Page 95 of Truth or Dare

“There is no us. We fucked around and we’re done,” I said, holding back tears.

Without warning, he punched the wall, scaring me.

“You’ll regret this,” Hudson snapped.

Then he was gone. I heard the bedroom door slam, and I sank to the floor and sobbed. I loved him so much, but I was a coward, afraid to tell him something that would change his life and those around him forever.

I wokeup with a hacking cough that clawed at my throat and stole my breath. Each gasp burned, a raw reminder of my poor decision to wear that skimpy Halloween costume and hang out outside without a coat. I had spent Sunday fighting a sore throat, downing Emergen-C before bed in a futile attempt to stave off the inevitable. Now, it seemed I’d lost the battle.

“Presley, you need to get up, or you’re going to be late,” my mother called from the other side of the door.

Another cough erupted, racking my chest. The door swung open, and she stepped inside, her expression shifting from mild annoyance to concern. “Are you sick?”

I answered with another rasping cough, clutching my ribs. “My chest hurts,” I croaked.

She crossed the room in three quick strides, placing her cool hand against my forehead. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re warm.”

“I feel like shit,” I muttered, collapsing back onto my pillow.

Before she could respond, Neil poked his head through the doorway, his shaggy hair a mess of bedhead. “Who’s taking me to school today?”

My mother turned, ushering him back with a firm hand. “Not now, Neil.”

But he pushed past her, scowling at me. “The bus? You’re joking, right?”

I grinned weakly. “Bus.”

“No fucking way!” His tone was indignant, and I couldn’t help but chuckle, though it sent another cough tearing through me.

“Neil!” my mother snapped, glaring at him. “Watch your language.”

He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, Mom, but I hate the bus.”

“I’ll take you,” she sighed, shooing him toward the hallway. “Go grab your backpack.”

With a dramatic groan, Neil shuffled out, and my mother turned back to me, pointing a finger like she was sealing a contract. “You stay in bed. I’m canceling my committee meeting this afternoon.”

I shook my head, wincing as my throat protested the motion. “I can survive on my own for a few hours. You don’t have to baby me.”

Her expression softened, but the resolve in her voice didn’t waver. “You might be eighteen, but you’re still one of my babies. Now, do you want anything from the store?”

“Honey cough drops,” I rasped. “The ones with the liquid honey in the middle.”

She smiled faintly. “Got it. Take it easy. I’ll be back in about an hour.”

The door clicked shut behind her, and her footsteps faded down the hallway. I waited a moment, listening for the front door to close, then threw back the covers and tiptoed to my desk. My legs felt like jelly, but I ignored the weakness as I slid open a drawer and retrieved the slim green notebook hidden inside.

The first time I’d stumbled across it had been an accident. I’d found it in the Braddocks’ den, mistaking it for Evan’s. When he’d walked in unexpectedly, I’d shoved it into the back of my jeans, heart pounding, praying he wouldn’t notice. He hadn’t.

Now, sitting cross-legged on my bed, I flipped through the pages. The looping handwriting was unmistakably Mrs. Braddock’s. Each entry revealed her tangled life—affairs, desperate confessions, and attempts to escape the loveless prison of her marriage. I’d kept the notebook out of curiosity at first, thinking it harmless.

Then I foundit.

The passage was buried deep, six years old, the ink uneven as if her hand had trembled while writing. My stomach turned as I read the words again. A crime—cold, calculated, and unforgivable.

A chill swept over me, raising goosebumps along my arms. The Braddocks’ polished facade was a farce, their wealth and status hiding a black pit of moral decay.

I couldn’t keep this to myself. Not anymore.

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