Chapter 116
Kieran's POV
I want to be where you are.
That's what I'd told her. Standing in the rain, holding that umbrella over her head while my shoulder got soaked. I'd meant it. God, I'd meant it so much it physically hurt to say out loud.
But that was before Mom's confession tonight. Before I learned Drake was coming back in eight weeks.
My phone buzzed. For a second, hope flared—but it was just a notification. Some automated reminder about a physics assignment due next week.
I opened my messages anyway, scrolling to Summer's name. Our last exchange stared back at me, each word a knife twist:
Summer: "I'll miss you."
Me: "I'll miss you too."
I'd typed those words sitting alone in my room hours ago, right after her plane had taken off. The apartment had been so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat. I'd stared at those four words for what felt like forever before hitting send, watching them disappear into the ether, hoping they'd reach her somewhere over Pennsylvania or New York. I'd meant them. I'd let myself believe, for one stupid moment, that maybe we could have something real. That maybe I deserved to reach for the light she offered.
Earlier that afternoon, three hours after she'd left me standing in the rain outside St. Jude's—after I'd escaped Mrs. O'Brien's pity in the hallway, her knowing looks and whispered concerns about "that phone call"—I'd walked in to find Mom sitting at the kitchen table, her phone clutched in both hands like it might explode. Her face was blotchy, eyes swollen. The kind of crying that had been going on for hours.
Two months. Only eight weeks.
I stared at that text—I'll miss you too—until the letters blurred. It felt like a promise I'd already broken. A lie I'd told without knowing it was a lie.
My thumb hovered over the keyboard. I started typing: How was the flight?
Deleted it.
Are you—
Deleted that too.
What was I supposed to say? Hey, remember that whole "same city" thing I said in the rain? Turns out my violent drunk of a father is getting out of prison two years early for good behavior, so I'm probably going to have to disappear soon. Sorry about that. My bad.
I locked my phone and leaned back, closing my eyes. The music from downstairs pounded through the floor, some classic rock song about freedom and open roads. The irony wasn't lost on me.
I opened my eyes, staring at the water-stained ceiling. I had three options, and they were all terrible.
One: Report Drake to the police. But I had no proof he was planning anything. His prison record showed "good behavior." The cops wouldn't do anything except maybe give him a warning, which would only make him angrier. And then we'd be right back where we started, except he'd know we'd tried to stop him.
Two: Move. Pack up everything, find a new apartment, hope Drake couldn't track us down. Except we had no money for a security deposit, first and last month's rent, all of it. Every dollar I'd earned from tutoring and competition prizes had gone to Lily's medical bills and Mom's prescriptions. And even if we did move, Drake could just follow Mom home from The Happy Patty. One afternoon of watching, and he'd have our new address.
Three: Leave Boston entirely. Take Mom and Lily, get on a bus, go somewhere Drake would never find us.
But that meant giving up St. Jude's. Giving up any chance at getting my competition standing back. Giving up MIT.
Giving up Summer.
I squeezed the Zippo tighter, the metal edges digging into my palm. I thought about her, probably in her dorm room by now. Thought about her in that blue dress at the symphony hall, playing like her life depended on it. Thought about her face when I'd admitted I wanted to be in the same city as her, the way her whole expression had softened into something I didn't deserve.
She was going to Juilliard. Going to prove herself, going to build something real. And I was going to be here, dealing with the same nightmare I'd been trying to escape since I was fifteen.
My phone buzzed again. This time, it was her.
"Just landed in NYC. Dorm is actually pretty nice—heat works and everything. Did you eat dinner? Please tell me you ate. Good night, K. ☀️"
I stared at that little sun emoji until my vision blurred. She always signed her texts like that. Like she was trying to give me some of her light.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. The cursor blinked, waiting. Mocking me.
I typed: I'm glad you got there safe. The apartment is quiet without—
Deleted.
Thank you for checking. I—
Deleted.
Summer, I need to tell you—
Deleted.
How could I explain this to her? How could I tell her that the boy who'd said I'll miss you too this afternoon was already becoming someone else? Someone who had to choose between protecting his family and holding onto the one good thing that had ever happened to him?
Finally, I just typed: "Good night."
Two words. Cold and final. I hit send before I could change my mind, before I could type what I really wanted to say: I wish I could be the person you think I am. I wish I could keep that promise I made in the rain.
I couldn't tell her about Drake. If she knew, she'd worry. She'd try to help. She might do something crazy like come back early, or offer money, or tell her mother. And I couldn't accept that kind of help. I'd already lost too much—my right hand's full function, any semblance of a normal teenage life, the ability to dream without calculating the cost.
I couldn't lose my pride too.
I stood and walked to the window, looking out at the empty street. No stars tonight, just the dull orange glow of streetlights and the occasional passing car. Somewhere out there, Drake was counting down the days until his release. Somewhere out there, Summer was settling into her dorm, probably texting Mia about her first night in New York, still believing that the boy she'd left in the rain would be waiting for her when she came back.
I made my decision then, standing in that cold apartment with my mother crying in the next room and my sister sleeping through it all, with Summer's text glowing on my phone screen like a star I couldn't reach.
I would protect them. Whatever it took.
Even if it meant I had to let Summer go.
Because when Drake got out, there wouldn't be anywhere safe near me. And Summer didn't deserve to be dragged into this war. She didn't deserve to watch me become the kind of person who had to choose between violence and running, who had to measure every moment of happiness against the cost it might exact from the people he loved.
In my mind, I said what I couldn't text her:
I'm sorry, Summer. Thank you for making me believe that even in the darkest places, there could be a little warmth. Thank you for seeing something in me worth fighting for.
But I can't pull you into my darkness. Not this time.
The music from downstairs shifted to something slower, sadder. I stayed at the window until the cold seeped into my bones, until my breath fogged the glass, until I couldn't feel my fingers anymore. Until the phone in my hand stopped buzzing, stopped lighting up with her name.
Eight weeks. That's all I had left.
Eight weeks to figure out how to disappear without breaking her heart.
Eight weeks to become someone who could walk away from the only person who'd ever made me want to stay.