He drove to the school.
Didn't ask if I wanted to go there. Didn't explain why. Just took familiar turns through streets I'd memorized and pulled into the empty parking lot like coming back here was always inevitable.
The building loomed dark against the night sky. Chain-link fence still surrounded the construction zone where they were supposed to start demolition in three weeks. Yellow caution tape fluttered in the wind like surrender flags.
Chase parked. Killed the engine. Sat there staring through the windshield at a building that was about to become memory.
"We can't get in," I said.
He opened his door. "Watch me."
I followed because apparently that was what I did now. Followed boys with concussions and broken arms into places we weren't supposed to be.
He popped the trunk one-handed. Pulled out bolt cutters like this was planned. Like he'd been carrying them around waiting for the right felony opportunity.
"You keep those in your truck?"
"Work tools."
"For architecture?"
"For moments like this."
He walked to the fence. Positioned the cutters with his good hand. His injured arm hung useless in the sling. He tried to close the cutters. Couldn't get enough leverage.
I took them without asking. "Where?"
He pointed to a link near the bottom. I cut. The metal snapped with a sound too loud for how quiet everything else was. Cut again. And again. Until there was a gap big enough to slip through.
We navigated through the construction zone in silence. Hard hats abandoned on sawhorses. Equipment covered in tarps. Permits stapled to plywood barriers.
The gym door was locked but the window was still broken from the last time we were here. Five years ago. Different people. Same criminal trespass.
Chase helped me through first. Then followed awkwardly with one arm. Landed heavier than he should. Winced.
"You okay?"
"Fine."
"You're not fine."
"Neither are you. We're a matched set."
The gym was exactly the same. Bleachers folded against the walls. Basketball hoops hanging like forgotten prayers. Floor polished to a shine that reflected the emergency exit lights.
We climbed to the top row. Sat in the dark. Just breathing.
My shirt was still damp from coffee. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. Chase sat next to me with his good arm resting on his knee and his injured one trapped against his chest.
We didn't talk for a long time. Just existed in the space where we'd first kissed and first fought and first realized maybe we were both too broken to fix each other but too stubborn to stop trying. Finally, Chase spoke.
"I didn't crash because of you."
The words hung there. Honest. Clear.
"I know."
"Do you? Because everyone's saying—"
"I don't care what everyone's saying."
He looked at me. "You should. They're destroying you online. Making you the villain in a story they don't understand."
"Let them."
"Zoey—"
"I know it wasn't my fault. That's enough."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "But I stayed in this town because of you."
My breath caught.
"Because leaving meant accepting I'd lost you permanently. And I couldn't." His voice cracked slightly. "So I built buildings and dated people who didn't matter and told myself I was moving on. But really? I was just waiting for you to come back."
I wiped my eyes. Hard. Angry at the tears for existing. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"What would I say? 'Hey, I built my entire life around the ghost of someone who chose a different future'? That's pathetic."
"That's human."
He laughed. "Human is supposed to be moving on. Dating. Building a life that doesn't revolve around someone who left."
"I didn't want to leave."
"But you did."
"Because staying meant watching you carry guilt that was destroying you. Because I was twenty-three and drowning in your grief and didn't know how to help."
"You could've tried."
"I did try. For a year. And you shut me out every single time." My voice shook. "You made me feel like I was suffocating you. Like my love was another burden instead of a lifeline."
He stared at his hands. "I know."
"So don't act like I just abandoned you. I left because staying was killing both of us."
We sat in the quiet. The gym felt massive. Like we were the only two people left in a world that had moved on without us.
Then I said what I'd been holding back since the hospital.
"I'm not ready to forgive you for shutting me out."
He looked at me. Nodded once. "Fair."
"Five years. You had five years to reach out. To tell me you were still stuck. To say anything."
"You were engaged."
"Not the whole time."
"Close enough."
I picked at a loose thread on my jeans. "But I'm not done."
"With what?"
"With you. With us. With whatever this is."
He exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for days. "Neither am I."
"Even though I'm leaving in three weeks?"
"Even though."
"That's masochistic."
"Probably."
I leaned against him. Careful of his injured arm. He shifted to accommodate me. His good hand found mine. Laced our fingers together.
"We're disasters," I said.
"Complete disasters."
"This won't end well."
"Nothing ever does."
"So we're just going to ride it out? Three weeks of pretending the expiration date doesn't exist?"
"Better than the alternative."
"Which is?"
"Spending another five years wondering what would've happened if we'd just been honest."
My chest ached. Not with sadness. With something bigger. Something that felt like grief and hope had a baby and it was screaming in my ribcage.
"Okay," I whispered.
"Okay?"
"Three weeks. Complete honesty. No running. No shutting each other out."
"And then?"
"Then I leave and we figure out if this is real enough to survive distance."
He squeezed my hand. "Deal."
We sat there in the dark on bleachers that had witnessed a thousand mundane moments. Games and assemblies and teenagers pretending they knew who they were.
But right now, in this specific moment, we were just two people choosing each other despite every reason not to. It wasn't forever. But maybe it was enough.