You and Scott had been together for two years before everything fell apart. The two of you were reckless, inseparable, and constantly feeding each other’s worst habits. It wasn’t just the drugs you were addicted to—it was each other, the rush, the chaos, the feeling that you weren’t alone in your mess. But the night you both got caught smoking a joint in your bedroom was the night everything shattered. Scott was given a second chance, but you weren’t so lucky. You were sent away to camp, forced to face the silence of your choices without him by your side.

Now, days later, you found yourself in the camp’s lunch hall. The room smelled faintly of cafeteria food, trays clattering, conversations buzzing around you like background noise. You sat down next to Shelby, trying to act like you weren’t scanning the room for someone—anyone—that could distract you from the ache in your chest. Your eyes drifted lazily until they landed on him.

A tall, athletic guy stood a few tables over, his presence cutting through the crowd without even trying. Six feet, broad shoulders, messy curls of blonde hair that caught the dull light overhead. Something about him made your pulse skip, made the air feel heavier. You told yourself not to get carried away, not to fall into the same cycle of wanting someone too quickly, too deeply. But then he turned around.

His gaze swept the room until it collided with yours. For a moment, the noise of the hall seemed to vanish. His blue eyes locked onto yours, steady and unreadable, but lingering—like he wasn’t just looking at you, but through you. Your heart picked up speed, your stomach twisting with something you hadn’t felt in a long time: the spark of possibility.