"We'll take my car," Cade says, his voice steady in a way mine could never be right now. "I'll call him, pick him up at his house."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The decision has been made, and now we're hurtling toward a moment I can't take back, can't hide from, can't pretend isn't happening. My specialty — denial — isn't an option anymore.
"Give me five minutes," I whisper.
He closes the door behind him, and I walk to my closet, staring blankly at the array of clothes that suddenly seem like costumes from a life I no longer recognize. What do you wear to destroy a relationship beyond repair? What outfit says, "I slept with your best friend and I'm sorry"?
I grab the most anonymous things I own — faded jeans and an oversized gray hoodie. Armor of the most basic kind. Something to disappear into. My fingers tremble as I pull my hair out of the bun, and it falls around my shoulders. I avoid my reflection in the mirror. I don't want to see the person staring back at me.
When I emerge, Mina and Chloe are waiting in the living room, concern etched across their faces.
"Where are you going?" Chloe asks.
"To talk to Byron," I mutter.
"Are you sure?" Mina asks, surprised. "You don't have to talk to him today."
But I do. The momentum is building, and if I wait, if I retreat back into hiding, I'll never find the courage again.
"Cade's waiting," I say, which isn't an answer but is all I can manage.
They hug me, one on each side, a fortress of female solidarity that makes my eyes burn with fresh tears.
"Call us if you need us," Chloe whispers.
"We'll be here when you get back," Mina adds.
Outside, Cade's car idles at the curb, a sleek, dark presence that matches my mood. I open the back door without hesitation, sliding into the backseat.
Cade meets my eyes in the rearview mirror, a question in his gaze that I answer with a small nod. Do it. Call him. Before I change my mind.
He pulls away from the curb, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching for his phone. The sound fills the car, each ring driving a spike of dread deeper into my chest.
"Fucking finally," Byron's voice erupts from the speaker, tight with anger and something else — relief? "Where the hell have you been? Why aren't you answering your phone?"
My stomach twists painfully. He sounds so normal, so Byron, so unaware that his world is about to tilt on its axis.
Cade ignores the questions, his voice carefully controlled. "Hey, man. I can head over right now if you want."
"Yeah, actually," Byron says, the edge in his voice softening slightly. "That would be good. I've got some shit to figure out."
"Hop in my car. I'll be there in ten," Cade says, then ends the call.
Silence fills the car, thick and oppressive. Cade's eyes find mine in the mirror again, and what I see there makes my breath catch. Fear. Uncertainty. The same nauseating cocktail of emotions churning in my own stomach. This isn't just hard for me; it's going to cost him too.
I wonder if we're making a mistake. The truth isn't always healing. Sometimes it's just another weapon, capable of inflicting wounds that never fully close.
But we've committed now, the car moving steadily toward Byron's place like a missile locked on its target. I stare out the window, watching familiar streets pass by, wondering how the world can look so normal when everything inside me feels shattered.
Byron is waiting outside his building when we arrive, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the morning chill. His eyes widen when he spots me in the backseat, confusion quickly giving way to suspicion.
He approaches the passenger side, yanking the door open with more force than necessary. "What the fuck is this?" he demands, glancing between Cade and me, connecting dots I can almost see forming in his mind.
I try not to cry. I really do. But my throat constricts painfully as I watch the realization dawn on his face. It wasn't supposed to be like this. None of this was supposed to happen.
"Get in," Cade says quietly. "Please."
Something in his tone must register with Byron, because he hesitates only briefly before sliding into the passenger seat, his movements stiff with tension.
Cade pulls away from the curb again, driving aimlessly, giving us the illusion of privacy in this confined space. Byron twists in his seat, his eyes finding mine, sharp with accusation.
"Why are you here?" he asks, though I think he already knows the answer.
Cade clears his throat. "So, last night—"
"Is this the guy?" Byron cuts him off, still looking at me, his voice cracking slightly. "Is he the one you hooked up with?"
The question punches through my chest. I open my mouth, but no sound emerges — just a small, broken gasp that quickly dissolves into tears. The sight of his face, the betrayal etched into every line, is worse than I imagined. So much worse.
"Stop the car," Byron demands, his voice dangerously quiet. "Stop the fucking car right now."
Cade complies, pulling to the curb on a quiet residential street I don't recognize. Before the car fully stops, Byron is out, the door slamming behind him as he storms off, his entire body rigid with fury.
Cade and I exchange a glance, a moment of shared panic. Then I'm moving, fumbling with the door handle, stumbling out into the cool morning air.
"Byron, wait!" I call after him, my voice ragged with tears. "Please, just let me explain."
He whirls around, his face contorted with a rage I've never seen before. "Explain what? How my best friend fucked my girlfriend behind my back?"
"Ex-girlfriend," I correct automatically, then wince at how callous it sounds. "We broke up before—"
"Two days!" he shouts, advancing toward me. "Two fucking days, Saylor! The bed was barely cold!"
"I know," I whisper, the words inadequate against the storm of his anger. "I'm so sorry."
He laughs, a harsh, bitter sound that scrapes against my ears. "I expected this kind of shit from him," he says, jerking his head toward Cade, who has joined us on the sidewalk. "But from you?"
The accusation lands precisely where he aims it — directly into the heart of my deepest insecurities. That I'm not who I pretend to be. That I'm exactly the kind of person I've always despised.
"You're so fake," Byron continues, his voice dropping to something almost conversational, which somehow hurts more than the yelling. "Such a phony. Acting like you hated him all this time when you were what, secretly lusting after him the whole time? Were you thinking about him when you were with me? Is he the reason why you were even with me in the first place?"
"No!" I protest, panic rising in my throat. "It wasn't like that, I swear."
But the doubt is already there, planted in fertile soil. Was there always something between Cade and me, disguised as animosity? Was my dislike a cover for something else entirely?
"I loved you," I say, the past tense slipping out before I can catch it. Another mistake in a growing collection.
Byron steps closer, his eyes narrowed. "But not enough, right? Not enough to respect me, to give us a chance to fix things, to wait more than forty-eight hours before jumping into bed with the one person you knew would hurt me most."
Each word splinters something inside me, because he's right. I've constructed so much of my identity around not being someone who hurts people they claim to love. Yet here I am, standing in the wreckage of my own making.
"I was drunk," I say desperately. "It was a mistake. I would never have—"
"Don't," he cuts me off. "Don't try to minimize this like it was some random hookup. You chose him. The one person, Saylor."
He trails off as Cade approaches, his footsteps heavy on the pavement.
"I told you to talk to her," Byron says, turning his fury toward Cade. "Not fuck her!"
Cade stands there, absorbing the verbal blow without flinching. "I'm sorry, By," he says simply. "We were drinking. Not in our right minds. It just happened."
Byron looks between us, something shifting in his expression from rage to disgust. "Look at you two. You idiots deserve each other. I'm done." He turns, starting to walk away again.
Cade follows him, leaving me frozen on the sidewalk, shame and embarrassment rooting me to the spot. I watch them, these two men who have somehow become the central figures in the most humiliating moment of my life.
"Byron," Cade calls after him. "We wanted to tell you ourselves. We're owning up to what we did."
Byron spins around, closing the distance between them in two quick strides. "You think that makes it better? You think I should thank you for your honesty?" He shoves Cade's chest, not hard enough to knock him down, but enough to make his point. "You selfish, self-centered piece of shit. You take whatever you want, don't you?"
Cade takes it all, his face a mask of quiet acceptance that only seems to inflame Byron further.
"Do you even know the kind of things she says about you?" Byron asks, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "What she really thinks?"
I shake my head frantically, a new kind of fear coursing through me. "Byron—"
But he's past caring about my feelings, past caring about anything except inflicting the same pain we've caused him.
"She told me you were nothing but a pathetic, insecure little boy hiding behind your grades because you couldn't handle being second-best to your brother," he says, eyes locked on Cade's. "Said you probably had a tiny dick to match your tiny ego, and that's why Hannah cheated on you. Said you deserved to get cheated on because you're the kind of narcissistic asshole who makes everyone around you feel small just so you can feel big."
The words hang in the air between us, impossible to take back, impossible to unhear. I said those things. Not all at once, not in those exact words, but over the past few months, in moments of frustration, in private conversations I never imagined would see the light of day.
Cade's expression doesn't change, doesn't flicker, doesn't reveal if the words have landed or bounced off some invisible shield. But something in his eyes — a light, a warmth — extinguishes, and I know with devastating certainty that whatever fragile connection we'd begun to form has just been severed.
"I never said those things," I whisper, the lie falling from my lips with practiced ease. But we all know the truth.
Byron's laugh is hollow, empty of everything but pain. "Right. Of course you didn't." He looks at Cade one last time. "Enjoy each other. You both got exactly what you deserve."
He walks away, and this time, neither of us follows. We stand on the sidewalk, two islands in a sea of consequences, unable to reach each other or the shore we've left behind.