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.
