CH 1-10

Story Notes

They found each other where the world was loud
and their pain was quiet.

Love doesn’t always save you—
sometimes it just reminds you what you’re losing.

📖 Between the Shadows

Summary

Greya Matthews has already endured a lifetime of loss. Her grades and soccer talent could take her anywhere after graduation, but she feels tied to the only family she has left-her younger brother and her grandmother. Since her parents’ deaths, Greya has carried the weight of responsibility on her shoulders, sacrificing her dreams until she’s forgotten what it feels like to choose herself. That is, until she begins spending more time with Becker Reeves. Becker Reeves is the school’s golden boy-or so everyone believes. He’s the kind of guy every girl wants, except Greya. She sees past the charm, past the perfect image, and senses something darker. She pushes him in ways no one else dares to, and that terrifies him. Because letting her in means exposing secrets he’s kept hidden for far too long. Yet, there’s something about her he can’t walk away from. Then comes the tragedy. One moment that changes everything-shattering who they thought they were and forcing them to confront the truth. Together, Greya and Becker must face a new reality… one that will either forge them into something stronger or break them beyond repair.

Prologue

---

2017

The boy couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen, but the depth of his piercing aqua-blue eyes—and the worried crease between them—made him seem older. Shoulders hunched, hands jammed into his pockets, he stood at the front of our seventh-grade classroom like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Class, we have a new student. This is Becker Reeves,” Mrs. O’Rourke announced. “He’s been homeschooled until now, so please make him feel welcome.”

Silence stretched, heavy and awkward.

When no one responded, he lifted his chin, straightened his spine, and pasted on a smile that looked too practiced to be real.

The moment his lips curved, revealing his perfect teeth and adoring dimples, whispers rippled through the girls in the room—hushed but eager. Becker knew instantly he’d made an impression. He knew how to survive this.

I let myself join in the staring. It was easier than thinking about the emptiness waiting at home, about the hushed phone calls and casseroles that weren’t feeding anyone. Better to focus on him.

He wasn’t like the other boys. Taller, leaner, his skin unmarked where theirs was broken with acne. But it wasn’t his looks that pinned me in place—it was the contradiction. Those eyes: guarded, wounded, older than they should’ve been. That smile: polished, charming, a mask he wore with frightening skill.

He carried the attention easily as he walked to the empty desk beside mine. But I could tell—it cost him.

He slid into his seat, rummaging for a notebook and pen. I tried not to watch. Failed.

You can’t fool me, new kid. I know that mask. I wear one too.

And when he caught me staring, his gaze sharpened like he was testing me—measuring if I could see through him. He was right. I could. Becker Reeves reminded me of… me. Scared. Broken. Carrying too much.

A flicker of movement. He brushed dark hair from his face, and for a fraction of a second I saw it: a bruise beneath his right eye. Faded. Smudged with makeup, but still there. My chest tightened, my pulse quickening.

He glanced up, and just then his pen rolled off his desk, landing between us. We both bent to grab it. My fingers closed around it first.

Straightening, I offered it back.

He recoiled—so fast it startled me. Like my hand might burn him.

Fear. Anger. A smirk. All in the span of a heartbeat. My stomach knotted, unsettled. He smoothed it away just as quickly, pretending nothing had happened.

Still, I didn’t lower my hand. I held the pen steady until he finally reached for it. When his fingers brushed mine, a spark shot through me—unexpected, undeniable. His eyes widened. I forced myself to stay calm, offered him the faintest smile, then turned back to my notes.

The rest of class blurred into background noise. I kept stealing glances, drawn to him in a way I couldn’t explain. Whatever passed between us in that instant, it wasn’t nothing. It was a connection.

And even though tomorrow I’d bury my father—his cologne still clinging to the coat I wore today, his voice still echoing in the silent rooms of our house—my grief was suddenly eclipsed by worry for Becker Reeves. The boy with haunted eyes. The soldier fighting a battle he couldn’t name.

“Greya Matthews, please come to the office. You’re being dismissed,” the overhead speaker announced.

The room stilled. Heads turned, pity written across their faces. Everyone… except the new boy. He’s the only one who doesn’t know my father just died.

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and gave him one last smile before walking out. And in that moment, I made a silent promise: I would help Becker Reeves, no matter what….

“Greya!”

My eyes fly open. My heart pounds as the memory unravels, dissolving back into the present of 2022.

“Greya, wake up! We’ll be late!”

I blink against the light spilling through the blinds, the air heavy with the same emptiness I remembered from that day years ago. The echo of his eyes—piercing, broken, unforgettable—lingers in my chest like a wound that never heals.

Five years later, I still haven’t figured out the complexities of Becker Reeves…I still haven’t found a way to help him…found a way for him to let me in.

Part- 1

Present Day – 2022

Greya’s POV…

I overslept.

There’s only one reason I ever dream about Becker Reeves: game day. It means he’ll talk to me more than usual—maybe a jab about who’s leading in points, maybe that rare crooked smile when I push back. It’s never much, but it’s always enough to leave me restless. Becker doesn’t annoy me. He unsettles me.

“Coming, Chase!” I call, though my voice is still scratchy from sleep.

You know that saying—when life gives you lemons, make lemonade? Whoever came up with it didn’t know what to do when the lemons are already rotten, when no matter how hard you squeeze, nothing good comes out. That’s my life. Every time I think I’ve got something sweet, it spoils.

“Greya! I can’t find the clothes you told me to wear!” Chase calls again, his voice rising in frustration.

“They’re at the end of your bed. Feel around,” I shout back from the bathroom.

I catch my reflection as I braid my hair. Same green eyes, same brown waves my mom always said were her gift to me. No makeup, just lip gloss—it’s all I have time for. Ari swears I don’t need anything more. She says I look like my mom. She doesn’t know how much that hurts and makes me happy all at once.

“Grey!” Chase again.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll help him,” Gram’s voice drifts down the hall.

“Thanks, Gram.”

Relief settles in my chest, but it’s always mixed with guilt. She’s ninety, her hands stiff with arthritis, her steps slower every year, and yet she still does more than anyone should have to. After our parents died, she stepped in. Now it’s my turn to carry the weight.

By the time I reach the kitchen, Chase comes sliding across the floor in his socks, nearly crashing into the counter.

“Chase!” I snap. “What if I had a hot pan in my hand? You could’ve been hurt.”

“But you didn’t. And I wasn’t.” He shrugs, grinning like the whole world is his playground.

Typical ten-year-old—reckless, full of energy. But not every ten-year-old has Child Services watching closely, waiting for a reason to say Gram is too old to raise him. They don’t see what I see—that I’ve been raising him since he was three.

“Sit,” I tell him, setting a plate in front of him. A waffle and milk.

He finds the fork and plate by touch, his hands moving with practiced confidence. My chest softens as I watch. Most people don’t notice the way he angles his fingers or how he pauses briefly before reaching for the glass, but I see it. I see all of it.

When he’s finished, I hand him his shoes and backpack. He makes his way to the door without hesitation. He knows every inch of this house—as long as we never move the furniture.

I stop to set out Gram’s pills, pour her tea, and kiss her cheek. Her papery skin feels fragile against my lips. Then Chase and I are out the door.

Car rides with him are always loud. He belts every song on the radio, off-key and proud, the fall air whipping through the open window of my dad’s old Mustang. The leather still smells faintly of him. Sometimes, in moments like this, I almost trick myself into believing life is normal. Almost.

At his school, I pass him his white cane.

“See you tonight, buddy. Fynn’s picking you up.”

“Score lots of goals for me!” he beams, waving as he skips toward his teacher. My heart squeezes. This kid knows how to make lemonade.

At my school, Ari and Fynn are waiting in the courtyard. Ari flips her hair into his face until he groans.

“Will you not? Tie your Rapunzel hair up,” he mutters.

She does, rolling her eyes, just as I walk up.

“Hey, Grey! Soccer party tonight. At Becker Reeves’ house.” She grins like she’s announcing we won the lottery. “You have to come.”

“Yes, I saw. Instagram made sure of that. But no.”

The truth is, Becker’s always been private. People know his stats, not his story. Even though we share classes, sports, friends—we’re not close. Not really.

But there’s something unspoken between us. A strange, mostly silent connection I can’t explain. Becker’s a lost soul, and maybe this party will show me why.

“You’re going,” Ari insists. “Fynn’s going. Right, Fynn?”

He looks up from his book, eyes wide. “What?”

“You’re going,” she repeats, slower this time.

He shrugs. “Sure, why not.”

“See?” Ari smirks at me.

I roll my eyes. “Fine. But I’m skipping the guys’ game. Need to check on Chase and Gram.”

“Thanks for picking up Chase from school for me.”

“Anytime,” Fynn says, slinging an arm around my shoulders.

He’s been like family since second grade, when his family moved in across the street. His parents treat us like their own. Between him, Ari, and Cohen—my other childhood friend—they’re the only people I trust with Chase.

“Five minutes to locker room,” I warn Ari, dragging her along.

As we jog down the hall, she leans closer. “You ready for the big game?”

“Same as any other.”

“Not with UCLA’s scout in the stands.”

I force a laugh. “Can’t think about that right now.”

“You should. What if you make it big?”

“I can’t.”

Because my future ended the day I found my father’s body. Chase’s future didn’t. My dreams aren’t in the cards anymore. His still are.

We round the corner—and there he is. Becker Reeves, standing at his locker.

His eyes lift, catching mine for a heartbeat too long. He doesn’t say anything, just raises his hand in a subtle wave. Almost like a secret hello meant only for me.

Before I can decide if I imagined it, the corner of his mouth pulls into a quick smile—small, almost shy, gone as quickly as it came.

And I’m left standing in the hall with my heart doing the one thing I promised it wouldn’t do around Becker Reeves. It stumbles.

Part-2

Becker’s POV

“Never judge a book by its cover,” I whisper to myself as I get ready for the day.

No one actually follows that advice. They only see the flawless cover. If they bothered to read the pages, they’d find a terrible story.

My life is a mess, though no one would guess. I’ve got the brains, the athleticism, and the looks—the perfect trio, or so people think. I intend to use one of these gifts to escape this hell one day. Money isn’t an issue, and the last name helps, too. That’s all anyone notices. That’s fine, as long as they never look deeper. No one sees the curse I live under.

It takes all my strength to get through each day without unraveling. Pretending everything’s fine is exhausting. My brother Alec is the only reason I fight to survive. Him and Greya Matthews. Greya… the only girl who’s ever tried to see past my façade. Our friendship is complicated, messy, and my fault. I’ve learned love brings pain. I’ve made a vow never to ruin Greya with the horrors of my life. I stick to that vow and let me tell you how hard that’s been the last five years.

Greya is sweet, pure, everything I can’t be. Every day, she makes me want to be better. Yet I keep her at arm’s length—close enough to remind me life isn’t all bad, but far enough to protect her. I push her without her knowing, because she’s capable of so much and if anyone can make it out of here, it’s her.

But the truth is, I’m scared. Always. Scared of letting anyone close, scared of touching anyone… scars from an abusive, alcoholic father. I fear I can’t always protect Alec. I fear I’ll never know what love really is. The one person who should have loved us left Alec and me to fend for ourselves.

“Becker, you up?” Alec knocks at my door.

“Yeah, I’m up.” I’m always up. I haven’t slept properly since Mom left, over five years ago.

“Okay, I’ll wait for you in the car.”

“Wait—Jack’s here?” His voice is tense.

“I don’t know. His door’s shut. Hurry up, Beck.” Alec’s worried. I hate that.

I grab my bags and head downstairs. Silence. Good. Too good. Until a hand grabs my throat.

Jack. The alcohol hits me first. Six inches taller, a hundred pounds heavier. He shoves me against the wall, fist into my side. The air leaves my lungs. I close my eyes, waiting.

“Because of you, everything’s destroyed. Because of you, I need to fix this mess, find your mother.”

I barely breathe. His words are nonsense. His anger is directed at the wrong person.

He stumbles back. I hit the floor, gather my things, and flee.

“I’ll be gone until Monday! You both better be here when I return!” he slams the door.

I run to the car. Alec knows something happened, but he doesn’t confront me. He trusts I’ll protect him.

First we pick up Declan then Cohen. His messy curls bounce as he hops in the back. “You’re such a disaster,” I joke, trying to mask the tension.

“Party at your place tonight,” Declan blurts from the passenger seat.

“No!”

“Too late. I already sent invites!”

“You asshole,” I mutter.

At school, the crowd of girls is overwhelming. Hands reach out—unwelcome touches, flirtations, chaos. A consequence of keeping a flawless cover.

Delusional cheerleaders, Courtney and Layla, all of them testing boundaries. I tighten my chest, anxiety spiking. Physical contact feels like fire on my skin. I push through, heading for the locker room. Cold water splashes on my face before I end up panicking. I breathe. I regain control.

“Dude! You see how many girls are following you around today wanting to know about the party?” Declan asks while we’re storing our soccer gear in the locker room.

“Yes, thanks to you.” That was sarcastic.

“I’m just saying, maybe it’s time you find one you’re interested in. Could be good for you.” I give him a sideways glare.

There’s only one girl I’ll only ever be interested in and she’s off limits.

“Hey, I’m trying to help you out. I know the whole physical aspect is complicated but a girl might be different,” he says. I shake my head and put the rest of my gear away.

“We’ll see bro,” I tell him.

I walk out of the locker room without him. I know he’s trying to help. He doesn’t know how and neither do I, but some random girl in my arms isn’t going to fix anything.

What I need is to get to class where I can sit behind Greya and take comfort in the apple pie scent of her hair shampoo. Sounds weird when I say it out loud in my head, but that’s what works. That and the way she smiles at me, her beautiful green eyes reminding me of freshly sprouted grass under the warm spring sun. She doesn’t try to undress me with her stare like every other girl does. She sees me for…me, in a way, without actually knowing the real me.

Her presence alone calms me. She never pushes, never touches without consent. She just exists, quietly, letting me breathe. I know it’s selfish to lean on her this way, but I can’t help it. She’s everything I want and everything I can’t have. Just seeing her, hearing her voice, is enough for me to survive the day.

Maybe she’ll come to the party tonight. Probably not, but the thought… it eases the tightness in my chest.

I wait longer before walking to class. I lean against my book locker as I watch the chaos around me, people buzzing about tonight’s party, Courtney and Layla thinking they have a chance. Let them talk. Let them dream. I have to preserve the cover.

There she is. Greya. Standing slightly apart, calm in the chaos. My chest eases a little just seeing her. She doesn’t scream for attention like everyone else. She doesn’t touch me. She just exists.

Our eyes meet for a heartbeat. She waves—so small, so restrained. And I… I can’t do more. Not here, not now. I just nod, a silent agreement that she sees me and I see her. That’s enough for now.

This is survival. One day at a time. And maybe, just maybe, Greya will be the only reason I make it through today without breaking.

Part-3

Greya’s POV…

Whoever invented Calculus must have done it purely to torture humanity. Why so many different math classes? Just give us the basics—how to survive in the real world, balance a checkbook, pay taxes—stuff adults actually need.

Thankfully, Fynn and Ari are in the trenches with me, sharing the misery and occasionally trying to help. They sit on either side of me, though “helping” often means distracting me further. Numbers are not my forte, but I need this class if I want a shot at medical school.

I drop my books onto my desk, second row from the back, and the room’s chatter dims slightly as Becker Reeves strolls in. He runs his fingers through his dark brown hair, flashes his perfect smile, and every girl in the room visibly swoons. Typical.

But then his eyes meet mine. Those Caribbean blues—everyone else sees them as mesmerizing; I see the faint flicker of something else. A hesitation. A weight he’s carrying no one else notices. For a moment, he seems lost in thought, until I tilt my head in a small, teasing smile.

He slides into the seat behind me. The air shifts. His presence is quiet, yet impossible to ignore.

“You going to win your game today, Love?” he whispers, leaning just enough for me to hear the faint rasp of his voice. “Scout from UCLA’ll be watching too.”

I roll my eyes at the nickname. Ever since he learned my middle name, he’s insisted on using it, like some private code. It’s the only personal detail about me he cares to know.

But this is Becker’s way of talking. His way of connecting. So I play along.

“I heard… good luck then,” I respond, careful not to turn around. If I face him, he’ll see my intent, and he’ll retreat into his usual silence.

“The scout’ll notice who scores the most goals,” he teases.

“That’s a given, B,” I reply, shrugging.

He inhales sharply, a sound that makes my pulse skip. Pain? Frustration? I can’t tell, but it almost makes me want to turn and ask. I want to reach out, to pull the mask off, but he’d never answer honestly. He protects himself too well. Not so different from me, actually.

“Up for the challenge?” I ask instead. Keep it light, keep it safe. Let him reveal what he wants to in his own way.

He leans in slightly, the whisper near my ear, “Today I’m going to break that tie. You’ll be the one chasing me.”

I choose not to answer, not aloud. Instead, I note the subtle shift in his demeanor. There’s always something off about him, something hidden beneath the façade everyone else worships. First day in 7th grade, I saw it too: the loss in his eyes, the tension in his posture, the way he keeps everyone at arm’s length.

He’s never had a high school girlfriend. Only Declan and Cohen get close. His distance, his careful observation—it’s part of the armor he’s worn for years. And I’ve yet to get through that armor.

Then Declan interrupts, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Greya, you get another offer tonight, who are you picking?”

I ignore him. I haven’t figured it out myself, and I’m not ready to put my hopes on something that might not exist.

Becker’s voice suddenly cuts into my ear, sharp and furious, “What does he mean by another offer? Why haven’t you accepted?”

I scrunch my eyes, staring at him, stunned. He’s not usually this direct with me.

“So?” he adds, leaning back, arms crossed, irritation radiating off him.

“Why do you care?” I ask quietly. Finally. My first meaningful question to him, though the delivery isn’t exactly polite.

He freezes. The surprise in his eyes is almost… something else. And then he’s silent.

I turn back to my assignment, letting the moment linger. Thirty minutes later, I’m still stuck on problem two. Then, his hand quietly drops a folded piece of paper onto my desk. I open it: detailed steps for solving the entire set. My heart lifts—this is Becker’s apology, his help, his bridge.

“You coming to my party tonight?” he asks calmly, leaning just close enough that I feel his presence.

I’m still processing the math help. “Maybe,” I say, handing the paper back slowly. “Thanks.”

He leans back, chair balanced on two legs, watching me return the paper. His expression shifts again, subtle pain flickering across his features. I look away, giving him space, but not before noting those ocean blues that hold so much mystery.

I break the silence with a challenge. “If you score more goals than I do tonight, I’ll go to your party.”

He straightens, chair back on all fours, leans toward me again, and smirks. “Deal.”

Part-4

Greya’s POV…

“Earth to Grey!” Ari’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. One brow is arched, her hands on her hips.

“We have a game in thirty minutes and your head’s somewhere else.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” I reply, finishing tying my cleats.

“I’ve just… got a lot on my mind.”

“Girl, the only thing that should be on your mind is how you’re going to wow the UCLA scout. Whether you have an offer or not, that’s all that matters right now.”

I manage a believable smile. If only she believed the real distractions in my life. Between taking care of my ninety-year-old grandmother and my ten-year-old brother, dreams like a soccer scholarship feel impossibly far away. But I wouldn’t trade them for anything. Chase and Grams are my world.

I pull on my warm-up jacket and grab a ball, letting the familiar weight settle in my hands. On the field, for ninety minutes, I get to escape. Everything that worries me—the responsibilities, the past, the uncertainty—falls away when the ball is at my feet. For those moments, I’m free.

“Finish up, girls! Coach wants warm-ups in five,” Ari shouts.

She’s stepped up as team captain this year, and I’m grateful. I’m not the type to lead. Soccer is my sanctuary, not my platform.

The stadium is packed, everyone buzzing about the scout. I take to the field, letting myself enjoy the moment. That’s when I see Chase in the stands, waving frantically.

“Chase! What are you doing here?” I ask, jogging over.

“I wanted to watch! Please, Grey!” His excitement is contagious.

I glance at Fynn, who just shrugs with a smile. “I couldn’t say no.”

I scoop Chase into a hug. “Good luck hug first.” He squeezes tight. “You’ve got this, Greya. Tell Ari I said good luck too!”

I wave at Ari, who grins and blows kisses back to Chase. This kid… he doesn’t need sight to enjoy life. He reminds me every day that what matters isn’t what you see, but how you live.

Coach calls us in for the huddle. I close my eyes for a moment, grounding myself, clearing my head. When we shout our cheer and take the field, everything else falls away.

The game starts rough—we’re down 1-0 within the first ten minutes. Ari passes me the ball after the PK, and I see my opening. I split the defense and sprint, the goal in sight. In my head, it’s just me and the ball. I execute the move I’ve practiced a thousand times—rolling the ball with my toe, flicking it over the goalkeeper. The net ripples, the crowd erupts, and for a moment, I feel untouchable.

My teammates rush me, hugging and high-fiving, and Ari beams. “That’s teamwork, Grey. Your goal wouldn’t have happened without me!” I grin back, knowing she deserves the credit too.

I glance toward the bleachers. Chase is clapping, beaming, and I point at him. That goal was for him.

Then I see Becker. He’s sitting off to the side, calm, collected, but our eyes meet. There’s a subtle nod and a small smile—a private acknowledgment in the chaos. I return it with a tiny wave. That’s enough. That’s all we need sometimes.

We finish 3-1. I scored two, Ari one. Chase runs to me after the game, full of energy, and I let him take a ball onto the field to shoot at the net. He lines it up perfectly and scores, then Becker steps in, quietly retrieves the ball, and compliments him. “Nice shot, kid.” Chase grins like he just won the World Cup.

I call him back toward the bench. “Time to go home, little man.” Fynn scoops him up, and I thank him for bringing Chase.

Ari rushes over, practically vibrating with excitement. “The scout wants to talk to you now!”

I nod, feeling the weight of responsibility settle back onto my shoulders. My ninety minutes of freedom is over.

The scout approaches, professional and encouraging. “That was a great performance. You’ve exceeded my expectations.”

“Thank you,” I say softly. I know what comes next.

“We’re prepared to help you in any way. We want you on the team. Full scholarship. Even if you need to take a GAP year, your offer will stand.”

I nod again. The offer is tempting, but impossible. I glance back at the field where Becker has scored another goal. He smiles, fleeting and rare, and searches the stands as if expecting someone who isn’t there. That smile fades, and I wonder what he carries in those moments that no one sees.

For a moment, our eyes meet again. I give him the tiniest wave and a subtle smile, the kind only he would notice. A private acknowledgment in a world that demands facades.

Then I turn, shake off the lingering thoughts, and head to the locker room. Reality calls: Chase needs sleep, Grams needs care, and tonight, there’s a party at Becker’s house I can’t back out from. Life never pauses. But for those ninety minutes on the field, I had control. I had freedom. And sometimes, that’s enough.

Part-5

Greya’s POV…

I step into my house, the smell of pepperoni pizza hitting me like a welcome hug. Chase is curled up on the couch with Grams.

“Grey! You’re home!” he perks up. “Fynn brought pizza when he dropped me off!”

“Perfect! I love pizza,” I grin, heading to the kitchen.

Chase leans back into the cushions. “I know,” he says in his squeaky little voice, and I can’t help laughing at him.

“We’re watching The Hulk,” he adds. I glance at Grams, nodding at her sleepy smile.

“And I have a surprise for you,” I say, holding out my hand.

Chase jumps up, nearly colliding with the counter. “Careful!” I warn, guiding him safely.

I place his hand over a small object. His fingers move across the tiny bumps.

“No way! The Incredible Hulk, Vol. 2! Thank you, Greya!” He spins to hug me, and I smile despite knowing he can’t see it.

“Anything for my favorite little brother.”

“Only brother,” he corrects, grinning.

Soon, he runs off to his room with the comic, already absorbed. I quickly shower, throw on ripped jeans and a black lace tank top, leaving my hair down, a touch of mascara and lip gloss. “This will do,” I murmur.

I check on Chase again. “I’m going out tonight. Your alarm is on the nightstand—brush teeth and bed when it goes off, okay?”

“Okay.”

I kiss his head and give Grams her meds. “I’ll be late. Don’t wait up,” I inform her.

“Be safe, sweetheart,” she replies.

Fynn starts honking on his horn in my driveway so that’s my cue to hurry up. I grab my house key and make my way out to his car. I slide into the passenger seat and Fynn looks over at me with a big smile on his face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask him.

“You look hot!” He says and I laugh. “You do!” He reiterates. “And Ari told me you need to wear these,” he hands me a pair of silver loop earrings and a silver Pandora bracelet. I laugh, thinking about how Ari probably threatened Fynn to make me wear these.

There are dozens of cars lining up to Becker’s house when we arrive. “You ready for this?” Fynn is clearly more excited than I am about being here. “No,” I respond to him. “Come on, it’ll be fun, I promise,” he says as he hooks his arm with mine and leads me to the door.

I knew Becker came from money but I can’t picture him growing up in this mansion. It doesn’t suit the real him anyway.

Inside, it’s chaos: red cups, beer pong, spilled drinks, teenagers making out on couches, a keg challenge raging. My stomach knots.

Becker sits alone, dark hair falling over his eyes, expression unreadable. He doesn’t belong here either. Every move is calculated, walls raised. He notices me the moment I step in, but his gaze flicks away quickly—he doesn’t want attention. He just wants control.

“Grey!” I hear Ari squeal from across the room. She’s already drunk and that’s alright because I need someone to talk to or laugh at.

“Come over and join us, we’re gonna play a game,” Ari informs me. I roll my eyes at her and take a seat next to her on one of the couches. Fynn, Declan, Cohen and a few soccer players also join us.

“Truth or dare?” Someone blurts out. God, I hate this game.

“Truth,” Ari says excitedly. This should be good.

“Is it true that Norman Elsley already asked you to this years prom?” Declan asks loudly.

Poor Norman. He’s sweet and all and he probably asks Ari to prom about every other week. She always declines but Norman is hoping she’ll change her mind one day, I give him some credit for his efforts.

Becker unexpectedly joins us, taking a seat in the chair by the wall. No one can surprise him from that spot. He doesn’t at all look happy to be hosting this party. His dark messy hair like a hood over his eyes, his pouty lips forming a firm line. He quickly glances at me and frowns. Great, he doesn’t want me here just as much as I don’t want to be here. Parties are not my thing, and I can guess they’re not his either. Too many people for him to avoid. He’s probably putting on a good fight with himself over it as he usually does.

Courtney and Layla from the cheerleading squad follow him to where he’s sitting. Those two live in a fantasy world of their own, thinking that one day Becker will ask them out. I don’t know how Becker can tolerate them. Although, if he didn’t, those two gossip queens would ruin whatever he has going for him.

His expression remains stoic as the two girls are denied a seat next to him and instead squeeze onto the couches with the rest of us. I accidentally smirk out loud thinking about how funny this all is.

“Alright, Greya, truth or dare?” Courtney the more twisted of the two smirks back. I get a glimpse of Becker stiffening upright in my peripheral vision.

Just Perfect! I’m going to have to do a dare because there’s no way I’m truthfully answering any of her questions.

“I choose dare,” I say automatically. I see Becker stiffen, muscles tensing. I smirk to myself. He’s protective, but I don’t know how far that will go tonight.

Courtney smirks. “I dare you to go skinny dipping… with Becker.”

The room erupts. I freeze. Then I see Becker, expression stormy, standing abruptly. He slams his cup and storms upstairs. My pulse spikes. Typical Becker, shutting down chaos before it hits him.

What the hell just happened?

“Wait up Becker, I’ll keep you company,” the twisted one says and follows him upstairs.

The rest of us are quietly staring at one another until some random kid bursts out laughing. Declan rescues us from the awkwardness and offers me a new dare. This time I’m dared to do the keg stand with Ari and I gladly accept after that fiasco.

Numerous drinks later, My head’s spinning and I need to pee. I walk upstairs to find the restroom and come across Becker’s brother’s room first. He looks up from the video game he’s playing and chuckles when I latch onto his door frame for support.

“Hi, I’m Alec. Are you looking for something?” He asks.

“I’m Greya and yeah, could you please direct me to the bathroom?”

“Two doors down on the left,” I think he says.

“Thanks,” I stumble down the hall. Did he say two down on the left or right?

I pick the door on the right. It’s slightly ajar so I push it open further.

“What the hell Greya?” A girl shouts at me. I realize it’s Courtney and she’s lying naked in the bed. Wtf!

“Don’t just stand there! Leave!” She yells again. Just then, Becker walks out of his en-suite bathroom and looks at Courtney then at me. My vision is too hazy to decipher what his expression means, but I’m not going to stand here while Courtney’s breasts are on full display. Is he honestly going to get into bed with her?

I rush down the hall and open the door on the left, thankful it’s the bathroom. I quickly lock the door behind me and bolt for the toilet, as my insides hurl from my mouth. Gross!

A knock on the door startles me. “Just a sec!” I move to the sink and quickly rinse out my mouth. Fynn needs to take me home. Now.

I open the door to find Becker standing there. We’re both frozen, looking at each other until he finally speaks first.

“Are you okay?” His deep voice full of what appears to be concern, surprises me. What is with him?

“I’m fine. I’m sure Courtney’s waiting for you,” I hit him with a low blow that’s completely uncharacteristic of me when it comes to dealing with Becker. He confuses me though. He won’t let anyone close enough to touch him but he’s going to get into bed with Courtney? I’m going to vomit again, where’s Fynn?

“What you saw is not what you think.” He says.

What does it matter? Does it really matter? I can’t think straight.

“How would you know what I’m thinking?” I need to get out of here.

I start to walk through the door and he moves to the side to get out of my way.

“Greya!”

“Don’t Becker. You don’t need to explain anything.” He really does though. I laugh to myself.

My very unsteady body makes it back down the stairs and I’m about to find Fynn when someone shoves my body against the wall.

“Ouch, that hurt!” I mumble to whoever has me pinned.

“Miss Goody Two Shoes decided she was good enough to party with us tonight?” All I smell is alcohol. I realize that Mason Hendrix, our school’s starting wide receiver is the one mocking me. His hands are on my shoulders, pushing me further against the wall.

“You’re hurting me Mason!” He doesn’t care. Those blood shot dark eyes of his tells me he’s thirsty for something, and I’m the one he’s chosen to mess with.

“How about you and I find a place upstairs so we can have a little fun?” He seethes.

“Mason, you’re drunk.”

“So are you.”

“I’m not going any where with you Mason, let me go.”

He leans his whole body flush up against me and now I’m scared. His face comes within an inch of my ear. “That’s right, I almost forgot none of us are good enough for perfect little Greya Matthews.”

“Please get off of me,” I plead again.

Before he can torture me further, he’s ripped away from me by someone and thrown to the floor. The guy begins punching Mason in the face. I quickly realize it’s Becker. He yanked Mason from me. “She said to leave her alone Mason,” Becker angrily shouts as he lays his fist into Mason again.

A second later, one of Mason’s friends jumps onto Becker’s back causing Becker to freeze up. As soon as Mason realizes Becker isn’t fighting back, he sends an upper cut right into Becker’s jaw, splitting his lip.

The other guy is still on his back and I realize why Becker’s frozen. “Becker!” I yell his name to snap him out of it. He looks at me and finally throws the guy off of him.

Becker stands up and points to Mason and his friend. “Get out of my house…Now!!” He shouts at them and then turns around and walks back upstairs.

Fynn rushes to my side. “Holy shit! Are you ok Grey?”

“Yeah, I’m ok now. I want to go home, just give me a minute.” I say to Fynn.

I head back upstairs, straight for the bathroom where I find Becker sitting on the floor with his back against the wall.

There’s blood coming from his busted lip and his jaw is already red and bruising. He sits there silently watching me while I search for a wash cloth and soak it with cold water from the sink.

I cautiously approach him and kneel in front of him, his color instantly pales. He doesn’t say anything, but as soon as I bring the cool cloth towards his lip, he jerks his head back and grabs my wrist, holding my hand a few inches from his face.

He stares at my hand like it’s a weapon and suddenly I realize I’m scaring him like everyone else does when their hand goes near him. My heart hurts for him, it must be so painful to live that way, afraid of having people near him. I don’t know what to do to help him with that.

“I’m trying to help, B,” I whisper.

He glares, a mixture of anger and fear. “I don’t need your help. Leave me be.”

I realize—everything he does, every wall he puts up, is survival. My heart clenches, for all he must carry.

He releases my wrist while keeping his conflicted glare on me. He almost looks as if he wants me to help him, I can’t tell at this point and I’m too intoxicated to figure it out.

“Fine.” I stand, leaving him there, and head back downstairs to Fynn.

“Let’s go home,” I say, voice trembling slightly. Tonight’s party has been chaos. Becker’s mystery remains, his vulnerability only hinted at. But for now, it’s enough.

Part-6

Becker’s POV…

What was I thinking, letting the guys talk me into hosting this party? By far the stupidest decision I’ve made in a while. And Greya—of all people, she chooses my party to show up. Secretly I wished she would but she’s never been to one before, never around this kind of chaos, and yet here she is.

By the time I cleaned the blood off my hands and face and returned downstairs, the party was still in full swing. My mind keeps drifting back to her. Greya following me upstairs to the bathroom… I should have welcomed her help, not snapped. She calls me “B.” That nickname—my mother used to call me that. Hearing her say it while seeing her reach out to help me, it almost broke the wall I’ve built around myself. Almost.

“Oh my god, Beck, are you okay? I heard about the fight!” Layla’s hand shoots toward my face. I catch her wrist mid-motion. “Get away from me.” My growl surprises even me. I don’t have the patience for her tonight.

“What’s your problem, Becker? We’re supposed to hang out!” She flips her hair, exposing freckles and beady brown eyes. If looks could kill…

“Not tonight. Go bother someone else.” I push through the crowd, my patience gone.

Red cups, spilled drinks, kids making a mess of my house. I make my way to the pool, relieved it’s empty. Courtney sprawled on some guy’s lap, but I don’t give a damn. She got what she wanted now.

Greya’s face keeps flashing in my mind. That dare—the idea of skinny-dipping with me—made me want to punch something. Not because of her, but because she would have been exposed to a sea of drunk idiots. My blood boils at the thought of anyone touching her or seeing her that way. If Courtney hadn’t acted like a jealous fool, I might’ve lost it entirely.

Then the memory of Mason’s hands on her…how scared she looked. I could’ve killed him. It’s taken me a while to calm down.

Now, I’m sitting alone by the pool, finally cooling down, remembering her. She followed me upstairs to tend to my wounds. I can’t stop thinking about it. She reached out, noticed my reaction, and still tried. She always notices. She’s the only one besides Cohen and Declan who does. I’ve tried and failed to hide from her.

I rub my jaw, the sting of my busted lip still fresh, the memory of the fight raw. I think about how I flinched—not from her, but because of the situation—and I realize how much I hate the world sometimes, how much I fear losing control. Greya flinched at my reaction too but not out of fear, she flinched out of care. And I snapped. I shouldn’t have. She saw the real me and I panicked. She didn’t deserve for me to be harsh.

Morning comes, sunlight slicing through the windows. Cohen is yelling at everyone to get out. I shuffle through the mess, kitchen nearly clean, thankful I don’t have a hangover. Alec stayed out of the chaos like I told him, smart kid.

I thank the lads for cleaning them decide to take Alec out for breakfast.

“I spoke to that girl… Greya,” Alec smirks while we sit at the diner booth.

“When?” My interest peaks despite myself.

“She was looking for the bathroom last night… found my room instead. I get why you’re always looking at her—she’s hot, and those eyes…”

“Shut up,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. I’ve spent five years trying to convince myself she’s untouchable. Too perfect for someone like me. I’ve tried to remind myself: I’m damaged. She wouldn’t want the reality behind the calm surface.

Alec doesn’t push. He knows. I’m his older brother in this fight—not just for him, but for me too.

Reality hits hard later that night. My first thought, a nightmare, only it’s real. Alcohol burns my throat as someone pours it over my face. I scramble up off the bed, wiping my eyes, and—BAM. A fist knocks me into the nightstand.

Jack. Drunk, ruthless, violent. Always a consequence to every choice I make, and tonight is no exception. I block his next punch, then feel his grip tighten around my neck. Alec bursts in, yelling. My instincts take over: I knee Jack in the gut, push Alec to safety, plead with him to lock himself in his room.

Jack makes contact again. Then darkness swallows me.

The last thing I remember: chaos, blood, adrenaline, fear… and Greya’s face, even if just in memory.

Part-7

Greya’s POV…

If I could erase this past weekend from existence, I would.

First, the excruciatingly awkward party at Becker’s house. Then, just when I thought I could have a quiet weekend, Chase came down with a fever, so I spent the last two days taking extra care of him. And as if that weren’t enough, Grams tripped and fell on her knee last night. Thankfully, she only bruised it, and I was able to get her home from the ER around 2 a.m.

I decided to let Chase stay home from school today so he could recover—and help Grams a bit. I start laughing to myself thinking of it. I’m so tired.

“Happy 18th birthday, Grey!” Ari and Fynn shout as they come barreling down the school hallway.

I don’t feel eighteen. Most days, I feel like thirty, juggling homework, raising a kid, taking care of my grandmother, and balancing life. My teenage years flew by in a flash, skipping all the reckless fun and dropping me straight into adulthood.

“Sorry about this past weekend, Grey. I’ll make it up to you this weekend with a proper celebration!” Ari says, smiling warily.

“I’m glad Grams is okay,” she adds.

“Yeah… me too,” I reply.

I turn to grab my books from my locker, but Fynn grips my arm and spins me around. He pulls me into a tight hug, and I sigh with relief, burying my head against his chest.

“Thanks, Fynn. I really needed that,” I murmur.

“I know. That’s what I’m here for,” he chuckles.

“Thanks for taking care of Chase last night at the hospital. You must be tired.”

“Not as tired as you, by the looks of it,” he teases. “You should’ve stayed home today.”

“We have a Calculus test,” I remind him. Birthday or not, math waits for no one.

“Fynn and I will be over with cake and ice cream tonight,” Ari beams.

“Sounds great! Thanks, you two. See you in class,” I smile before heading to my dreaded test.

The morning gets worse. I walk into class and notice Becker slouched in the back row, hood pulled over his head, twirling a pen like he’s lost in thought. My stomach tightens. That black-and-blue bruise along his jaw, the cut on his lip… more than that, something’s off.

I sit directly in front of him, silently waiting for any sign of an apology or explanation. Nothing happens. For five minutes, there’s silence.

I shouldn’t be nervous. I should be ignoring him after how he acted at the party. But his silence is unnerving. Something else is wrong.

When I glance back, his glassy blue eyes meet mine, and I flinch. He retracts, hiding his face again. My heart pounds. That gash across his forehead… it’s bad.

“Wh…what happened to your face?” I stammer.

He ignores me for a moment before glowering. “What do you care?”

I bite back, frustration mixing with concern. “I care when someone I know looks like they got the shit kicked out of them.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, but I see the slightest softening in his eyes.

“B, please… be truthful with me. Are you okay?” I ask softly.

He freezes, clearly unprepared for my concern. A flicker of appreciation crosses his features, but then Ari and Fynn walk in, and he reverts to his usual defensive mask.

“Why don’t you care about someone else?” he snaps.

I turn to Ari, who frowns at Becker. “What did you say to her this time, Becker? Way to ruin her birthday,” she scolds. He doesn’t respond.

“Don’t worry about him, Grey. Just ace this test,” Ari says kindly.

The calculus test drags on, but my thoughts keep drifting to Becker—his new injuries, his behavior, the flinching. As soon as the bell rings, I hand in my paper and tell Fynn and Ari I’m heading home.

Outside, I hear a familiar voice. “Wait up, love!”

Becker is jogging to catch me, hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot, sweat glistening on his brow.

“Are you okay?” I ask again.

“I’m sorry… love,” he blurts. He’s out of breath from jogging to my car. He’s perfectly in shape so he shouldn’t be winded like this.

“Sorry for what? The party or today in class?” I press.

“Both?” he shrugs, uneasy.

I reach for the car door but pause. “Look, Becker…”

He stumbles, catches himself on the car, clutching his head and panting. I step closer, offering my elbow. “Hold onto my arm. I’ll walk you to the nurse’s office.”

“No! I’ll be fine,” he insists, but I can see the fear swirling in his eyes.

“You don’t look fine. Maybe you have a concussion. Let me at least drive you home.”

“I can’t,” he says, frantic.

Something clicks. His fear, the bruising, the flinching—it’s a pattern. Someone at home is hurting him.

“Why not? What happened? You can tell me,” I ask gently.

“No… just… go find Cohen or Declan,” he replies, defeated.

“Okay. Please let me help you. Sit in my car while I find one of them.”

I give him my arm again and it takes him a full minute to convince himself that touching me won’t kill him. He slowly slides his fingers around my elbow all while holding his breath and I guide him to my car, arm linked carefully with his.

“Promise me you’ll stay here while I find help?”

“I promise,” he grunts.

I sprint back inside, grab Cohen, and we return. Cohen takes charge, keeping an eye on Becker. I give a small nod, satisfied that he’s safe.

Before leaving, I kneel slightly to meet Becker’s gaze. “B… thank you. For saving me from Mason at the party. I don’t know what he would’ve done if you hadn’t stepped in.”

For the briefest moment, the corners of his lips twitch. “Thanks, Greya,” he murmurs, and then Cohen drives him off.

Back at home, Chase greets me at the door. “You’re home early!” he squeals, holding up a birthday card. “Gram’s been resting, don’t worry!”

He drags me into the kitchen, ordering pizza through Siri, and I can’t help but laugh.

I help Grams to her room, apply an ice pack to her sore knee, and kiss her cheek. “You take such good care of me , my sweet girl.”

You took care of us when we needed it most, Grams. This is nothing.”

“Greya, I left you a card on the counter. Happy birthday!”

Thanks Grams. Now get some rest. Let me know if you need anything.”

Forty minutes later, Fynn and Ari arrive with pizza, cake, and ice cream. Ari hands me a gift bag and hugs me. “Happy birthday, Grey! Now let’s eat, hang out, watch movies—whatever you want.”

“Sounds perfect,” I say, closing the door behind them.

For the first time all day, I feel my shoulders relax. I have awesome friends. And somehow, surviving this birthday feels like a small victory.

Part-8

Becker’s POV…

I must’ve been out for hours because I wake up to a dark room. I passed out cold in Cohen’s car and vaguely remember dragging my body into his house. Feeling around, I finally locate my phone. The screen lights up like a Christmas tree. Fuck. That’s bright. My head is pounding.

I recognize Cohen’s guest room—been in it more times than I can count. My head still throbs, and it’s already 9:00 p.m. I have no idea where Alec is or if he’s safe.

Voices drift from the kitchen. Cohen and Declan.

“Dude, you’re finally up!” Declan says.

“Yeah man, how you feeling? You gave Greya and me quite a scare,” Cohen adds cautiously.

I can’t believe I let her see me like that. Vulnerable. Bruised.

I should be angry at her for helping. I should push her away. But I can’t. Every time she calls me “B,” my defenses crack just a little. That nickname—my mother’s voice echoing through it—pulls at something I’ve buried for years.

She guided me to the car, arm steady, voice calm. My first instinct was to recoil, to reject her help. But… I didn’t. I let her lead me anyway. I hate myself for needing that. I hate that I trust her, even a fraction.

And yet… the fear in her eyes when she looked at me—it wasn’t pity. She didn’t shrink from me like everyone else. She cares. And I… I don’t know how to handle that.

Why does she care? I’ve spent so long convincing myself that no one should. No one should see what I’ve become. The bruises, the scars, the flinching… they’re mine to carry. But she sees them anyway.

She doesn’t know the truth of it. Not the nights I wake in panic, not the shadows lingering in every corner of my house. Not Jack. Not the threats. Not the suffocating weight of fear.

“Becker?”

“Sorry… yeah, I’m feeling a little better. Just a headache,” I tell Cohen. He doesn’t believe me.

“I’m worried about Alec. He shouldn’t be home tonight—not after standing up to Jack last night and having you drag us out of there. Maybe I should go check on him,” I ramble, until Declan stops me.

“Don’t worry. Hayden invited him to stay the night at my house.”

“Thank God. Thank your brother for me, will ya?”

“You could’ve been hurt real bad, Becker. Jack could’ve killed you if Alec hadn’t stepped in. You need to talk to someone—the police, my dad,” Cohen’s dark eyes bore into me.

I appreciate it. I really do. I wouldn’t survive without them around. But I can’t go to the police. Jack’s word against mine, Alec’s safety at stake. Even if I had proof, what lawyer could get a judge to believe me? Even Cohen’s dad isn’t a guarantee. Jack has money, connections, and influence. And if I leave, who would take care of Alec? As long as I’m in the house, he’s safe. College isn’t an option either—not while Alec needs me.

“I can’t,” I finally say. “There’s no guarantee anyone would believe me. If I go to the police, it could make things worse. I have to think of Alec.”

They both stare, trying to understand, wanting to help. But some battles can’t be fought that way.

“I’ll just have to be more careful around Jack… not give him a reason to lay a hand on me.”

“Most of the time he doesn’t need a reason, Becker. He just does it,” Cohen reminds me.

“I know,” I sigh.

“We’ve got your back. Whatever you decide, whatever you need, we’re here,” Declan promises.

My headache is pounding, nausea creeping in. I need a shower, need to escape for a few hours before tomorrow. I grab aspirin and retreat upstairs.

Morning comes too quickly. I move slowly, head secure as I make my way to the bathroom. The mirror greets me with the aftermath: black and blues in full glory. How the hell am I supposed to hide this?

Cohen nearly chokes on his breakfast when I enter the kitchen.

“Wow… you look like shit.”

“Yes, I know. What am I supposed to do now?”

“My sister has concealer in her bathroom,” he suggests, pointing. Not ideal, but maybe it’ll help.

I do the best I can to cover up my face, then catch a ride with Cohen and Declan to school.

Calculus class is a horror show waiting to happen. I claim the last seat in the back, hoodie pulled low, hoping no one notices. Students fill the room. Ari and Fynn take their seats but Greya isn’t here yet. Good. I need a reprieve…

Then the late bell rings, and in she comes—apologizing, flustered, bright green eyes searching for me. I pull my hoodie lower, desperate to disappear. Please don’t look at me. Please don’t look at me.

She doesn’t sit. She exchanges a few words with Ari, who hands her something. Great. Now Ari knows something’s up. Soon the whole school will.

Ten minutes in, a note slides across my desk: “Meet me at the bathrooms ~G”

What?

She gets up, smiling at me. Is this a prank? Revenge? Or… curiosity?

Like an idiot being curious, I follow her down the hall, uneasy. She holds the girls’ bathroom door open, gesturing for me to enter. My chest tightens. “Greya… this is the girls’ bathroom. I’m not going in there.”

“Well, I’m not going in the disgusting boys’ room,” she retorts, smiling. “And no one’s here, so hurry up!”

Reluctantly, I step in. She locks the door behind us, and I glance around, wary.

“B… don’t worry. I’m going to help you,” she says, her voice steady, soothing.

“Help me… with what exactly?” I ask, suspicion dripping from my tone.

She pulls a small makeup case from her pocket—the one Ari handed her earlier. “You look like someone let my little brother play make-up with your face. Let me fix it.”

My stomach twists. I don’t want anyone touching me. Especially not her. And yet… part of me wants her to. She’s patient, careful, her eyes never leaving mine. That patience alone disarms me.

“Close your eyes,” she whispers. “It’s only me. I won’t hurt you.”

I hesitate. Memories of my father’s abuse flare up—hands reaching, water pouring, screaming. My body wants to run. But then I hear her voice again, soft, patient: “I’m going to touch your face with the sponge now. I’ll be gentle. I promise.”

I close my eyes, gripping my hoodie. My chest heaves, every muscle tense. She touches my cheek. Soft. Cool. I freeze. My body screams to pull away. But her hands… they’re careful, deliberate. She blends the concealer over the dark bruises under my eyes and across my cheeks, slow and methodical.

I feel her warmth through the sponge, like a tether keeping me from falling apart. My body starts to relax, just slightly, but enough that I lean in a fraction. She notices, smiles faintly. “You’re doing great, B. Just breathe.”

She moves her hands across my jaw, over the cut on my lip, careful not to press too hard. I swallow the lump forming in my throat. It’s… comforting. And terrifying. My heart is racing, but not with fear alone. It’s something else, something I haven’t felt in years.

I want to speak, to ask her why she even cares. But the words get caught in my chest. So I just let her work, tracing over the bruises, covering the worst of the black and blue.

I grab her wrist, impulsively, afraid she’ll finish and leave before I can even say anything. My hands are trembling.

“Breathe,” she says softly, locking her gaze with mine. “You’re okay. You’re doing fine.”

Her reassurance seeps into me. Slowly, my breathing steadies. I release her wrist, letting her finish. Her thumbs trace lightly along my cheekbones, blending the last bits of concealer. My eyes flutter closed again, savoring the warmth, the steadiness.

Finally, she lifts her hands from my face. “All done. Almost good as new.” She points at the mirror.

I open my eyes. My reflection looks… normal. Human. Like myself again. I blink, processing the warmth lingering on my skin, the way her presence made me feel safe—like for once, I wasn’t alone in this.

I finally look at her. “Why… are you helping me?” My voice is rough, low.

She steps back slightly, avoids my eyes. “Because I… care. And maybe it’s a little my fault Mason got you like this.”

I shake my head, incredulous. “It’s not your fault, Love. Not even close.” She thinks Mason did this to me.

“No one should put their hands on you like he did. And I’d do what I did all over again if it means keeping you safe from someone like him.”

I watch her expression, slightly shocked. It’s the first real thing I’ve ever said to her.

Her eyes meet mine then, sincere, unwavering. “Okay,” she whispers. And in that moment, I feel seen. Not as a broken guy, not as someone to avoid, but as… me.

Part-9

Greya’s POV…

“Grey, do you have to leave for the whole weekend?” Chase whines, trailing behind me as I pack my things.

“Don’t worry, little man, you get to hang out with me all weekend!” Fynn says, ruffling Chase’s hair.

“Really? Yes! Pizza every night!” Chase shouts, running towards his room with pure excitement.

I glance at Fynn, who’s perched on the kitchen counter, watching me write down every important detail Chase needs to remember while I’m gone.

“Are you writing a book?” he teases. “It’s only two nights, I can handle it.”

“I can’t believe you even talked me into going. I’ve never left them before,” I admit, feeling a little guilty spending two nights away at UCLA for a College soccer ID camp.

“Greya, this is important to you. You deserve to put yourself first once in a while,” Fynn says softly.

“It’s not that simple, Fynn. Gram and Chase need me. I can’t just leave them while I go off to college,” I fire back, my voice sharper than I intended. I’m stressed.

Fynn slides down from the counter and walks over, taking the pen from my hand and setting it aside. He spins me around to face him.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I sniffle, unable to keep the worry from my voice.

He pulls me into a hug, holding me tightly. “I know it’s not easy. I just wish I could do more for my favorite girl,” he murmurs.

“Fynn, you help me more than you know. More than I could ever thank you for… Thank you,” I whisper, hugging him back.

“I’ll always help you, Grey. Now get packed before Ari gets here. I’ve got to order the little man some pizza,” he chuckles.

On my way upstairs, I pass Gram’s room. She’s been sleeping more than usual lately, and I hope she’s feeling alright. I knock lightly. She slowly sits up, smiling.

“Hi sweetheart, are you ready for your trip?” She asks.

“Yes, Grams. Will you be okay while I’m gone? Fynn will be here looking after Chase, so don’t hesitate to ask for his help,” I tell her.

“Oh Greya, always taking care of me. How did I get so lucky to have a beautiful, kind granddaughter like you?”

“I think I’m the lucky one, Grams,” I answer, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Love you, Grams. I’ll call every night,” I promise.

Chase greets me at the door to his room, headphones dangling around his neck. “Come here! Give me a hug, I’m leaving now!” I hold out my arms.

“Be good for Fynn this weekend, and have fun,” I remind him gently.

“I will, Greya! You have fun too, and show those coaches how you’re the best player on the field!” His smile is infectious.

I squeeze him one last time. “Okay, buddy. Go enjoy your weekend.”

Ari calls from downstairs. “Greya! Let’s go! We’re going to be late!”

I grab my carry-on and soccer bag and jog down. Fynn and Ari are waiting at the door. I shoot Fynn a worried glance; he knows what I’m thinking.

“Stop worrying. Now go!” he says, practically pushing me out the door.

“So, just the four of us, huh?” I say as we get into the van.

“Yeah, we get to spend the weekend with Declan and Becker! Isn’t that great?” Ari nudges me.

“Declan’s funny, and Becker… well, he’s Becker,” she shrugs.

“Exactly. That means he’ll spend the entire weekend trying to compete with me and gloat after,” I add, laughing.

Ari snickers.

“But seriously, are you finally going to admit your feelings for Declan this weekend? You can’t keep giving him false hope,” I tease.

“Sure I can,” she laughs. “Seriously though, wouldn’t it be cool if we both played for UCLA? Cohen’s already accepted, and I know you want that too!”

“Yes, that would be amazing,” I smile. Amazing if life’s circumstances were different.

The van hits the road after picking up Declan and Becker, traffic crawling as the driver navigates carefully. Ari and I take the front row, the guys in the back. Declan entertains us for the first hour, beats on, unaware of our laughter at his off-key singing.

“Are you just going to sit there staring at the back of her head, or talk to her?” Declan calls to Becker.

Ari bursts out laughing. “I’m going to sit with Dec for a bit. Becker, come sit with Grey,” she winks. I roll my eyes.

Becker slowly rises, gliding into the front seat next to me, head down. We haven’t spoken since the bathroom incident, and his silence makes me nervous.

“Hey,” I say softly, glancing at him.

“Hey,” he returns, small smile tugging at his lips. It’s… different. Not the teasing, confident Becker I’m used to—this one seems quieter, more careful, like he’s measuring every word and movement.

“Your injuries are healing… your face doesn’t look so bad,” I joke lightly, hoping to break the tension.

He scratches the back of his head, eyes flicking to mine, then away. “Yeah… thanks. For helping me.”

His words hang in the air. He’s never said anything like that to me before, never admitted he needed help. My chest tightens. After five years of him pushing, teasing, and deflecting every time I got close, hearing him speak with… gratitude? It’s unsettling. But also… kind of beautiful.

“Are you going to tell me what really happened?” I ask, trying to meet his gaze.

“Probably not,” he mutters, eyes darting around, then back at me, wary. He doesn’t like sitting here with others in back of him. He prefers everyone in front of him so no one can surprise him.

I exhale, letting the silence stretch for a moment. “To be honest, I expected our usual banter over who’ll make the better impression this weekend,” I admit with a small, teasing smile.

“Thought I’d try something new,” he smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes fully. He’s still… off balance.

“Well, I like this ’new,’” I say, and I see his eyes soften just slightly. His lips twitch upward in a way that feels fragile, almost hesitant. He’s letting me see a side of him I’ve rarely glimpsed—vulnerable, uncertain, human.

I decide I need to get him back to the back row seats. “Hey, mind switching? I want to sit in the back for the rest of the trip. I get car sick up here,” I obviously lie to Declan and Ari but It’s better I make it sound like my fault so Becker doesn’t think I’m pitying him.

“Come on,” I say to Becker as the four of us switch seats. His big blue eyes follow me, full of curiosity and something else I can’t name yet—tentativeness, maybe trust. He doesn’t argue. He just gets up and follows, sliding into the seat next to mine.

Silence stretches for a few moments. The hum of the van fills the space between us, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable anymore. It feels like we’re both learning a new rhythm. I hand him one of my AirPods and place the other in my ear. Leaning back, I close my eyes, letting the music drown out everything else.

I peek at him a few moments later. His head is back against the seat, eyes closed, lips curved in a small, peaceful smile. I can see the tension in his shoulders slowly release. The Becker who always needed to stay in control, who always kept everyone at a distance… he’s letting go, just a little. And he’s letting me see it.

A faint snore escapes him, and my lips twitch into a smile. He’s comfortable enough to sleep—trusting me enough to let his guard down. After five years, I’ve never seen him like this.

I reach out, lightly brushing my hand against the side of his arm as I adjust my seat. His eyes snap open, wide and alert, but when he sees me, he doesn’t pull away.

Instead, there’s a pause… a moment of acknowledgment, almost like he’s silently asking, Are you really here? Are you really not going to run from me?

I smile gently, and the tension between us melts just a fraction. “Relax, B,” I whisper. “I’ll wake you when we get there.”

For the first time, he leans slightly toward me—not fully, not completely, but enough that I can feel the shift. The teasing, deflecting Becker is still there somewhere, but underneath… there’s a boy who’s tired of pretending, tired of being alone, tired of hiding. And he’s letting me in, inch by inch.

I realize something in that moment. Five years of knowing him, watching him, waiting for him to crack—this isn’t just teasing anymore. We’re moving into something new. Something real. And neither of us knows exactly what it is yet, but the air between us is charged, full of unspoken understanding and tentative trust.

The rest of the ride passes quietly, but in that silence, everything has changed. Becker isn’t just Becker anymore—he’s Becker who lets me see a small part of him, Becker who lets me help him a little, Becker who’s starting to let me in.

And somehow, I know this weekend will push that shift even further.

Part-10

Becker’s POV…

Becker, wake up, we’re here!” Declan’s loud voice jolts me out of an unusually peaceful slumber.

Greya is smiling next to me as I hand back her AirPod.

We pile out of the van and grab our bags from the trunk.

“I’ve never seen you fall asleep around anyone before,” Declan says, reaching for his soccer bag.

I shrug, lying easily. “I’m sure you have.” The truth is, I haven’t but I felt comfortable near Greya—safe, even, for the first time ever. She moved to the back row for me, quietly observing, never pressing for answers, never prying. She protects in a way I haven’t let anyone before. Around her, I can almost be myself without revealing all the cracks I spend my life hiding.

“Hey, you alright?” Ari startles me with a pat on the shoulder, and I react instinctively, my body tensing.

“Whoa,” I mutter. “I was just… thinking.”

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the van,” she teases, snatching her bag and jogging toward Greya.

I glance at the dorms as we approach. A guy and a girl come walking toward us. “Welcome to UCLA campus! I’m Nate, one of the team captains, and this is Skye, captain of the girls’ team. This is where most freshmen stay, and you’ll share rooms with them this weekend,” Nate explains.

Skye points toward the building. “The guys are upstairs, girls downstairs, but we share a common room. Ready?”

I lag behind, scanning the campus. This—college, the soccer, the freedom—is everything I’ve wanted. Only worry about practice, classes… no Jack, no punches, no constant fear.

The girls wave goodbye as they head to their rooms. I catch Declan’s eyes lingering on Ari and smirk.

“Oh, you got it bad,” I tease.

“Shut up! I’m trying,” he groans. “Plus, I don’t see you doing much better when it comes to your love interest.”

“Ha, ha, funny,” I allow the sarcasm to slip.

We’re each bunked with a freshman player. I don’t know them, and I don’t know if I trust myself to sleep around strangers. But I can’t let that ruin my weekend. I don’t usually sleep much anyway.

While all the players are in bed, I wander the empty common room, letting the quiet wash over me.

My fingers find the piano tucked in the corner. I sit on the bench and close my eyes letting my hands play a soft, calming melody.

Memories of my mother flood in—her sitting beside me, guiding my fingers across the keys, her smile wide and proud. These are the only moments I remember with her that haven’t been tainted by fear or pain. I let the melody carry me, each note a fragile attempt to feel… normal.

“Wow… that was beautiful,” Greya whispers, sliding onto the bench beside me. I freeze, fingers hovering above the keys.

“I… didn’t mean to startle you,” she adds softly, careful, patient.

“You’re amazing… I didn’t even know you could play like that.”

Breathe, Becker. She’s just sitting there, nothing more.

“B?” Her voice is cautious, almost testing. She notices the stiffness in me.

“Yeah… full of surprises,” I manage, forcing a smile I hope looks natural.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be getting rest before tomorrow?” she asks, bright green eyes curious, slightly amused.

“I could ask the same,” I reply, smirking slightly despite myself.

She shrugs, unconcerned. “I couldn’t sleep.”

She’s being honest so I decide to be honest, letting the words out quietly. “Playing the piano… helps me relax.”

Her surprise is evident. “You… play for yourself?”

“Yeah… when I can’t sleep. The melody… I choose it. It calms me.”

“Can you play something else?” she asks softly, letting her fingers brush across the keys, tentative.

I can’t help but smile. No one since my mother has asked me to share this part of me. Although, that’s my fault because most people don’t know I can play. Declan and Cohen only hear the rumors.

I begin another song—something gentle, flowing, delicate, like her. She closes her eyes, swaying lightly as if performing along with me, imagining the music in her hands.

Impulsively, I reach for her hand. My palm rests atop hers, guiding her fingers across the keys. The contact sends a spark through me, a mix of fear, comfort, and longing. My pulse hammers in my ears. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Her lips curve slightly upward in approval, eyes still closed. I hesitate, afraid that I’ll push too far, that I’ll break the fragile trust we’ve started to build. Afraid of what my heart and mind can handle.

“It’s… beautiful,” she whispers, her voice so soft it barely rises above the music. “You’re… really good, Becker.”

Her words pierce something I’ve tried to hide. I can sing too but that’s not happening here. No one has ever seen me like this—for once not as my bruised, angry, always-on-guard self. She sees me. And yet, she doesn’t recoil. She doesn’t judge. She sits there… letting me exist.

“I… I didn’t know you’d like that,” I admit, keeping my eyes on her hand. My fingers still lightly guide hers across the keys, feeling the warmth of her skin.

She opens her eyes slowly and looks at me. Something unspoken passes between us, an acknowledgment that for once, maybe we don’t have to pretend. That maybe… we can start trusting each other.

“I’m worried,” she murmurs, catching me off guard.

“I’ve never left home before.”

I glance at her, astonished. “You’ve… never been away?”

“I… never had the opportunity,” she answers quietly, eyes returning to the keys.

“Why not?” I ask, my curiosity cutting through the melody, gentle but persistent.

“I just… couldn’t,” she says softly.

“What made this weekend different?” I press, needing to understand.

“Fynn,” she replies simply.

“He’s a great friend,” I tell her, hoping she’ll keep talking.

“He is,” is all she says.

Her hand still lingers under mine, almost unconsciously. The contact is brief, but the warmth of her skin leaves a trace on me. My chest tightens, my mind buzzing with questions I don’t dare ask. There’s something shifting between us—something subtle, dangerous, exhilarating.

Before I can speak again, a thin kid in flannel pajamas interrupts. “You two should probably get some sleep. Coaches aren’t going to be easy tomorrow.”

Greya slides off the bench carefully, avoiding further contact, then turns to me with a playful smirk. “Whoever scores the most goals tomorrow, the other buys coffee for a week!”

I laugh, feeling the familiar thrill of competition bubble up. “Deal.”

The energy between us has changed—five years of teasing, rivalry, and familiarity are shifting into something new, something unfamiliar. She’s no longer just the girl I’ve known for years; she’s someone who can see me, really see me, and that terrifies and excites me all at once.