Somewhere Only We Know - 10. The Fracture

December moved into Lakehurst without asking if anyone was ready.

One week the sky was just a dull, ordinary gray. The next, the clouds sank low and heavy, promising snow that hadn’t fallen yet but already made people walk faster, hunch deeper into their jackets. Christmas lights appeared slowly, strand by strand, as if the neighborhood were trying to convince itself that the cold meant something cheerful.

School didn’t care.

The hallways smelled like wet wool and cafeteria cocoa. Teachers talked about “staying focused through the holidays” while assigning midterm reviews that felt like small novels. The guidance office taped up flyers about college prep and winter service hours.

Junior year kept its foot on their necks.

For a little while, Matt and Kitt still managed to hold some of their ground.

They shared vending-machine coffee on cold mornings—burnt, too sweet, the cups warming their fingers. They huddled in the bleachers during warm-ups, Kitt wrapped in a scarf, Matt stomping his cleats to keep feeling in his toes. They studied side by side in the library, shoulders brushing as they bent over notebooks full of formulas and half-legible comments.

They stole small pockets of warmth wherever they could.

But December brought a different kind of pressure with it.

Family.
Tradition.
Expectation.

All the things Kitt had learned to move around like furniture in the dark.

The first real snow came on a Sunday.

Flakes started lazy, drifting sideways in a pale sky. By midmorning they thickened, soft and insistent, turning lawns white and lining rooftops with a thin, quiet layer. The trees on Willow Creek Drive grew glass edges; the whole street looked like it had been dipped in sugar.

Matt texted him before noon.

look outside

Kitt pushed his curtains open. The street glittered in white. Across the road, the Everest porch lights glowed warm and yellow against the cold.

He smiled and typed:

It’s snow. It happens every year.

Matt:

yeah but this is first snow of our junior year

Kitt rolled his eyes.

and?

and tradition says you’re supposed to go out in it with your special friend

Heat crept up Kitt’s neck.

A second later:

Lake? just for a bit. wear seventeen jackets

Kitt hesitated.

He hadn’t studied as much as he’d promised himself he would. His father had mentioned wanting to “go over the winter schedule” later, which never just meant rides and errands. The air in the house already felt tuned a little too tight.

But it was still morning. His father was at a church committee meeting. His mother clinked around in the kitchen. For once, the house felt loose.

And he wanted to go. So badly that the want made his chest hurt.

Okay. 20 mins, he wrote.

Matt sent back an explosion of emojis and something that was either a snowman or a blob with arms.

Kitt layered up—thermal, sweatshirt, his oldest navy jacket, beanie, gloves. At his bedroom door he paused, listening.

“I’m going for a walk!” he called down the hallway.

“Not long, okay?” his mother answered, distracted. “Your father wants to go over the schedule later.”

“Okay,” he said.

He knew what “schedule” meant—services, youth group nights, volunteer events, winter church things he was “old enough to help with now.”

He shut the door gently and stepped out into the cold.

The lake in snow looked like a different world.

The water had gone darker, almost steel-colored, thin shards of ice forming in a jagged line along the shore. Bare trees stood in a loose ring around it, their branches edged in white like careful pencil lines. Frost made the planks of the dock creak under his boots.

Matt was already there, breath fogging the air, dressed in a thick gray hoodie under his varsity jacket, hair dusted in flakes.

“You’re late,” he said.

“Only five minutes, give or take,” Kitt replied.

“I’ve been emotionally waiting forever.”

Kitt snorted and stepped onto the dock, his stride instinctively shorter on the slick wood. Matt’s eyes flicked to his feet.

“Careful,” he murmured.

Kitt rolled his eyes, but his mouth curved anyway.

They’d grown into their bodies since those first middle-school summers here. Matt now had the height and easy build of a quarterback—broad shoulders, long legs, the kind of presence people tracked without meaning to. His dark-blond hair curled in uneven waves where the snow touched it, and his deep brown eyes still held that warm, steady light even with his nose turning red from the cold.

Kitt had stretched to five ten, his shoulders marked by years of swimming, chest and arms carved out by early mornings and long sets. His lighter blond hair stuck out from under his beanie, and his blue eyes caught the winter light, turning almost silver when they glanced over the water.

People noticed them now. Whispered about them in hallways. Looked twice at games and meets.

Out here, that didn’t matter. Out here, they were still just Matt and Kitt.

They sat on the dock, knees up, shoulders almost touching. Snow drifted down in quiet curtains. The flakes melted where they hit the lake, disappearing into small ripples.

“It’s quieter in winter,” Matt said after a while.

Kitt nodded. “Feels… smaller. In a good way.”

Matt turned his head. “Smaller how?”

“Like the world gets reduced,” Kitt said slowly. “Less noise. Less distraction. Just… you and what matters.”

Matt looked at him longer than was strictly fair.

Kitt suddenly felt very aware of the small space between their gloved hands.

“What matters, huh,” Matt said softly.

“Yeah.”

Matt swallowed, gaze dropping, then flicking back up, as if the answer was sitting plainly on Kitt’s face.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

Kitt’s heart stuttered.

“I am too,” he answered, trying to tuck all the extra meaning back behind those three words.

They stayed as long as they could stand the cold, until fingers went numb and toes ached and their cheeks stung.

Love—or something dangerously close to it—hung unspoken between their breaths.

When they finally stood, stamping life back into their feet, Matt asked, “You free later? We could study at my place, if—”

Kitt shook his head. “My dad wants to go over next month. Church stuff. Schedules.”

Matt made a face. “That sounds terrible. Want me to fake a crisis and call the house? ‘Hi, this is the principal, Kitt is needed at school for urgent—’”

“Absolutely not.”

“One day you’ll let me be your bad influence,” Matt sighed.

Kitt smiled, but it slipped away almost as fast as it came.

He wasn’t sure he had any room left for bad influences. Or the kind of truth Matt could accidentally light up inside him.

The Wellington house that evening was not loud.

It wasn’t even obviously tense.

It was careful.

His father had printed an agenda, of course. Church services, youth group meetings, special holiday events, volunteer tasks. Kitt sat at the dining table while his father slid the paper across to him.

“These are the dates you need to keep in mind,” his father said. “You’re old enough now to help more.”

Kitt scanned the list. Choir rehearsal. Christmas Eve. Youth outreach. Early morning prayer.

“I have swim meets,” he said quietly. “And practices. And exams.”

“You have obligations,” his father corrected. “To your faith. To your family. The world will always try to pull you away from that. You must be strong.”

Kitt’s fingers tightened on the edge of the paper.

“I’ll do what I can,” he murmured.

His father studied him too long.

“You spend a lot of time with that friend of yours,” he said. “Matthew.”

Kitt’s heart jumped hard enough to hurt.

He kept his face neutral. “Football. Swim. We’re both just… busy lately.”

His father hummed, sounding neither convinced nor ready to accuse.

“Remember,” he said, “friendship is a blessing when it leads you closer to God, and a temptation when it leads you away.”

Kitt’s throat burned.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

They went back to talking logistics, but the line lodged like a splinter behind his ribs.

He didn’t mention Matt again. Didn’t say “we went to the lake.” Didn’t talk about Riverbend, or the way Matt’s voice sometimes calmed storms in him that prayer never reached.

By the time he went to his room, the house felt colder than the snow.

The first hit came on a Tuesday.

Not a slam. Just a quiet fracture.

Kitt sat at his desk that night, textbooks open, a mug of tea cooling by his elbow. The usual house sounds drifted up—TV low, dishes in the sink, his mother humming a hymn in the kitchen.

His laptop glowed in front of him. He’d just finished an article about muscle fatigue and recovery—half for swim, half because he liked knowing how bodies worked when they pushed against their limits.

When he clicked the tab closed, his cursor hovered over another one.

A forum thread he’d found days ago. Questioning your sexuality. Stories from kids who grew up in households like his. Boys who said they knew when they were five. Boys who didn’t realize until sixteen. Girls terrified their churches would find out. All of them sounding like he felt when he couldn’t sleep and stared at the ceiling, too aware of his own heart.

He hadn’t written anything. Hadn’t even made an account. He’d just read, scrolling and scrolling until the ache in his chest felt less alone and more unbearable.

His finger hovered over the little x, debating whether to erase it, as if that could erase what drove him to read it in the first place.

His phone buzzed.

Matt.

we have like 4 tests next week. im dropping out and moving to the mountains

Kitt’s mouth quirked.

You wouldn’t survive one day without wifi.

Matt: :((((
rude but fair

The heaviness in Kitt’s chest lifted a little.

He checked the time. He’d meant to be in bed already.

He closed the laptop—not the tabs, just the screen—and stood to stretch. He set the computer back on his desk and switched off the lamp.

The next afternoon after school, his father was in that space.

The door was cracked when Kitt reached the top of the stairs. That by itself wasn’t unusual. Sometimes his father came in to tidy a stray sock off the floor or remind him to bring laundry down.

Kitt lifted his hand to knock anyway.

The floorboard creaked.

His father stood at his desk, back partially turned, his face lit blue by the open laptop screen.

Kitt’s stomach dropped through the floor.

He felt it before he fully thought it—some old instinct, the same panic that flashed in the split-second when you misjudge the distance to the surface underwater.

His father’s jaw was tight. His eyes were fixed on the monitor.

Kitt’s heart slammed so hard it made his fingertips numb.

His father closed the laptop gently, but his hand lingered on the lid.

“Your mother asked me to check whether your grades were updated in the school portal,” he said. His voice was calm, but the calm had edges. “Your password is the same for everything. Not very secure.”

The nausea came in a wave.

Kitt wanted to ask, How far did you go? Did you see the forum? Did you read everything? Do you know?

His tongue felt thick.

“Your grades are… acceptable,” his father went on. “But I noticed your browsing history.”

There it was.

Kitt’s fingers curled around the doorframe.

His father’s gaze landed on him fully now, pinning him in place.

“Why,” he asked quietly, “are you reading about… this?”

He didn’t say the word.

He didn’t have to.

Kitt’s throat worked. “I was just curious,” he said, hating how small it sounded. “It’s nothing.”

“Curious,” his father repeated. “Curious about sin?”

The word sliced him open.

“I wasn’t— It’s not like that,” Kitt stammered. “They’re just… people. Older kids. Talking about stuff they go through. It doesn’t mean anything about me.”

The lie tasted metallic.

His father took one of those controlled breaths he used when he was trying not to raise his voice.

“Kitt,” he said, “you know what we believe. There are paths that lead people away from God. Once you walk too far down them, it is very hard to turn back.”

“I’m not walking anywhere,” Kitt whispered. “It was just reading.”

“That’s how it begins,” his father said, quiet and almost regretful. “With curiosity. With entertaining ideas you should never entertain.”

Kitt dug his nails into his palms until the pain gave him something to hold onto.

“I need to know,” his father said. “Are you involved in any of this? At school? With your… friends?”

Matt’s face flashed in his mind. The dock. Riverbend. Their shoulders touching in the cold.

He forced his features blank.

“No,” he said.

His father studied him, searching for something.

For a horrible, stretched-out second, Kitt thought he might see it. That everything he’d been trying to tuck away was written across his forehead.

Then his father stepped back.

“Good,” he said. “Then this will stop.”

Kitt swallowed. “What?”

“The browsing. The reading. The entertaining of these ideas. There are things we do not invite into this home.” His voice hardened by a fraction. “If I see this again, we will have a very different conversation.”

Kitt couldn’t manage a reply.

His father moved past him to the door, then paused.

“And Kitt,” he added, still not looking back, “be careful who you open your heart to. Not every friendship is harmless.”

When the door clicked shut, the room felt smaller.

The laptop on his desk might as well have been a loaded weapon.

He sat down on his bed with his hands shaking.

He hadn’t said anything. Not out loud. But a line had been drawn anyway.

He was already on the wrong side of it.

Later that week, the second hit came sideways.

Kitt padded downstairs one night for water. As he reached the bottom step, his parents’ voices drifted from the kitchen.

“…you’ve seen what kids are like now,” his father was saying. “Confused. Lost. The world tells them they can be anything. Especially with that.”

His mother’s voice, soft. “You mean…?”

“That lifestyle,” his father said. He didn’t spit the word, but there was a twist in it that made Kitt’s stomach clench. “Boys with boys. Girls with girls. They call it identity now.”

There was a small clink of dishes.

“The church is losing the younger generation,” his father went on. “If we don’t nip it early, it grows. It hides itself in friendships. In movies. On the internet. You let it stay, it infects the house.”

Kitt’s fingers tightened around the railing.

He should’ve gone back upstairs.

He stayed.

“You don’t think… Kitt…” his mother began, hesitant.

“No,” his father said immediately. Too immediately. “He’s a good boy. But good boys can be led astray if we’re not careful. Especially gentle ones. Especially boys without enough… masculine influence.”

A beat of quiet.

“Who does he spend most of his time with?” his father asked, already knowing.

“Matt,” his mother answered quietly.

Something hollow opened in Kitt’s chest.

“Exactly,” his father murmured. “They’re close. Too close, sometimes. I’m not saying anything is wrong now. But I will not have that door open in this house. I won’t sit by while the world tries to turn my son into something he’s not.”

Something he’s not.

The words cut clean.

Kitt backed away, step by careful step, breath shallow, water forgotten.

In his room again, he shut the door, slid down with his back against it, and pulled his knees to his chest.

Snow tapped softly at the window. The world outside looked untouched and gentle.

Inside, something was cracking down the middle.

He stared at his trembling hands.

He tried to remember what it felt like when the lake was just a place to breathe and not a crime scene waiting to happen. When Riverbend was just another small town. When Matt was just his best friend and not the most dangerous truth in his life.

His phone buzzed on the bed.

you alive?

Matt.

Kitt climbed up, wiped at his face even though there were no tears, only rawness.

Yeah. Just tired, he typed.

same. school is evil

A pause.

lake this weekend?

Kitt swallowed hard.

He wanted to say yes. Always. Please.

Maybe. I’ll let you know, he sent instead.

A beat.

everything okay?

He stared at the screen too long. His chest burned. His thumb shook over the keyboard.

Yeah. Don’t worry, he wrote.

He hit send before he could change it.

It was the first obvious lie he’d given Matt in a long time.

The moment it left his phone, it felt like something small and important had snapped between them.

The night everything broke was colder than it looked.

The sky hung low, heavy, the air full of snow that hadn’t decided whether to fall. The whole neighborhood felt like it was holding its breath.

Matt had been off all day. Kitt had noticed from the first seconds of homeroom—Matt’s hair still damp from rushing, shoulders tight, eyes dull with exhaustion. At lunch, he’d picked at his food. In their shared classes he’d gone quiet, chewing his pen, staring through notes instead of at them.

Football season was technically over. The pressure wasn’t.

Scouts, meetings, “future potential,” grades. Adults who saw him as a list of stats instead of a person.

By the last bell, Matt had looked frayed at the edges.

“I’ve got film review,” he’d muttered near the parking lot, not quite meeting Kitt’s eyes.

“Okay,” Kitt had said. “Good luck.”

“Yeah.” Matt had managed half a smile. “See you later.”

But later kept stretching.

Kitt sat on his bed that night with his textbooks open, not really seeing any of the words. The house hummed in its usual nighttime pattern. He kept flicking his eyes toward his phone.

At 8:43, it finally buzzed.

hey… u busy?

Not really. You okay? Kitt wrote.

The typing dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

then:

idk
today sucked
everything feels heavy

The tightness in Kitt’s chest snapped awake.

Want to talk? he sent.

A heartbeat.

yeah. just… don’t judge me okay

I never judge you, Kitt replied. Tell me.

The messages came faster, broken up, like Matt was typing as the thoughts hit.

I feel like I’m screwing up everything
the team. school. stuff at home
and when I’m not with you it’s like my brain wont shut up

Kitt’s heart tripped.

Matt…

Before he could finish the thought, more lines appeared.

I know I’m being weird. sorry
it’s just easier when ur around
i don’t know how to not need you

The room tilted.

He read it once. Twice. A third time.

His mind leaped toward a meaning his fear tried to drag back.

He needed air.

He set the phone down on his nightstand, screen still lit, charging cable plugged in. He stood on unsteady legs and walked to the bathroom, closing the door and gripping the sink.

Cold water on his face did nothing to cool the heat under his skin.

He stared at his reflection—too pale, eyes too bright, cheeks flushed from a mix of hope and panic.

Whatever Matt meant, he told himself, they would figure it out together. They always did.

He forced a breath, patted his face dry.

He was gone maybe twenty seconds.

As he stepped into the hallway, a faint buzz drifted from his room—another message.

He moved faster.

Halfway to the doorway, he heard the floorboard creak.

And then his father’s voice, low and sharp with confusion.

“Kitt?”

He stepped into his room and stopped.

His father stood beside the bed, Kitt’s phone in his hand.

The screen lit his face in a cold blue wash, washing every line of it in shadowed intensity. His eyes moved slowly over the messages, his mouth tightening with each one.

For a moment, Kitt forgot how to breathe.

His father looked up.

Something in his expression had shifted—love colliding with fear and warping into something Kitt couldn’t recognize.

“Explain this,” his father said quietly, lifting the phone like evidence.

Kitt moved forward automatically, still clutching the towel, hair damp.

“Dad—give it back. Please.”

His father didn’t move. He didn’t even glance at the screen now, as if the words were burned into his memory.

“Why,” he asked, voice too calm, “is another boy sending you messages like this?”

Heat shot up Kitt’s neck and pooled behind his eyes. “It’s private,” he said, his voice shaking. “You’re reading it out of context—”

“Do not insult my intelligence.” His father’s eyes were dark, alarmed, angry. “Boys do not talk to each other this way. This—” he gave the phone a small, sharp shake “—is not normal.”

“It’s just Matt,” Kitt said, panic chewing through his words. “He had a bad day, he’s venting, it’s not—”

“No,” his father snapped, control cracking. “This is more than venting. More than friendship. I warned you. I warned you about where this path leads.”

“Matt is not—” Kitt swallowed hard. “He’s not dangerous.”

“He is leading you astray.”

Kitt’s voice broke. “That’s not true, you’re twisting it—”

“You left this open,” his father thundered suddenly, volume rising so fast Kitt flinched. “Unlocked. As if you did not care who saw it. As if part of you wanted it found.”

“That’s not— I just went to the bathroom, I was coming right back, why would you even come in here without—”

“Because I am your father,” he said, every syllable hard, “and I have every right to know if my son is being corrupted under my roof.”

“Corrupted?” Kitt echoed, the word punching the air out of his lungs. “It’s just Matt. He’s my—he’s my best friend.”

“Best friends do not speak like this. They do not claim to need one another. They do not cling to each other in messages like—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching. “This is unhealthy. Immoral. And it ends tonight.”

Something in Kitt finally snapped.

“No,” he said, the word coming out louder than he’d ever dared in this house. “You don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to read my messages. You don’t get to decide what’s in my heart.”

Shock flickered across his father’s face, then hardened into something worse.

“You have lost your way,” he said, voice shaking. “And that boy has something to do with it. I see it now. I should have seen it earlier.”

“Seen what?” Kitt demanded, tears burning behind his eyes now. “That your son has feelings he can’t just flip off? That he’s not the script you wrote for him?”

“Kitt—”

“Stop saying you love me if all you love is the version of me you approve of!”

The silence that followed cracked like ice.

His father’s eyes widened, then narrowed, like a door closing.

He turned toward the hallway.

“I’m going outside,” Kitt said abruptly, chest heaving. “I need air.”

“You are not leaving this room,” his father said, spinning back.

“I just need to breathe—”

“You will stay right here—”

“No!” The word tore out of him. “I need air!”

His father stepped forward and grabbed his forearm—not brutal, not enough to bruise, but tight enough to feel like a lock.

“Do not walk out that door,” he snapped.

Kitt jerked away, ripping his arm free, pulse roaring.

And ran.

Down the stairs.

Past his mother’s startled call.

Out into the cold.

He hadn’t meant to find Matt.

He just needed out.

But the universe had its own timing.

Matt was walking up the sidewalk toward his house, bundled in a hoodie and windbreaker, breaths coming out in white clouds. When he saw Kitt burst out of the Wellington front door, his whole expression changed.

“Kitt?” he called, quickening his steps. “Hey—what happened? Are you okay?”

Kitt opened his mouth to say yes.

He meant to say I’m fine, don’t worry about it.

What came out was a strangled noise that didn’t sound like anything he recognized.

He closed the distance in two stumbling steps and collapsed into Matt’s chest, fists twisting in the front of his jacket like he was going to fall straight through the sidewalk if he didn’t hold on.

Matt’s body jolt-stiffened in surprise, then melted into the hug almost immediately, arms wrapping around him, one hand splayed between Kitt’s shoulder blades, the other cupping the back of his head.

“Kitt,” Matt whispered into his ear, voice low and sure, “hey, hey… breathe. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Kitt dragged air into his lungs in ragged pulls, pressed into the fabric of Matt’s jacket. The world shrank down to the warmth of Matt’s arms and the slow circles his hand traced on Kitt’s back.

Snow drifted around them, soft and silent.

For a moment, that was the only real thing left.

When they finally loosened their grip, Matt didn’t let go completely. His hands slid down to Kitt’s arms, thumbs rubbing small, grounding lines through the jacket.

“I’m walking you home,” Matt said quietly, no argument allowed.

Kitt nodded, throat too tight for words.

They moved side by side down the sidewalk, shoulders brushing, their steps slow. Kitt could feel his father’s house looming behind him like a shadow, but Matt’s presence at his side kept him from folding in on himself.

At the Wellington driveway, Matt paused.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked, eyes searching his. “I can—”

Kitt shook his head quickly. “I think… I should go in alone.”

Matt exhaled, jaw tensing. “Okay. But if anything’s wrong—if you need me—call. Or text. Or just show up. I don’t care. Just… don’t do this by yourself.”

Kitt’s eyes stung.

Matt pulled him into another hug—slower this time, deliberate. Kitt went willingly, arms wrapping around Matt’s shoulders, breath catching as he tucked his face briefly against Matt’s neck.

The porch light snapped on.

The front door opened.

Kitt froze.

Matt’s arms loosened.

His father stood framed in the doorway, the light behind him throwing his face into harsh planes. Rage sat there—not loud, not wild, but controlled and shaking like something barely held in.

“Kitt.”

Just his name.

It cracked through the cold.

Kitt stumbled back off the porch. Matt stepped backward too, hands falling to his sides.

“Dad—” Kitt began.

“Inside,” his father said, voice dangerously quiet. “Now.”

Matt tried to speak. “Sir, I’m sorry—he was upset, I was just—”

“You,” his father snapped, pointing at him with a trembling hand, “go home. And you stay away from my son.”

“Dad, stop!” Kitt choked. “This isn’t his fault, he didn’t—”

“INSIDE!”

The shout echoed down the street.

Kitt’s mother appeared behind his father, hand over her mouth, eyes already wet.

The world seemed to tilt.

His father stepped onto the porch, staring between the two boys like he was seeing them for the first time.

“You were holding him,” he said, voice shaking. “Wrapped around him. My son, clinging to another boy like—”

“Dad, it wasn’t—”

“Do not lie to me again.”

“I’m not lying!”

“You allowed this,” his father spat, the words cracking. “You brought this into my home. Into this family.”

“It’s not what you think,” Kitt said, hearing how pathetic that sounded even as he said it. “He’s my best friend—”

“Best friend?” his father repeated, something breaking in his tone. “Boys do not touch each other like that. Boys do not speak to each other the way he writes to you. I saw those messages. I saw what you were hiding.”

“I wasn’t hiding anything!” Kitt cried.

“Yes,” his father roared, “you were!”

Snow fell around them, soundless and merciless.

The edges of Kitt’s vision blurred.

He couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“So what if I’m gay?”

The words ripped out of him like they’d been trying to escape for years.

Everything stopped.

His mother made a broken sound.

Matt staggered back half a step, eyes wide and shining, as if the sentence had physically hit him.

His father stared at him, face gone stark white, years of sermons and beliefs and expectations collapsing in front of him in real time.

Then, with horrifying clarity, his father looked down at the phone still in his hand—Kitt’s phone, somehow still there—and, in one swift motion, slammed it down onto the porch.

Plastic and glass shattered, fragments skidding across the snow.

Kitt flinched as if bones had been broken instead.

“Get out,” his father said.

The words were quiet. Hollow. Final.

Kitt’s voice came out in pieces. “W-what?”

“You heard me,” his father said, chest heaving. “Not under my roof. Not with this filth. You chose this. You can live with it.”

“Please,” Kitt whispered. “Dad, please—don’t—”

His mother reached for his father’s arm, sobbing. “He’s just a boy. He’s confused, he doesn’t—”

“He understands perfectly,” his father snapped, eyes never leaving Kitt’s. “If he walks away from this house with that sin in his heart, he does not return.”

Kitt’s legs wobbled.

Something inside him shattered so loudly it felt impossible no one else heard it.

He turned without thinking and bolted back inside, tears spilling hot and fast as he took the stairs two at a time.

In his room, he yanked his backpack out of his closet and started grabbing whatever his hands landed on—T-shirts, jeans, socks, underwear. His toothbrush. Deodorant. His phone charger, out of habit, before he remembered it lay in pieces downstairs on the porch.

His gaze caught on the blue hoodie hanging on the back of his chair.

The one Matt had left months ago. The one that still faintly smelled like his detergent and grass.

He stuffed it into the bag.

His fingers shook on the zipper.

He moved to the window almost without deciding to.

Across the street, Matt stood under the thin fall of snow, hands half-raised, helpless, staring at the front door like he could will it to open.

Their eyes met.

For a heartbeat, the whole world narrowed to that line of sight.

Kitt saw terror and fury and something like helpless ache swimming in Matt’s eyes. He saw Matt take half a step toward the house, like he was ready to walk straight through Kitt’s father if he had to.

For one wild second, Kitt imagined it—running across the street. Letting Matt grab him. Walking into the Everest house and never looking back. Collapsing on the couch between his siblings’ bickering and his mom’s warmth and letting someone else be the one to stand between him and the world.

Then his father’s words crashed back in.

Stay away from my son.
He is being influenced.
I won’t let this into my house.

He pictured that same anger turned on Matt.

On Matt’s family.

He couldn’t do that to him.

He couldn’t drag him into this storm, let his father name him as the problem. Couldn’t risk the Everests being pulled into the blast zone.

“Don’t ruin his life too,” Kitt whispered, voice breaking.

He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

He slung the backpack over his shoulder, pushed the window open, and climbed out into the freezing air.

The snow caught in his hair and lashes as he dropped into the dark side of the yard, away from the porch light, away from the street.

He didn’t look back.

He ran.

Away from the house.
Away from his father’s voice.
Away from the smashed pieces of his phone and the boy standing frozen across the road.

Into a night that didn’t know his name and didn’t care who he loved.

Into a night that swallowed him whole.