Page 4 of Because I Liked A Boy
The sincerity in his voice makes my throat ache. “Did Mum know?”
He nods, bitter. “Yeah. For a while now. She just… pretends the life she’s built isn’t rotting from the inside out.”
I frown. “And you?”
His jaw tightens. “I kept my mouth shut for her. For Mum. Thought it was better to let it go than rip everything apart. But tonight—” He breaks off with a humourless laugh. “Tonight I saw him standing there, smiling, with them. Like none of it mattered. Like the lies didn’t cost anyone anything.”
I grip the wheel harder, my knuckles aching. “And you couldn’t stay quiet anymore.”
“Not for one more second.”
The engine hums between us, but it’s the pounding of my heart that fills my ears.
The city falls away behind us, skyscraper glass giving way to dark stretches of asphalt and skeletal trees clawing at the night sky.
Nathan cracks the window, cold air streaming in that’s sharp enough to sting my cheeks. “God, I needed to get out of there,” he mutters, eyes fixed on the blur outside.
“You needed to humiliate the family in front of half the city?” My tone’s dry, but the edge is gone.
A crooked grin pulls at his mouth. “Admit it, Belle—it was worth it.”
I huff out something between a laugh and a sigh. “You’ve always liked a scene.”
He tilts his head, watching me instead of the road ahead. “And you’ve alwaysbeen scared to make one.”
“Someone had to be the adult,” I shoot back, but there’s warmth under the words.
For a heartbeat, it’s almost easy. Almost like the nights we’d drive aimlessly just to avoid going home, our problems sitting in the back seat instead of between us.
I ease into the next curve and the brakes give a faint, uneven shudder. Not much—just enough to make me glance at the dash. No warning lights. I shake it off.
Then my foot hits the brake for a red light— And it sinks.
Too far. Too fast.
A frown creases my forehead. I press again. The car slows, but
late, jerky.
Nathan notices. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I force my voice steady. Pump the brakes once. Twice. The light flips green.
We keep going. The road curves, pulling us into darkness so thick the headlights barely cut it. My pulse is climbing now, an animal pace I can’t ignore. I test the brakes again on instinct. They respond—sluggish, untrustworthy.
Nathan’s gaze sharpens. “Belle—”
I don’t answer. My knuckles are white on the wheel, eyes locked on the next bend.
And then it happens, all at once.
A flicker of movement in the beams.
A fox, frozen in the middle of the lane, eyes like coins catching light.
I slam the brake.
The pedal drops to the floor. Dead weight, like pressing into wet cement.
