Foreigner

Chapter 45: Promise Me

The cafeteria hums with noise — laughter bouncing off the walls, trays clattering, the scrape of chairs. It's almost too alive after weeks of hushed silence.

I drop my tray down and sit with Christian beside me, hood up, hands sunk in his sweatpants pockets. Across from us, Tommy props his casted leg straight under the table, bumping Max's shin. The plaster is messy with signatures and doodles.

"Three more days," Tommy says, tapping it with his fork like it's a drum. "Then this baby's gone. I might keep it, though — reminder of my glory days."

Max shakes his head, steady. "You won't. You'll toss it and pretend it never happened." His tone isn't mocking — just protective.

Tommy grins. "What, you don't want it hanging over your bed?"

"Not unless I want to choke on the smell," Max says.

I jab my fork into my potatoes. "If you fall flat the first day out of it, I'm not dragging you back to the nurse."

Tommy points his fork at me. "That's Christian's job."

Christian doesn't even blink. "I'm not carrying you."

Max looks at him calmly. "If I'm not there, you would."

Christian finally lifts his head. "No. Only him." His chin tilts just enough toward me.

Heat shoots up my neck so fast it makes my ears burn. I duck my head, pretending to eat, but it's too late.

Tommy smirks. "Only him, huh? Sounds like loooooove."

Max's mouth twitches into something close to a smile. "Can't really argue with that."

My blush deepens, and before I can think better of it, I shove my hand under the table and grab Christian's left thigh — hard, a warning, punishment for making me look soft in front of them.

He doesn't flinch. He just smirks, proud of himself, and drops his hand onto my thigh in return — firm, steady, unapologetic.

The heat in my face spikes, bright red, impossible to hide.

Across the table, Tommy leans forward. "Man, I knew it. You two are cute together."

Max nods, calm as ever. "When's the wedding?"

I clench my fork like I might stab them both, while Christian just sits there, smug, thumb moving slowly against my leg like he's enjoying every second of my humiliation.

From the outside, we're just four boys eating lunch. From my perspective, the table is on fire, and I'm melting with it.

¤ ¤ ¤

The hallway hums with whispers as we move down it. Tommy hobbles on his crutches, Max walking close enough that one hand hovers at his back like he's ready to catch him if he tips.

"Guess this is where we split," Tommy says, nodding at the stairwell to the third floor. His grin is quick, a little forced. "Don't let Simmons eat you alive."

Max's gaze flicks from me to Christian, steady. "See you later."

Christian just nods, hands still buried in his pockets. We peel off toward English while they disappear upstairs.

The whispers get louder the closer we get to Mrs. Simmons' classroom. Names bounce like echoes:

"—Vic at Memorial—"
"—with Dean and Caleb—"
"—he's coming back—"

I catch Christian's jaw tightening, the tendon in his neck sharp as wire.

"If he's back," he mutters, voice low enough it's just for me, "everything changes. You need to be careful now. More careful than before."