Caught between love and hate.

Chapter 2: Crossroads

The glow of Rafe Cameron's house lit up the night, music thumping so loudly it could probably be heard across the Cut. Brielle parked her car at the edge of the driveway, stepping out to the familiar scene of Kooks sprawled across the lawn with red solo cups in hand. It was the kind of chaos she'd grown up in—a world of privilege and indulgence.

"Brielle!" Kelce called from the porch, raising his drink like it was a victory flag.

She waved back half-heartedly and smoothed the hem of her dress. A part of her wondered why she even bothered coming to these things anymore. They were all the same: the same people, the same drama, the same suffocating energy of trying to impress everyone else.

Inside, the house was alive with its usual energy. The bass from the speakers rattled the floor, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and spilled liquor. Brielle floated through the crowd, exchanging nods and polite smiles, but her heart wasn't in it.

"Not much of a party mood tonight?" Ellie asked, sidling up to her near the kitchen.

Brielle shrugged, sipping from her soda. "It's the same thing every time. Nothing changes."

Ellie leaned against the counter, watching her closely. "Maybe it's not the party. Maybe it's...everything else."

Brielle didn't respond. Ellie wasn't wrong. The parties weren't the problem; it was the hollowness that followed her everywhere lately.

Before Ellie could press further, a ripple went through the room. Heads turned toward the front entrance, and the whispers began.

"Is that Sarah Cameron?"

Brielle's head snapped up, her heart skipping a beat. Sure enough, Sarah stood in the doorway, her shoulders squared, her arm linked casually with John B's. Behind them were the rest of the Pogues—Kiara, Pope, and JJ.

The sight was jarring. Sarah Cameron, who used to own this house with her presence, now looked like a stranger here. Her simple tank top and denim shorts were a stark contrast to the designer outfits surrounding her, but she wore them with the same confidence that used to make her the queen of the Kooks.

Brielle felt her feet moving before she even registered it.

"Bri, what are you doing?" Ellie hissed, but Brielle ignored her.

She weaved through the crowd, her pulse pounding in her ears. The ache of seeing Sarah, so close yet so distant, overwhelmed her. The months of silence, of broken friendship, all bubbled up, threatening to spill over.

The closer she got, the more she noticed. Sarah's hair, slightly damp from the ocean. John B's protective arm around her shoulders. The easy laughter between Sarah and Kiara, the kind Brielle hadn't shared with her in what felt like a lifetime.

Just as Brielle reached the edge of the room, ready to call out, a hand grabbed her arm.

"Bri, don't."

Topper.

His grip was firm, his voice low and commanding. Brielle turned to glare at him, yanking her arm back.

"What is your problem, Topper?" she snapped.

"My problem? What's yours?" He motioned toward Sarah and the Pogues. "You're seriously going to go talk to them?"

"She's my friend," Brielle said, her voice wavering slightly.

"Was," Topper corrected sharply. "She's not one of us anymore, Bri. Look at her. She's one of them now."

Brielle opened her mouth to argue, but her voice caught in her throat. When she looked back, Sarah's gaze was locked on her. Beside her, John B leaned in, whispering something, his hand resting lightly on Sarah's back.

The look in Sarah's eyes wasn't one of anger or smugness. It was something softer—something Brielle couldn't quite place.

The memories came flooding back, uninvited and overwhelming. Sleepovers in the pool house. Late-night talks about escaping Figure Eight. Pinky promises under the stars, swearing they'd never let anything—or anyone—come between them.

But those days were gone, and the distance between them now felt insurmountable.

"Let it go, Brielle," Topper said, his tone softening as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "She made her choice. Don't embarrass yourself by chasing after her."

Brielle clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She didn't say anything as Topper led her away from the doorway, back toward the heart of the party.

But even as the music swelled and the crowd swallowed her up again, Brielle couldn't shake the feeling of Sarah's eyes on her—or the hollow ache in her chest that refused to leave.