I curled up on my bed, clutching my phone, the soft hum of my room heater, the only background noise as I scrolled through my contacts.
Brent.
I hesitated for a moment, then pressed the call before I could overthink it. It had been too long.
Too long since I heard his voice, too long since I let myself remember what home felt like. The phone rang once, twice—
Then his familiar voice answered.
"Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite runaway best friend. Took you long enough to call."
A soft smile tugged at my lips despite everything. "Hey, Brent."
His voice immediately shifted, softer now. "Hey, Bethany. How’s university life treating you?"
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to sound light, casual. "Oh, you know. The usual. Classes, assignments… surviving."
It was half true.
Brent hummed, unconvinced. "Surviving, huh?" He paused. "That doesn’t sound like the Betty I know. Are you sure everything’s fine?"
I curl up tighter in my blanket, forcing lightness into my voice. "Yeah, just wanted to catch up. How's university treating you?"
He talks about his classes, his new friends, the weird professor who collects vintage action figures. But there's something careful in his tone, like he's testing the waters. Brent's always been able to read me, even through phone lines and miles of distance.
"Betty," he says finally, cutting through my attempt at casual conversation. "What's really going on?"
The concern in his voice threatens to crack my carefully constructed facade. I swallow hard against the sudden tightness in my throat. "Nothing, I'm fine—"
"You don't have to tell me," he interrupts gently. "Just... remember I'm here, okay? Whatever it is, whatever happens – I'm on your side. Always have been, always will be."
The words hit me like a physical blow, breaking through defenses I didn't even know I'd built. God, I miss him. Miss the way he could make everything feel manageable with just a stupid joke or a quiet word of support.
I closed my eyes, gripping the phone tighter.
I couldn’t tell him.
Not about the party, the diary, the bet, the humiliation. Not about Marcus.
So instead, I pushed forward. "Actually, I do have some good news."
"Yeah?" His voice immediately perked up. "Spill."
"I… joined a new cheerleading team."
A pause. Then—"No way. Bethany Carter is back in the game?"
I chuckled. "I guess so."
"That’s amazing!" he said, and I could hear the genuine excitement in his voice. "You were incredible in high school – remember that routine that won you regionals? You were born for it."
I felt something warm spread through me at his words.
"I don’t know about that," I murmured.
"Are you kidding?" he scoffed. "You were the best. I still have your trophies, by the way."
I blinked, caught off guard. "You… do?"
"Of course," he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I never got rid of them. They’re on my shelf, right next to our prom picture. Thought you’d want them back someday."
A lump formed in my throat.
He still had them.
Even after I left. Even after I disappeared into a new life without him.
I closed my eyes, forcing the sudden rush of emotions back. "Thank you, Brent. Really."
"You don’t have to thank me," he said gently. "I’ll always be here for you, Bethany. No matter what."
My fingers clenched around the phone, my breath hitching.
I missed him. So much it physically hurt. But I couldn’t say that.
Sleep comes easier that night, wrapped in memories of simpler times.
* * *
The next day, fresh from my first practice with The Unseen, my muscles pleasantly sore and my spirit lighter than it's been in weeks, reality crashes back in.
Marcus materializes outside the locker room like a ghost I can't exorcise, his broad frame blocking my escape route.
"We're not done talking," he says, voice low and intense. "You can't just walk away."
My back hits the wall before I realize he's moved, his arms caging me in.
I glared up at him, anger bubbling inside me. "Are you seriously doing this right now?"
"Yeah," he said, stepping closer, his sheer presence overwhelming. "Because you keep running every time I try to talk to you."
I scoffed. "Maybe because there’s nothing left to say."
"That’s bullshit," he said, his voice sharp. "You know it is."
Something inside me snapped. I shoved at his chest, hard, but he barely moved.
"You don’t get to stand here and act like you care. You—" My voice cracked, fury and humiliation twisting together into something unbearable.
His expression flickered—something dark, something pained—but I didn’t let him speak.
"You had your fun," I bit out, my voice shaking. "So why the hell are you still here? Why are you still bothering me?"
He exhaled harshly, his jaw tight, his eyes searching mine. And then, in a voice so low it sent a shiver down my spine—
"Because I can’t stop thinking about you."
My stomach plummeted. For a second, neither of us moved.
Then—rage. I shoved him again, this time with everything I had.
"Don’t," I spat. "Don’t you dare say that to me!"
His hands shot out, grabbing my wrists and pinned them against the wall besides my face, and I hated how my pulse jumped at the contact.
"I mean it," he growled.
"I don’t care!" I shouted, my voice breaking. "I don’t care what you mean, Marcus! You’re disgusting! You and Stacey—you deserve each other!"
His grip on me tightened, his eyes flickering with something dangerous. "You think I want her?"
"Oh, I don’t think, Marcus.” I laughed bitterly, finally yanking my hands free. “I know it. And I want nothing to do with either of you."
I stepped back, my breath coming fast, my chest aching.
"I don’t even want to breathe the same air as you," I whispered.
His expression hardened. For a second, I thought he might say something.
But instead, he just stood there, watching as I turned my back on him and walked away.