Chapter Three

I let out a shaky laugh. “You make it sound so simple. Like it’s just… one weekend.”

“Because it is,” he says firmly. “It’s one weekend that’ll remind us both why this is worth it.” He pauses, his voice softening. “I don’t care how far away I am, Ari. I don’t stop thinking about you.”

My heart squeezes so hard it almost hurts. “You always know exactly what to say.”

“I don’t. I just know how I feel.” His voice dips lower, like it’s only for me. “And I need you to believe me when I tell you—this isn’t temporary. We didn’t burn out with summer. We’re only getting started.”

I press my sleeve against my eyes, but he catches the break in my breath anyway.

“Ari…” His tone gentles, coaxing. “Hey. Don’t cry. Please. You have no idea what it does to me, knowing I can’t just—be there, hold you, make it better.”

“You already are,” I whisper. “Even when you’re three hours away.”

There’s a silence that feels like a smile, warm and alive, until—

“GAVIN!” The voice rips through the phone, harsh and raw.

Gavin exhales sharply. “Shit. My dad.” His voice drops lower, hurried. “He’s been on edge since before the summer, but lately—it’s worse.”

Another shout rattles through, closer this time. “GAVIN! You think you can ignore me?”

I squeeze my phone tighter, every nerve standing on edge. “Gav—”

“It’s okay,” he cuts in, clipped, his words like he’s holding himself steady. “Don’t hang up. Just… stay with me.”

The sound muffles as he pulls the phone away. His father’s voice carries anyway, a storm in the background.

“You think you’re a man just because you play football? You think you’re too good to answer your own father?”

A loud crack—glass, maybe—shatters through, and I jerk upright even though I’m nowhere near him.

“Not now, Dad. I said not now.” Gavin’s voice is tight, deliberate, like every word is being forced through clenched teeth.

But David doesn’t stop. His fury keeps pouring, words I can’t catch, only the violence in them.

Then Gavin’s voice, rushed, comes back to me. “Ari, I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you later, I promise.”

“Gavin—”

“I love you,” he says, fierce and fast, like it’s the only shield he has.

And then the line goes dead, leaving me frozen in the dark, clutching my phone like it’s the last piece of him I can hold.

The second I hang up with Ari, I drop the phone face-down on my desk. My chest is tight, my hands shaking, but I don’t have time to steady myself before his voice booms again.

“Who the hell are you talking to, huh? Whispering like you’ve got secrets?”

David stumbles into the doorway, jaw tight, eyes red like he’s been drinking. He always looks at me like I’m a problem he can’t solve, a reminder of something he doesn’t want to face.

“It’s none of your business,” I mutter, forcing my voice flat, calm. That only makes him angrier.

“Don’t you talk back to me, boy.” The word snaps, harsh and bitter, like it burns him to even say it. “Living under my roof, eating my food—you don’t get to keep secrets from me.”

My fists clench at my sides. I don’t rise to it, not tonight, but I want to. God, I want to.

He steps closer, pointing at me like I’m a mistake he’s about to erase. “You think you’re better than me? Walking around like you’re untouchable, like you don’t owe me a damn thing?”

I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. Because the truth is—I don’t owe him. Not really. But saying that out loud? That’d be throwing gasoline on an open fire.

“I’ve got homework,” I say instead, shoving my chair back and standing, my voice clipped. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Homework?” He laughs, sharp and ugly. “Football, girls, that phone glued to your hand—you think any of that matters? You’re nothing without me, you hear me? Nothing.”

I shoulder past him before he can say more, before my control slips. His curses follow me down the hall, filling every corner of the house.

In my room, I slam the door and press my back against it, dragging in a breath that feels too shallow, too quick. My phone is still on my desk, screen dark, Ari’s name somewhere inside it.

I squeeze my eyes shut and whisper to the empty room, “I’m not nothing.”

But the worst part? Some nights, I almost believe him.

I can’t sit still. The walls feel like they’re closing in, every word David spat still ringing in my ears. I grab my hoodie off the chair and shove it on, snatching my phone before slipping out the window like I’ve done too many times before.

The night air hits cold and sharp. I breathe it in like it might wash him out of me, but the knot in my chest won’t loosen.

The streets are quiet. Just porch lights and the hum of crickets. I keep my head down, hands shoved deep in my pockets, walking aimlessly until I end up at the old park a few blocks over. The swings creak in the breeze, empty, shadows stretching long across the grass.

I sit on one and let the chain groan under my weight. My phone glows when I thumb it awake—Ari’s name still at the top of my screen.

I almost call her back. Almost. But what would I say? That I can’t breathe in that house? That every time David looks at me, I feel like he sees through me—like he knows something I don’t?

Instead, I type out a message.

 Wish you were here.

I stare at it for a long time before erasing it. She doesn’t need more weight piled on her—not tonight.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and whisper into the dark, “Halloween. Just hold out until Halloween.”

The swing creaks again, like it’s answering me. But the silence that follows is louder.

The swing groans again as I stand, shoving my hands deep into my hoodie pocket. Sitting still isn’t working. It never does.

Fairview is quiet this late—just the hum of streetlights and the occasional dog barking somewhere down the block. My shoes scuff against the cracked pavement as I walk without a plan, letting my legs carry me. The neighborhood blurs past: tidy lawns, darkened houses, curtains drawn tight. Everyone else tucked in, safe.

I’m not. I don’t think I’ve felt safe since that night.

The air gets colder as I drift toward the edge of town, past the shuttered diner, past the rusting train tracks. And then I hear it—faint, distant—the trickle of water.

Not the ocean. Not Sommers Beach. But here in Fairview, there’s the old river that cuts behind the mill, dark and sluggish, carrying the smell of iron and moss. I follow it until I’m standing on the bank, my breath ghosting in the night.

The current moves slow, but the sight of it still knocks something loose in me. The moonlight stretches across its surface, broken into shards by ripples, and suddenly I’m back there, salt stinging my eyes, Ari’s weight dragging me under.

I crouch down, fingers brushing the damp grass, then dig my hands into my hair like maybe I can claw the memory out. But it’s there. It’s always there.

Ari’s scream.

 The splash.

 The silence right after.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but that only makes it worse. I can see her face the moment I pulled her out, water streaming down her cheeks, eyes wide with terror and shame. Her lips were blue. She was so damn cold.

And she almost didn’t come back.

My throat tightens, and before I can stop it, the words slip out, low and broken. “I can’t lose you. Not then, not now, not ever.”

The river doesn’t answer. It just keeps moving, slow and endless, carrying secrets down into the dark.

I sit there longer than I mean to, knees pulled up, staring at the water until my eyes burn. Every sound makes me flinch—a car door slamming somewhere behind me, the far-off wail of a siren. But mostly it’s quiet, just me and the weight of everything I can’t say out loud.

To Josh.

 To my mom.

 To Ari.

She thinks I saved her. She doesn’t know she saved me too. If she hadn’t been there, if I hadn’t had something worth jumping for, I don’t think I’d still be here. Not with David. Not with the way my world’s been cracking apart piece by piece.

I pick up a stone and throw it hard. It skips once before sinking, swallowed whole.

Just like that night.

I swallow hard and stand, shoving the memory down where it belongs. But as I turn away from the river, I know it won’t stay buried for long. It never does.

And tomorrow, when my phone buzzes with her name again, I’ll pick it up. Every damn time. Because even three hours away, even with Josh hating me, even with Dad tearing me apart, Ari’s the only thing keeping me from drowning.

[Ari]

I don’t remember moving. One second, I was clutching my phone to my chest, Gavin’s voice still breaking in my ear, glass shattering in the background before the line cut dead. The next, I was pounding down the hallway, my heart in my throat.

Josh’s door is shut, but I slam my fist against it, hard enough to sting. “Josh! Please—please open up!” My voice cracks, high and panicked.

Nothing.

I hit the door again, harder. “Josh! It’s Gavin—something’s wrong, I heard—please!”

I know it’s late. I know he’s probably half-asleep, pissed, wishing I’d just go away. But my body won’t stop shaking, my eyes already wet. I can still hear it—David’s voice, ugly and loud, the crash of something breaking, Gavin trying to say something before it all cut to silence.

My head spins. What if he’s hurt? What if David—

The door yanks open so suddenly I stumble forward. Josh stands there, hair mussed, jaw tight, eyes flashing. “Ari, it’s midnight. What the hell—”

“I heard him,” I cut in, my voice ragged. “Josh, I heard him. David was screaming, and then—then glass—” I choke, clutching the doorframe like it’s the only thing holding me up. “The line went dead. He—he didn’t call back. What if—”

Josh scrubs a hand over his face, groaning. “Ari, we have school tomorrow. You can’t just—”

“Don’t say that!” My voice cracks so loud it startles even me. “I’m not making this up, Josh. He sounded scared. You don’t know what it was like—I heard it, I swear, it wasn’t just—” My words collapse into sobs, hot and humiliating, but I can’t stop. “I’m scared, okay? What if he’s hurt? What if something happened?”

Josh stares at me, caught between anger and something else—something softer, buried under his exhaustion. He opens his mouth, then shuts it, his jaw working.

I wipe at my face with the heel of my hand, breath shuddering. “Please,” I whisper. “Don’t shut me out. Not with this. Not when it’s him.”

The hall is so quiet I can hear the tick of the kitchen clock downstairs. My whole body feels like it’s about to break in half.

Josh exhales through his nose, a long, sharp sound. His knuckles tighten on the doorknob like he’s holding back words he doesn’t want to say.

Finally, he mutters, “Get your shoes. If you’re this freaked out, we’ll go.”

For a second, I just blink at him, not sure I heard right. “You mean—”

“Yeah.” His voice is low, clipped, still laced with anger. “I’ll drive. But if we get all the way to Fairview and Gavin’s fine, Ari…” He shakes his head, jaw clenched. “I swear, I’m gonna lose it. Three hours, in the middle of the night, on a school night, just because you panicked? You’d better hope you’re not wrong.”

The words sting, but I nod anyway, too desperate to argue. “Fine. I don’t care. I just—” My throat closes around the rest. I can’t say I just need to see him alive.

Josh pulls a hoodie over his t-shirt and grabs his keys from the dresser. His movements are sharp, fast, but his face is pale in the dim hall light. Maybe he won’t admit it, but I know he heard something in my voice—enough to believe me, even if it’s only half.

I shove my sneakers on with shaking hands, my phone clutched so tightly it hurts. The screen’s still blank, no new call, no message. Each second without it feels like another stone in my chest.

By the time we’re out the door, the night air slices through my hoodie, but I barely feel it. The only sound is the jingle of Josh’s keys and the thud of our footsteps on the porch.

“Get in,” he says, unlocking the car. His tone is flat, but under it, I catch something else—an edge of worry he’s trying to bury.

I slide into the passenger seat, hugging my arms to my chest. The second he starts the engine, I whisper, “Thank you.”

Josh doesn’t look at me, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Don’t thank me yet.”

The car rolls out of the driveway, the quiet suburban streets of home falling behind us as we aim straight into the dark,

toward Fairview. My chest tightens, my pulse pounding louder than the engine.

Please, Gavin. Be okay.