His whole face changes. “She what?” he says finally.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “And you remember what you used to do when you were streaming in her lobbies?”
His jaw clenches. “That… that was different.”
“Was it?”
“I didn’t know,” he bites out, turning away. “I didn’t know he did that to her. I didn’t know she—fuck, Carter.”
His voice breaks a little. For Tate, that’s practically a confession.
“I thought it was just gamer rivalries,” he says. “I thought I was pushing her. Like, playfully. Giving her someone to beat.”
“But she didn’t know that. Not back then. She just knew someone else was fucking with her head while she was trying to survive.”
He runs both hands through his hair, pacing now. “Well, fuck.”
“She forgave you,” I say quietly. “She’s still with you. With both of us. You don’t have to spiral.”
He stops pacing. His eyes cut toward me. “No,” he says. “I have to do something.”
I lift a brow. “Like what?”
He doesn’t answer. But something in his expression says the guilt’s still there, but now it’s wrapped in resolve. In Tate’s world that means shit’s about to get serious.
Once the silence settles and Tate disappears upstairs after a few moments, probably to do something mildly illegal with his keyboard—I sink onto the couch.
No, I need to do something else. I immediately get back up and grab the back door handle and step outside barefoot, letting the chill of the air hit me like a slap to the face.
It’s quiet back here, and a little overgrown. Tate always says the backyard looks like it belongs to a retired old man who gave up on society and started planting tomatoes. I kinda like that about it.
I pace along the edge of the fence, my phone still in my hand, thumb hovering over Haven’s name, heart stuck somewhere betweenplease don’t be madandplease tell me I did the right thing. Idon’t like guessing when it comes to her. I don’t like not knowing if I’m helping or making things worse.
The weight of all of this, her, the tournament, Dylan, settles between my shoulder blades like a bruise that hasn’t fully surfaced. I don’t smoke, but damn if I don’t understand why Tate keeps lighters in every drawer.
The wind rattles the loose slat on the side of the fence. I breathe in, I breathe out, then I head back inside and finally send the text.
Me:Just told him haven, don’t be mad, please
I stare at the screen. One minute turns into two, no reply. My stomach knots.
Me:I’m sorry. I know you wanted to, but I couldn’t wait.
Haven:Seriously, Carter? I said I’d take care of it.
I bite my lip.
Me:I know… But I also know Tate. He needed to hear it calm. From someone who wouldn’t trigger a full thermonuclear event
More dots. Then nothing, then more.
Haven:Did he freak out?
Me:Define freak out….?
Haven:Carter…
Me:He didn’t explode. But I did see his soul leave his body for a second. So that’s fun.
