Chapter 17: Torn Between

Cody POV

I’m still shaky from the crash outside Ryan’s place. Glass breaking, loud and close. He started to say something—“I need to tell you”—but we didn’t get far. We scrambled up, checked the windows. Nothing clear. Just a busted bottle in the driveway, maybe some drunk guy. My heart stayed fast, uneasy. We cleaned up the glass inside from my tantrum, quiet and tense. Tara’s words—“Gold-digger, boy toy”—still burn in my head. I crash at his place after, too tired to leave. His arm’s heavy around me in bed, but sleep’s rough. Doubt’s creeping in, slow and cold.

Next day, I’m back at my apartment, needing air. Ryan’s at some meeting with Greg, so I’m alone. My couch sags under me, still messy from our hideout. I’m picking at a loose thread when my door bangs open. No knock. Just Jake, my scruffy brother, skateboard under his arm. His hair’s wild, eyes narrow. My stomach twists. He’s got that look again, like when he caught us. Trouble.

“You’re better off single,” he says, voice hard. He drops his board, loud on the floor. “Fame’s fucked up, Cody. He’s dragging you down.” My chest tightens fast. I stand quick, hands balling up.

“Ryan’s not like that,” I say, loud. My voice shakes a little. “He loves me.” I think of his kisses, his “You’re mine” against the wall. My heart’s sure, but my head’s not. Jake steps closer, sneakers scuffing my floor.

“He’s a star,” Jake says, sharp. “You’re just his fun. Look at the mess photos, rumors.” He means that balcony pic, Tara’s lies. “Cut it now, before it’s worse.” His words hit like rocks. My throat gets tight. I want to yell, but doubt creeps in, cold and heavy. Jake’s my brother. He’s rough, but he cares. What if he’s right?

“Shut up,” I say, weak. My hands shake bad. “You don’t get it.” I turn away, staring at the cracked wall. My chest hurts, like it’s splitting. Jake snorts, loud and mean.

“Fine,” he says. “Your funeral.” He grabs his board and stomps out. The door slams hard. I sink to the couch, head in my hands. My breath’s fast, shaky. Ryan’s face flashes—his grin, his touch. Then Tara’s smirk. Greg’s “Fake a girlfriend”. Jake’s warning. It’s all too much. My stomach churns, sick and twisted.

Hours drag. Night falls, dark and quiet. I’m pacing my tiny kitchen when the door creaks open. Ryan stumbles in, hood up, eyes glassy. He smells like whiskey, sharp and strong. My heart jumps, mad and happy. “You okay?” I ask, stepping close. He sways a little, grinning sloppy.

“Missed you,” he slurs, voice thick. He pulls his hoodie off slow, dropping it. His shirt comes next, peeling over his head. His chest glows under my dim lamp, tan and hard. “Choose me,” he says, low and rough. He kneels fast, hands on my thighs. My shorts feel tight. His lips press there, warm and wet, kissing slow. My breath catches, loud in the quiet.

“Ryan,” I say, shaky. My hands grab his hair, tugging light. He looks up, eyes dark, drunk, needy. My chest hurts bad. I pull him up, fast and clumsy. Our mouths crash together, sloppy and hot. Tongues thick, messy. I taste whiskey on him, bitter and good. My hands fumble at his jeans, yanking them down. His boxers follow. He’s hard, pressing close. I groan loud, needing him. His hands rip at my shorts, quick and rough. They hit the floor.

We stumble back, hitting the counter. His hips grind into mine, hard and fast. My legs shake bad. I kiss him deeper, hands clawing his back. “You’re mine,” I say, voice breaking. My nails dig in, desperate. He nods, panting hard. “Yours,” he slurs, kissing my neck wet. We don’t make it to the bed. It’s here, now. He grabs lube from his pocket—always ready—and slicks up fast. I turn, bending over the counter. He’s in quick, one thrust, deep and raw. I cry out, loud and sharp.

He moves fast, sloppy from the drink. Skin slaps loud, echoing in my tiny place. My hands grip the edge, knuckles white. “Cody,” he grunts, voice thick. His hands bruise my hips, holding tight. I push back, matching him. My legs tremble, weak. Sweat drips down my chest. I feel him, hot and hard, every thrust shaking me. My head spins, mad and lost. I come fast, moaning loud, spilling on the floor. He follows, shuddering hard, groaning deep. Warm inside me.

We collapse, him on me, heavy and sweaty. My chest heaves, air burning my lungs. His face buries in my neck, breath hot. My heart’s pounding, wild and unsure. Jake’s words twist in me. “Fame’s fucked up.” I pull away slow, sliding out from under him. He flops to the floor, wrecked, eyes wide. “Need space,” I say, voice small. My throat’s tight, choking me. His face crumples, drunk and hurt.

“Cody,” he says, reaching weak. His voice cracks. My chest splits open, aching bad. I grab my shorts, pulling them on fast. My hands shake hard. “Just… need to think,” I say, stepping back. He’s on the floor, jeans tangled at his ankles, looking small. My heart hurts, but my head’s loud. I turn, heading for the door. My sneakers squeak on the wood. I don’t look back. Rain’s soft outside, tapping the roof. I step out, shutting the door quiet. My breath’s shaky, wet on my lips. I’m aching, uncertain, lost.

I walk slow, hands in my pockets. My shorts stick to me, damp from sweat. My chest feels empty, cold. I hear his voice in my head—“Choose me”—soft and slurring. My eyes sting, hot and blurry. I wipe them fast, mad at myself. I want him. Bad. But Jake’s right about fame. The photo. Tara. Greg. It’s a mess. I kick a rock, hard. It skitters down the street. My legs feel heavy, tired.

Then my phone buzzes in my pocket. Sharp. Once. I stop, heart jumping fast. My hands fumble, pulling it out. A text. From Jake. My stomach drops hard. “Told you he’d break you.” My eyes go wide. Ryan’s voice cuts through, faint from inside. “Cody, please!” It’s broken, loud through the door.