Chapter 10
The LA River at night doesn’t look like a river.
It looks like a scar.
Concrete banks stretch wide and pale beneath flickering streetlights, graffiti layered over graffiti like people carving proof that they were here and mattered for a moment, water sliding through the center in a thin, stubborn ribbon that refuses to disappear even when the city pretends it isn’t real. It hums with freeway noise and wind and something restless, something unfinished.
I shouldn’t have gone.
I knew that. My dad knew that. Kim knew that the second I didn’t answer his texts fast enough.
But fear does strange things to love. It convinces you that if you move fast enough, if you sacrifice yourself quietly enough, you can keep the people you care about safe.
I told myself I was doing this for Kim.
I told myself I was doing this for my parents.
I told myself I was strong enough to handle whatever waited for me at the river.
I was wrong about one thing.
I wasn’t alone.
I parked far enough away that the sound of my footsteps echoed when I climbed down the concrete slope, heart hammering, phone clutched in my hand like it might save me. The air smelled like dust and oil and water that had learned how to survive neglect.
“Hello?” I called, my voice swallowed immediately by the open space.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
Good. You came.
I scanned the shadows.
Then I saw him.
Jae stood near the waterline, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed in the way of someone who thinks the ending has already been written. He looked older than the photo—harder, sharper around the eyes—but unmistakable.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said casually.
“Neither should you,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt.
He laughed. “Oh, I should. I’ve been waiting for this.”
“What do you want?” I demanded.
Jae tilted his head. “Funny thing about that. I already got it.”
My stomach dropped. “Then why am I here?”
“Because,” he said, eyes flicking past me for a split second—too fast, too practiced—“you love him.”
Cold washed through me.
“You don’t get to say his name,” I said.
Jae smirked. “Relax. I don’t want Kim anymore. He’s already done enough damage.”
I lunged forward before I could stop myself, rage flaring hot and blinding—but he held up a hand.
“Easy,” he said. “You touch me, the next post goes live. Your name. Your school. Your face. Your parents’ finances. Everything.”
My hands curled into fists.
“Why?” I whispered. “What do you get from this?”
He studied me for a moment, then shrugged. “I lost everything because someone decided truth mattered more than loyalty. I just wanted him to feel what that’s like.”
“And me?” I said. “What did I do?”
Jae smiled thinly. “You loved the wrong person.”
My phone buzzed again.
This time, it wasn’t the unknown number.
It was Kim.
Kim:
Moon where are you.
I stared at the screen, my chest tightening painfully.
Jae noticed. “Ah. There he is.”
“You said alone,” I snapped.
“I lied,” Jae said easily. “He followed you.”
Panic flared. “Where is he?”
Jae pointed up toward the bridge.
And that was when I heard Kim’s voice.
“Moon!”
I spun around.
Kim stood at the top of the concrete slope, breathless, hair wild from running, eyes scanning frantically until they locked onto me. Relief crashed through me so violently my knees nearly buckled.
“Kim!” I shouted. “Don’t come down here!”
He didn’t listen.
He never did when it mattered most.
He started running.
Time fractured.
“Stop him,” Jae said sharply, stepping forward.
“No,” I said, stepping between them. “This ends now.”
Jae’s eyes hardened. “Move.”
Behind me, Kim slipped on the slope, caught himself, kept going, his name ripping from my throat again and again like a prayer and a warning at the same time.
“Moon!”
I backed away from Jae, hands shaking, heart racing so hard it hurt. “You don’t want this,” I said. “You’re already done.”
“Not yet,” he snapped.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Faint.
Getting closer.
Jae’s eyes flicked toward the sound, then back to me, calculating.
“You called them,” he accused.
“No,” I said honestly. “But someone else did.”
Because my dad hadn’t waited.
Because Kim hadn’t waited.
Because love, when it stops being quiet, stops asking permission.
Jae cursed under his breath, took a step back, and that was when Kim reached me.
He crashed into me, arms wrapping tight around my shoulders, his body shaking, his breath uneven and hot against my neck.
“You’re an idiot,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You absolute idiot.”
I laughed shakily, tears burning. “You followed me.”
“Of course I did,” he said fiercely, pulling back just enough to look at me, his hands still gripping my jacket like he might lose me if he let go. “I told you. I’m not running anymore.”
Footsteps echoed behind us.
Jae bolted.
Police lights flooded the concrete seconds later, red and blue slicing through the night, officers shouting, the sound of pursuit exploding into motion.
But I barely registered any of it.
Because Kim was still there.
Alive. Breathing. Real.
The world narrowed down to the two of us standing in the middle of a place neither of us was supposed to be, hearts still racing, fear bleeding slowly into relief.
“I thought I was going to lose you,” he said hoarsely.
“You didn’t,” I said. “I’m here.”
Sirens echoed. Radios crackled. Someone shouted our names.
But Kim leaned in anyway, forehead pressing against mine, uncaring who saw.
“You ran toward me,” he said softly.
I swallowed. “I always will.”
He smiled then—small, tired, beautiful in a way that felt earned.
Later—hours later—after statements and explanations and my parents arriving with pale faces and shaking hands, after Jae was taken away and the gossip account went dark and the city finally exhaled, we sat on the hood of my dad’s car while the night cooled around us.
My mom stood a few feet away, talking quietly with my dad, her posture still stiff, still uncertain—but she looked at us once, really looked, and didn’t look away.
It wasn’t forgiveness.
But it wasn’t rejection either.
“I’m leaving for college in a month,” I said quietly, staring at my hands.
“I know,” Kim replied.
“I don’t know what that means for us.”
He took my hand, lacing our fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I don’t need a promise,” he said. “I just need honesty.”
I turned to him. “I love you.”
The words felt terrifying and right and irreversible.
Kim’s eyes softened, shining. “I love you too.”
We kissed then—not desperate, not hidden, not afraid. Just warm and sure and real, under streetlights that didn’t care who we were or what came next.
Above us, the city kept moving.
Ahead of us, summer waited—uncertain and open and terrifying.
But for the first time, I wasn’t afraid of what came after Sunday.
Because I knew who I’d run toward.
And who would run toward me.
