Page 93 of Play Dirty

We don’t need to.

This is enough.

For now, this is perfect.

The warmth of the food, the laughter, the safety — it threatens to break me open. And maybe that’s the point. Healing never starts with rainbows or fireworks. It starts with dinner, a smile, and holding hands beneath the table.

My gaze lifts to find him already looking at me with a cheesy grin on his face, his dimple prominent as he gently squeezes my hand, grounding me. “Spring break.” He says, his eyes soft, staring at me like I’m the most beautiful girl in the world. “Let’s disappear, you and me.”

“Where?”

“Doesn’t matter.” The pad of his thumb brushes gently over my skin. “Just somewhere quiet.”

Before I can answer, my phone buzzes. Everyone keeps talking, laughing— just as I go still, their phones all go off together.

The Pulse Blog

Epilogue

Zayden

The fire crackles low, casting a golden shadow across Nico’s face as he tips back a beer, his lips finally pulling into something like a smile as he wraps his arm around Shiloh. My gaze shifts towards Thiago, who laughs beside him, nudging his shoulder, their knees brushing under the blanket Nico’s grandmother insisted they share.

Erikson is sound asleep on the couch beside them.

They look like brothers again; they look free. But freedom is an illusion.. I should be happy, yet my stomach is tight. My phone buzzes in my jacket for a third time, annoying me enough to slip away. I pull out my weed pen and inhale the herby smoke as I place the phone to my ear.

The cold bites, and the stars look too close. I glance back over my shoulder, and Nico is clinking bottles with Thiago, both of them finally exhaling after months in hell, while I’m too busy drowning.

“... Hello…”

Static.

Then a breath.

“You didn’t tell them, did you?”

A voice I haven’t heard in what feels like forever, one I never wanted to hear again. My grip tightens around the phone, and I swallow hard. “No.”

“Good. Still good at pretending, I see. But I know you, always too soft to keep your hands clean.”

My jaw ticks.

“Then let me continue to pretend.” With that, I end the call. Staring at the screen. No number. No proof it ever happened. I deleted it from the call log. The only evidence is the pulsing chill left beneath my skin. My eyes move to the window where I watch them, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to keep them safe when the dead won’t stay buried.