Brysen's POV

The door slammed shut behind her with a force that seemed to reverberate through the house, leaving the entire room in a cold, suffocating silence. I knew this was coming. I had known from the start that I was bound to screw things up. Maybe I'm just stupid for thinking things could work out. Tomorrow, Amanda will act distant toward me. Then, the days will stretch on, each one colder than the last. Eventually, she'll avoid me entirely.

F*ck you, Brysen. You're such a coward. You had the chance to choose differently, to go with what your heart really wanted, but you took the easy way out, didn't you?*

The other choice—yeah, that was a real piece of work. The "easy" choice would've been to take what I wanted, like I always did with the girls back in the day. Just kiss her, force her to kiss me back. That's how it always worked. But this... this felt different. Amanda is different.

The sudden vibration of my phone beside me on the nightstand drags me out of my spiral. I glance at it but let it ring through to voicemail. I don't feel like talking to anyone. It's probably not important anyway.

"Brysen Coleman, Coleman's residence," I hear my voicemail greeting echo in my mind, the usual formal tone betraying my internal chaos.

"Hey Brysen, it's Hailee." Her voice pulls my attention like a magnet. "I heard you finally got out of the hospital. Drag race is tomorrow, and the whole crew expects you to be there. But... if you're still not feeling better, I can take the wheel. After all, I'm better than you." Her laughter is soft, teasing. I imagine her smirking, that all-too-familiar, mischievous smile she always has when she's trying to rile me up. "See you then. The whole crew misses you. I miss you. Be there at the Yard at six sharp. Don't be late, or I'll throw you in the pig pen again. Hehe, bye now."

I quickly pick up the phone, almost dropping it in my haste. "Hailee, wait."

"Brysen!" she exclaims, surprised. "I'm so happy to hear you."

"Me too," I reply, letting the relief wash over me for a second. Maybe I do need this, something to distract me.

"So... uh, ready for tomorrow?" she asks, her voice turning playful again.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I laugh, the weight of the situation lifting just a little.

"Hey, hey, Brysen," I hear Marquis' voice cut in, "Break a leg tomorrow, alright?"

"I will. I promise you guys, we'll take our throne back," I say with confidence I don't entirely feel.

Marquis laughs on the other end, "You're our number one drag racer, Brysen. The Breakers will totally flip when they see you again. You'll scare the sh*t out of them."

I can almost picture it—seeing the look on their faces as I line up with the rest of them. I chuckle darkly at the thought. "I'm gonna drag them to hell with that trophy in hand."

Suddenly, a knock on the door interrupts our call. I raise an eyebrow at the unexpected interruption, then smile a little. "Heh, win or not, we'll get what we want anyway."

"I'll meet you soon, then. Bye fam."

"Yeah, bye fam."

I hang up the phone and place it back on the nightstand, then head to the door. It's the first time I've actually answered a knock, and when I open it, I find Anderson standing there, his usual neutral expression in place.

"Brysen, your father would like to have lunch with you in the garden."

I sigh, not feeling up for it. I know I can either decline and face an angry father later or go now and just get it over with. "Alright, tell him I'll be there in five minutes."

"As you wish, sir."

---

Amanda's POV

I lean against the wall, the cold air of the hallway creeping into my skin as I stare at the intricate white fleur-de-lis pattern on the wallpaper. The chandeliers hanging above me cast their warm glow, but the weight of my thoughts makes everything feel heavy.

I drop to the cold marble floor, leaning my back against the wall with a frustrated sigh.

Brysen Coleman has a crush on me.

I scream inside my head, burying my face in my palms as a mix of anxiety and excitement churns in my chest. What do I even do with that information?

I shouldn't have let this happen. I shouldn't have let myself get so close to him. I shouldn't have been a nurse—this job wasn't supposed to make me feel things like this.

But then again, I think, at least he admitted it. At least it's out in the open now, right?

No, no it's not right. He's four years younger than me. I feel like his sister.

The thought is dizzying. What am I even supposed to do? The last thing I want is to collapse at my mother's grave and bury myself in the same hole of regret I've been avoiding for years.

If Mom were here, I could ask her. She'd give me the best advice. I'd know what to do. She'd tell me to be honest, to just tell Brysen how I feel.

But I'm not that shy, introverted girl anymore. I'm an adult. I've been through this before. And now, I know exactly who I need to call.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, making me jump. I pull it out, too anxious to even check the caller ID before answering.

"Hello?" I laugh nervously at my greeting. "Miles, what's up?"

"Miles," his voice is unmistakable as he teases, "Long time, no chit chat. How are you, girl?"

"Hey, I'm good. Don't worry about me," I reply, forcing myself to sound normal.

"Well, if you need someone to waste time with, I'm always here for that," he says with a light laugh.

I roll my eyes but feel the slightest relief at hearing his voice. "I need advice... about a... situation. When your crush admits they like you back, but you're not sure you're ready for it?"

"What?" he bursts out, then laughs, "I didn't know Chris Hemsworth noticed you."

I can't help but blush at the mention of my celebrity crush, a ridiculous habit I can't seem to shake. "It's not Chris Hemsworth!" I protest, embarrassed. "Let's just say it's... Dylan from high school."

Miles bursts out laughing. "We don't even know a Dylan from high school. Well, except for that one Dylan from college and that Dylan from the 7/11 store... and the one from Teen Wolf..."

"Can you just give me advice?" I beg, cutting him off. "It's really important."

He groans, clearly not taking me seriously. "Alright, alright. But I'm horrible at this. Either tell Dylan you like him back—if you do—or tell him you don't. Or just tell him he's smelly and disgusting, but only if he's that Dylan from high school, alright?"

"Thanks," I mutter, hanging up before he can tease me any further.

I let out a heavy breath, realizing how childish I'm being. I need to calm down. Tantrums won't help me figure out what to do next.