Page 177 of Tell Me Pucking Lies

The question hits harder than his fist ever could. My jaw flexes, teeth grinding together. I can feel the muscle jumping in my cheek.

“Same thing in my world.”

“No.” His voice is flat, certain. “That’s not love.”

Something in my chest cracks. “Then maybe I don’t deserve to call it that.”

The words slip out before I can pull them back, before I can shove them down where they belong. Admissions in the dark are dangerous—they make things real, give them weight and substance.

Axel exhales, long and heavy. “She trusted you, man.”

“I know.” The words taste like ash.

“I trusted you too, but I know why you did it.”

“You do?”

He nods. “I overheard you one night.”

I narrow my eyes at him. What the fuck is he talking about? He’s been stalking me?

He brushes it off. “You need to fix it.”

I glance at him briefly, then back to the road.

We fall back into silence, but it’s different now. Less hostile. Just two guys driving through the night, both carrying the weight of their failures.

The campus comes into view gradually—first the glow on the horizon, then the outlines of buildings, then the familiarlandmarks I’ve memorized over the years. It looks normal. Too normal. A couple walks past holding hands, laughing about something. A vending machine near the student center, its fluorescent light harsh against the darkness.

I kill the headlights as I pull into the dorm lot, coasting to a stop in the back where the security cameras have blind spots. Old habit.

“You got a place to crash?”

Axel nods, rubbing his face with both hands like he’s trying to scrub away the last few days. “Yeah. My room’s still mine. Roommate probably thinks I’m dead.”

He reaches for the door handle, pauses. Looks back at me.

“I can’t save you next time, you know.”

I allow myself a small smile. “Thanks.”

Then he’s out of the car, shoulders hunched against the cold, but his steps are steady. I watch him disappear into the dorm building, watch the door close behind him, and catalog it as a small win.

If wins are still possible.

I lean back in the seat, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that’s been keeping me upright for the last twelve hours drains out all at once, leaving me hollow. I pull my hoodie tighter around myself, trying to trap warmth that isn’t there. My breath fogs the glass, obscuring my reflection.

My phone buzzes in the cup holder. The screen lights up with a name that makes my stomach drop.

Revan.

I stare at it for three rings, debating. Then answer on the fourth.

“Vincent’s still alive.”

My eyes close. Of course he is. Men like Vincent don’t die easy—they’re too mean, too stubborn, too convinced of their own invincibility.

“Yeah.”