impossible to keep still for more than thirty seconds.Maya is fearless. Climbs everything. Questions everything. Challenges me on rules with logic I can't always argue against.Sophie is quieter but equally stubborn. She loves books and drawing. Gets lost in her own world for hours until something—usually Maya—pulls her back to reality.Bryson struggles with lingering pain on bad days. His leg aches when weather changes. Mornings require careful stretching before he can move normally.But he walks easily now. Runs when the girls demand races. Carries both of them on his shoulders despite my protests that they're getting too big for that.I'm away often for games. The team travels more than I'd like. But I always come back. is Always make it home for bedtime stories and weekend breakfasts.Our apa
Something WholeBryson POVI finished my last day as an intern on a Friday afternoon.Walk out of the building with a box of personal items and a strange mixture of satisfaction and disbelief sitting in my chest.Monday, I return as a full-time staff member. The title feels strange in my mouth when people ask what I do now."I work in business development."The words sound like they belong to someone else. Someone older and more put-together.But apparently, they belong to me now.The work itself isn't drastically different. Same desk. Same computer. Same projects I've been managing for months.What changes is how people treat me. Younger workers look to me for answers now. Ask for my opinion during meetings. Request guidance on presentations and client calls.I mentor quietly. Share what I've learned. Take phone calls with steady hands even when imposter syndrome whispers that I have no idea what I'm doing.At night I tell Julian about my day while icing my leg, still necessary after
Building Something RealJulian POVI officially move into Bryson's apartment with one duffel bag and too many feelings I don't know how to name.The space is small. Nothing like the mansion with its sprawling rooms and cold elegance.But it feels real in ways the mansion never did.That first night I barely slept. I lie on the couch staring at the ceiling, listening to Bryson breathe from the bedroom. Every sound makes me tense, is he in pain? Does he need something? Should I check on him?I'm afraid that if I close my eyes too long, this fragile peace between us might disappear. That I'll wake up and find myself back in the mansion with Richard's ultimatums and Helen's rehearsed affection.Morning comes slowly. I hear Bryson moving in his room and I'm on my feet immediately."You okay?" I ask through the door."Yeah. Just getting up."I help him to the bathroom, then to the couch. Begin learning his morning routine through careful observation.I learn how much pain Bryson hides behin
Moving ForwardBryson POVWeeks pass in a blur of medication schedules and physical therapy appointments.Recovery is slow. Brutally slow. Every small improvement feels earned through gritted teeth and determination I didn't know I still possessed.The pain is constant. Some days it's a dull throb I can almost ignore. Other days it's sharp and immediate, stealing my breath when I move wrong.Therapy exhausts me in ways hockey never did. The exercises seem simple, lifting my leg, bending my knee, putting weight on my foot. But each movement requires focus and effort that leaves me drained.Julian stays with me through all of it."You're doing great," he says one afternoon after a particularly brutal session. "Better than yesterday.""Doesn't feel like it.""Trust me. You are."I hate how much I need him. Hate the vulnerability that comes with depending on someone who broke me before. Yet every time Julian smiles, genuine and warm, or quietly reassures me during a difficult moment, I f
Picking Sides Julian POVBryson is finally discharged from the hospital on a gray afternoon when rain threatens to fall but doesn't.He moves slowly, each step taken with caution and pain. The crutches make him clumsy. His face tightens with discomfort every time his weight shifts wrong.The doctor gives lengthy instructions about rest, medication schedules, and physical therapy appointments. He emphasizes that Bryson needs weeks of proper care and constant supervision to heal correctly."You'll need someone with you," the doctor says firmly. "At least for the first two weeks. No stairs. No standing for long periods. Someone needs to monitor you for complications."Bryson's mother immediately offers. "You can stay with us. We have plenty of space and I can…""No." Bryson's voice is quiet but absolute. "I just want to go home. To my apartment.""But honey, the apartment has stairs, and you'll be alone most of the day when I'm at work.""I'll manage."I step forward before I can think
Cracks and openingsBryson POVI spend the days watching Julian from the hospital bed.He's always present. Always helping. He doesn't push for more than I'm willing to give.The steadiness of it unsettles me more than anything else could. I keep waiting for him to slip back into old patterns. To choose his father's approval over me. To prioritize hockey or reputation or anything else.But he doesn't.Julian adjusts blankets when they shift during the night. Tracks my medication times better than the nurses do. Notices every wince of pain before I ever speak a word. Brings me water before I realize I'm thirsty. Small but constant things. Things that show he's paying attention in ways he never did before.I hate that my chest still reacts to him. Hate that my heart feels safer around him, like he's not the one who broke it. Because I remember, remember being broken.My body doesn't care about any of that. It just knows Julian is here now. Present and steady and refusing to leave.The







