Your Rival Saw Me Naked

Chapter 42

POV: Chase

I know something is wrong the second I walk into the building.

It’s not loud. It’s not obvious. It’s the way my chest tightens for no clear reason, like my body recognizes danger before my brain can catch up. The hallway smells the same as always—cleaner and stale coffee—but my skin prickles like I’ve stepped into cold air.

I tell myself it’s nothing.

I round the corner toward my class.

And then I see him.

Scott stands near the lockers like he belongs there.

For half a second, my brain refuses to process it. My feet keep moving on instinct alone, carrying me forward even as everything inside me locks up. He’s older than most of the students here, rougher around the edges. His shoulders are broader than I remember, posture looser, like someone who learned a long time ago how to keep himself ready for impact.

He laughs at something someone says.

The sound hits me like a punch.

My vision narrows. The hallway tilts slightly, like the floor isn’t stable anymore. Heat rushes to my ears, drowning out everything else. My hand curls into a fist without me telling it to.

No.

No, no, no.

Scott turns his head.

Our eyes meet.

Recognition flashes across his face instantly. Not surprise. Not confusion. Recognition. The kind that says he knows exactly who I am and what that means. His smile doesn’t fade—it sharpens.

“Well,” he says, loud enough for me to hear. “Look who made it out.”

My heart slams against my ribs.

“Chase,” he adds, testing my name like it’s something he’s been saving. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

The hallway noise fades into a dull roar. I can’t tell if people are staring or if that’s just my paranoia screaming at me. All I can see is him. All I can hear is the echo of metal doors slamming, boots on concrete, Eli’s voice laughing too loud because silence was dangerous.

I force my mouth to work. “Don’t.”

Scott chuckles. “Relax. I’m just saying hi.”

My palms are slick with sweat. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Funny,” he replies. “That’s what they told all of us.”

My stomach twists.

“What do you want?” I ask.

Scott tilts his head. “Same as you, I guess. Second chances.”

The word makes my throat close.

“I didn’t choose this,” I snap. “I didn’t—”

He cuts me off with a look. “None of us did.”

Silence stretches, heavy and suffocating.

Scott glances around the hallway. “Looks like you landed on your feet. College. Girlfriend.” His eyes flick briefly, knowingly, toward the direction Zoey usually comes from. “Nice upgrade.”

Rage flashes hot and sudden. “Don’t talk about her.”

He lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Easy. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

I don’t believe him for a second.

The bell rings, sharp and jarring. Students begin moving again, the hallway flooding with sound and motion. Scott steps back, slipping into the crowd like he was never there.

“See you around, Chase,” he says over his shoulder.

I stand there long after he’s gone, heart pounding so hard it hurts. My legs feel weak, untrustworthy. Every instinct screams at me to leave, to run, to put as much distance between me and this place as possible.

I don’t.

I drag myself into class and take a seat near the back, staring at the desk without seeing it. My hands shake when I try to open my notebook. Images flash behind my eyes without permission—gray walls, barred windows, Eli’s knuckles bleeding as he grinned like pain was a joke.

You good, bro? Eli had asked once, voice low, eyes sharp.

Always, I’d lied.

Scott wasn’t supposed to be here.

This place was supposed to be clean. New. Separate. In. Out. It doesn’t help.

At some point, I realize class has ended. Students file out around me, chairs scraping, conversations overlapping. I stay seated until the room empties completely.

When I finally stand, my legs feel like they might give out.

I skip my next class without thinking. The idea of sitting in another room, pretending I’m fine, feels impossible. I head for the roof instead, the place where the air feels less heavy and the ground feels farther away.

The wind is sharp up here, cutting through my jacket. I pace, running a hand through my hair, trying to shake the feeling that something irreversible just shifted.

Scott knows where I am now.

He knows I’m here. That I didn’t disappear like everyone thought I would.

The thought twists my gut.

I pull out my phone, fingers hovering over Zoey’s name. For a second, I almost call her. Almost tell her everything. About Scott. About Eli. About the way my chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.

I don’t.

What would I even say?

Hey, remember the worst part of my life I never talk about? It’s back.

I shove the phone into my pocket.

I light a cigarette with hands that won’t quite steady, inhaling too deeply. The smoke burns my throat, grounding me in a way nothing else does. For a few seconds, my thoughts slow.

Then Scott’s face flashes in my mind again.

Look who made it out.

The implication sits heavy in my chest.

Eli didn’t.

The guilt comes next, like it always does. Thick and suffocating. The voice in my head starts up immediately, familiar and cruel.

You should’ve protected him.

You should’ve stopped it.

You don’t deserve to be here.

I close my eyes, pressing my fingers into my temples.

When I open them again, my phone is buzzing.

Zoey.

Are you okay? she texts.

My throat tightens.

I type back without thinking too much.

Yeah. Just busy.

The lie tastes bitter.

I spend the rest of the day avoiding places Scott might be. I take longer routes. Skip common areas. I feel hunted, exposed, like every corner might hold another confrontation I’m not ready for.

By the time evening hits, I’m exhausted in a way sleep won’t fix.

I end up at my mom’s place without planning to. She looks up when I walk in, concern creasing her face immediately.

“You look awful,” she says.

“Thanks.”

She doesn’t laugh. “What happened?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

She watches me closely. “Is it really nothing?”

I don’t answer. I don’t know how.

Later, lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, I think about Zoey again. About her confidence. Her plans. Her invitations to move forward.

And me—standing still while the past catches up.