Chapter Five

SOLANA

The party winds down sometime after midnight. People start leaving in pairs and groups, voices slurred, laughter echoing through the house.

Tyler, of course, is the life of it until the very end—drunk off his ass, hanging off his teammates, flashing that perfect, easy grin that makes everyone adore him.

I, on the other hand, just want to leave.

When I finally manage to pull him toward the door, he stumbles slightly, leaning into me with all his weight.

“Whoa,” I murmur, struggling to keep him steady. “Okay, let’s get you in the car.”

He chuckles against my ear, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath. “Mmm, my girl’s takin’ care of me.”

I tighten my grip on his arm, leading him outside. “Yeah. Like always.”

It takes some effort, but I get him into the passenger seat. He slumps against the window, mumbling something incoherent as I shut the door and walk around to the driver’s side.

The drive is quiet, aside from Tyler shifting in his seat every so often, muttering under his breath.

His head lolls to the side, eyes half-lidded, but even drunk, he still manages to exude that same effortless arrogance.

“You’re so good to me, Sol,” he mumbles suddenly, voice thick with liquor. “Dunno what I’d do without you.”

I grip the wheel tighter, my knuckles white.

I don’t answer.

Because I don’t know what he’d do without me.

But I know what I’d be without him.

Free.

The city lights blur past as I grip the wheel, my heart heavy in my chest. Tyler shifts beside me, mumbling something incoherent, his head resting against the window.

The weight of him—his presence, his control—presses down on me even now.

The road is quiet, empty. It’s just me and him and the sound of the tires against the pavement.

I could keep driving.

I could take a turn, head anywhere but home.

But the thought is fleeting, drowned out by the invisible leash he has on me. The one that keeps me tethered no matter how much I dream of breaking free.

I pull into our apartment complex, cutting the engine.

“Tyler,” I murmur, reaching over to shake him gently. “We’re home.”

He groans, barely lifting his head. “Mmm… help me, baby.”

I exhale, exhausted, but unbuckle my seatbelt and step out. I open his door, hooking my arms under his, struggling to pull him up. He’s heavy, all muscle and dead weight.

We stumble toward the building, his arm draped over my shoulders, his breath warm against my neck.

“You’re always so good to me,” he murmurs again, his voice slurring.

I don’t respond. I just get him inside, down the hall, into the apartment.

The second we cross the threshold, he lets go of me and stumbles toward the couch, collapsing onto it with a heavy sigh.

I stand there for a moment, staring at him.

This is my life.

Cleaning up after him. Taking care of him. Holding my breath, waiting for the next mood swing, the next cruel comment, the next reminder that I’m his and no one else’s.

I should leave him there. Let him sleep it off.

But I don’t.

Because I don’t know how to stop taking care of him.

With a tired sigh, I grab a bottle of water from the kitchen and set it on the coffee table. Then I kneel beside him, unlacing his shoes, sliding them off.

His breathing evens out. His face, in sleep, looks peaceful. Innocent.

I stand slowly, stepping back, staring at him like maybe—just maybe—this will be the night I finally see him for what he is.

Not the boy I loved.

But the man who’s breaking me.

I turn off the lights and leave him there.

I shut the bedroom door behind me, leaning against it for a moment, exhaling slowly.

My hands are shaking, and I don’t know if it’s from exhaustion or the weight of everything pressing down on me.

The apartment is quiet now, the only sound is the distant hum of traffic outside.

I move toward the bed, peeling off my jacket, my shoes, anything that feels too tight. My body feels heavy, like I’ve been carrying something too big for too long.

I crawl under the blankets, pulling them up to my chin. The bed is cold, but I don’t mind.

I close my eyes.

Maybe I’ll sleep before he wakes up. Before the mood shifts again. Before he finds something new to pick at, something new to fix about me.

The door creaks open.

I freeze.

It's a reflex now.

Footsteps pad across the carpet, slow and heavy. My back is to him, my body curled under the blankets, but I feel him approaching before I hear the soft dip of the mattress.

The scent of alcohol and his cologne—sharp, familiar—wraps around me as he slides in behind me.

A strong arm drapes over my waist, pulling me back into the warmth of his chest. His body is heavy with sleep, his breaths uneven, slow.

“You didn’t wait for me,” he murmurs against my neck, voice thick with exhaustion.

I swallow hard. “I thought you’d be more comfortable on the couch.”

His grip tightens just slightly, his fingers flexing against my hip. “I sleep here. With you.”

I nod against the pillow. “Okay.”

For a moment, there’s only silence. Then his fingers start moving—slow, absentminded circles over my hipbone, tracing delicate patterns on my skin through the fabric of my shirt.

“I missed you tonight,” he whispers.

I stare at the wall. “I was with you all night.”

He exhales a soft laugh. “You know what I mean.”

I don’t. But I don’t say that.

His lips graze my shoulder, warm and slow, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer. “Sometimes I look at you, and I think about the first time I saw you. Tenth grade. You were sitting under that big tree in front of the school, reading. Your hair was in that stupid braid you always did, and you had that little crease between your brows.”

A memory flickers.

That fall afternoon. The golden leaves. The book in my lap. The sound of Tyler and his friends tossing a football around nearby.

I remember glancing up.

I remember catching him staring at me.

He had that same cocky smirk, but his eyes were different then—curious, boyish, softer.

“You looked so annoyed when I sat down next to you,” he murmurs, chuckling at the memory. “I think I asked what you were reading, and you rolled your eyes at me.”

I did.

Because I knew exactly who he was.

And I never thought he’d notice me.

But he did.

And that was the beginning.

“I think about that all the time,” Tyler continues, his voice low. “How different my life would be if I never sat down that day. If I never looked at you.”

I close my eyes.

I think about it too.

If I had ignored him that day. If I had never looked back. If I had never fallen for the sweet, cocky but thoughtful boy who used to hold my hand in the halls and write me notes in my locker.

Would I be free?

“I love you, Sol,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my neck, slow and deliberate.

I don’t know why, but my throat tightens.

The words used to mean everything. They used to make me feel safe. Wanted. Loved.

Now, they feel like a warning. A reminder. A chain.

I force the words past my lips. “I love you too.”

Because I have to.

Because I don’t know what he’d do if I didn’t.

His breathing slows, his grip on me loosening as sleep overtakes him.

I stay awake.

Staring at the ceiling.

Feeling his arm around me like a cage.

And knowing, when morning comes, I’ll play my part all over again.

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