Marcus’s POV
The rain showed no signs of stopping.
I poked at the small fire we’d managed to start in the old pavilion. The smoke rose lazily, mixing with the humid air, and I could feel the weight of Stacey’s silence beside me.
She sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, staring out at the rain like it held all the answers to life’s problems. Her hair, usually perfect, hung damp around her face, and her mascara had smudged just a little. It wasn’t like her to let her guard down like this.
“You’re awfully quiet,” I said, my tone lighter than I felt.
She shot me a look. “Not every moment needs commentary, Marcus.”
“Noted,” I replied, raising my hands in surrender. But after a moment, I couldn’t help myself. “I’m just saying, the Stacey I know usually has plenty to say.”
She let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “The Stacey you know is a fraud.”
The words hit harder than I expected. “Hey, come on. Don’t—”
“It’s true,” she interrupted, her voice sharper now. “Do you know how exhausting it is? Pretending everything’s fine, that I’ve got it all together? Cheer captain. Perfect grades. Perfect hair. Perfect... everything.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” I said quietly.
She turned to me then, her eyes narrowing. “Why not? You’re the one who taught me how to put on a good show. Smile for the crowd. Play the part.”
That stung, mostly because she wasn’t wrong.
“Look,” I said, leaning forward, “I know I wasn’t exactly a great influence back then. But you’re not that girl anymore, Stace. You’ve changed.”
She snorted, brushing a wet strand of hair from her face. “Yeah. Sure. Because running from my problems and slapping Monica is a real glow-up.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, which earned me another glare.
“I’m serious,” I said. “You’ve been through a lot, and you’ve handled it better than most people would. Including me.”
She rolled her eyes, but her shoulders relaxed just a little. “Don’t flatter me, Marcus. It’s not a good look on you.”
“Who said I’m flattering you?” I countered, a smirk tugging at my lips.
Her gaze softened for a moment, and she looked away, her voice quieter now. “I miss her, you know. My mom.”
It was like she’d dropped a bomb in the middle of the conversation. Stacey didn’t talk about her mom. Ever.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “I know you do.”
She shook her head, her voice breaking. “She was the one who held everything together. Even when my dad left, even when everyone in my family turned their backs on us... she never gave up. And now she’s gone, and I... I don’t know how to keep going.”
Her words hung heavy in the air, and I struggled to find the right thing to say. “You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. Nobody expects you to.”
She looked up at me then, her eyes glassy. “You don’t get it. Everyone expects me to be perfect. And if I can’t be that... what’s the point?”
“The point is you’re still here,” I said firmly. “You’re still fighting, even if it doesn’t feel like it. And that’s enough.”
She didn’t respond, but the tension in her shoulders eased just a little.
“Brent gets it,” she said after a long pause, almost to herself. “He... sees me. Even when I don’t want to be seen.”
Something twisted in my chest at the mention of his name. Brent always had a way of making people feel like they mattered, like they were more than their flaws. It was something I envied—and resented—about him.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice quieter now. “He’s good at that.”
Stacey glanced at me, a faint smirk on her lips. “You don’t sound too thrilled about it.”
I shrugged, poking at the fire again. “He’s got his strengths. Doesn’t mean we’re going to braid friendship bracelets anytime soon.”
She actually laughed at that, a real laugh this time, and for a moment, the tension between us lifted.
“You’re an idiot,” she said, shaking her head.
“Maybe,” I replied, leaning back against the beam. “But I’m an idiot who’s glad you’re still around.”
She didn’t say anything, but the faint smile on her face said enough.