Chapter 1

• Four Years Ago – Junior Year, Fall Semester
• The party had long since tipped from fun to chaos. Plastic cups littered the porch, the bass from someone’s half-dead Bluetooth speaker vibrated the rickety banister, and someone was screaming karaoke into a mop handle like their life depended on it. Inside the old rented house—Asher and Nico’s off-campus pride and joy—the smell of cheap beer and chili cheese nachos clung to the air like defeat.
• Ellis Hart was tucked into her usual spot on the sagging leather couch, legs folded beneath her, oversized flannel sliding off one shoulder. She nursed a watered-down cocktail and tried not to stare at the man she’d been in love with since sophomore year.
• Asher Holt.
• He was currently standing in the kitchen with a red Solo cup balanced on his head while Jonah tried to flick peanut M&M’s into it like a frat boy version of Olympic archery.
• “He moves again and I swear to God—” Jonah launched another one, missing by a mile and hitting the microwave.
• Asher grinned that crooked grin that always melted Ellis like wax. “You’re just mad I haven’t blinked. That’s discipline, baby.”
• “Or brain damage,” Beckett muttered from the other side of the couch, pushing up his glasses. “Either way, it's very on-brand.”
• Ellis snorted, burying the sound in her cup.
• It wasn’t fair. How easily Asher could light up a room. How his laugh rolled through crowds and pulled people in. How he was both beautiful and reckless, the kind of man who left burn marks on people without ever meaning to. She’d memorized him long ago—the constellation of freckles on his left shoulder, the scar on his brow from when they snuck into a construction site freshman year, the way he absentmindedly tugged the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands when he was nervous.
• She also knew he’d never look at her the way she looked at him.
• Not when he had an entire world of options.
• And especially not when half of them were currently gyrating to Lizzo in the living room, including the girl he’d kissed an hour ago.
• “Stop drinking that shit,” Beck said beside her, flicking the straw in her cup. “You’ll regret it in about four hours.”
• “I regret it already,” she murmured, but passed him the cup anyway. “What are you drinking?”
• “Smart water and a low tolerance for human stupidity.”
• Ellis smiled. Beck had always been her quiet backup. The first one to notice when she got too quiet or disappeared from a conversation entirely. The kind of guy who saw everything and said very little.
• But tonight… he was watching her more closely than usual.
• “I know,” he said finally, soft enough that only she could hear it.
• Her spine went rigid. “Know what?”
• Beck’s eyes flicked toward the kitchen. Asher was now laughing, caught in a bear hug from Nico, both of them swaying to the beat of a song someone had queued up just to piss them off.
• “You’re not as subtle as you think, Ellis.”
• She swallowed. Hard. “Don’t.”
• “I’m not judging—”
• “Beck,” she whispered, turning to face him fully. “Please. Don’t say it. Don’t ruin this.”
• He didn’t move. Just studied her like he wanted to fix something but knew she wouldn’t let him.
• “He’s my best friend,” she said, voice cracking even though she tried to smile. “I’m not—I’m not doing this to myself, okay? I know what this is.”
• Beck ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Does he?”
• She didn’t answer.
• Because the truth was no.
• No, Asher didn’t know. Because if he ever did, everything would change. Their friendship. The way he leaned his head on her shoulder when he was drunk. The way he texted her at 2AM to come eat burgers and talk about architecture drafts. The way he once said, “You’re my person, Hart,” like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
• He didn't see it. Didn’t want to. And she wasn’t brave enough to shatter the illusion.
• Not yet.
• “Promise me you won’t say anything,” she said. “To him. Or to anyone.”
• Beck hesitated.
• “Please.”
• He exhaled. “Okay. But if he ever hurts you—”
• “He won’t,” she said quickly. “He can’t hurt me. I’ve already set the bar at zero.”
• Beck’s expression turned pained, but he nodded.
• From the kitchen, Asher called her name like a shot of sunshine. “Hart! Get over here—Beck sucks at flip cup and I need a partner with actual skills.”
• Ellis stood, smoothing her flannel and wiping emotion from her face like it was just another night.
• “You coming?” she asked Beck, offering him a lifeline back into the chaos.
• He didn’t move. Just looked at her with quiet sympathy.
• “You’ve got it bad,” he said under his breath.
• And she did. God, she did.
• 🜲
• The next morning was the kind of ugly that only college hangovers could birth. Ellis found herself in Asher’s kitchen wearing one of his shirts and brewing coffee like she lived there—which, in a way, she almost did.
• He strolled in minutes later, hair tousled, bare feet on the hardwood.
• “You crashed on the couch again?” he asked, already rummaging for cereal.
• “Where else would I go? Rowan had her guy over, and I was too lazy to Uber.”
• “You know you can always stay here,” he said easily.
• She looked at him over her mug, his back turned, shirt hanging low on his hips.
• Always stay.
• Like she was a fixture. A constant.
• Never the exception.
• “You really don’t get it, do you?” she whispered under her breath.
• He turned. “What?”
• “Nothing,” she said brightly. “Want eggs?”
• He grinned. “You’re a goddess.”
• No. Just a girl. Just your best friend. Just the idiot who’s been in love with you since the first time you let me borrow your hoodie and told me I looked better in it than your girlfriend.
• She made him eggs anyway.
• 🜲
• Present Day – Four Years Later
• The text came at 2:03 in the morning.From Asher.
• -Got big news. Call you when you're awake. You’re gonna lose it.
• Ellis rubbed her eyes, blinking against the glow of her phone screen, heart already skittering with a weird kind of dread. Asher only texted her like this when he was excited. And Asher excited usually meant Ellis devastated.
• She tossed the phone onto the blanket, rolled onto her back, and stared at the ceiling.
• Whatever it was—whatever Asher Holt was about to tell her tomorrow—she had a feeling it was going to split her in half.