Chapter 8: The Heat Between Them (Tim POV)

I let the garage door slam shut behind me, cutting off Jack’s “Tim, wait” before it could land. Didn’t turn back, didn’t want to face him—not after that moment, his eyes on me, grease on my sleeve, the heat spiking when he’d stared too long. I crunched across the gravel, hands shoved in my pockets, and kept walking, dusk swallowing the shop behind me. A dog barked somewhere down the street, sharp and quick, as I hit the sidewalk. Needed distance, needed my head clear—Jack seeing me naked, me catching that bulge, it was too much, tangled up with Lisa’s lie still clawing at me.

Next few days, I dodged him hard. Left the house early, snuck out the back door when his truck rumbled up, keys jangling as he walked in. At breakfast, I grabbed toast, muttered “Gotta go,” and bolted before he could sit. He didn’t push, but I felt him watching—blue eyes tracking me from the kitchen, the hall, anywhere I was. He’d ask stuff, casual but sharp, “Where you headed, Tim?” or “Who you with today?” Always knowing my moves, like he had a map of me in his head. I’d shrug, zip my jacket, and slip out, keeping answers short. His voice stayed low, controlling, steering every talk back to him, and I let it slide, too rattled to fight it.

He got weird, possessive almost—texting me once, “Home soon?” when I stayed late at the library, or showing up at the shop when I swung by, leaning on the workbench like he’d been waiting. “Thought you’d be here,” he’d say, wiping his hands on a rag, grease streaking his knuckles. I’d nod, grab my water bottle from my backpack, sip slow, and avoid his eyes. That moment in the garage hung between us, thick and silent—him hard, me bare, neither of us saying it. I tugged my hair when he got too close, a quick pull to shake the buzz in my chest, and kept moving, keeping him at arm’s length.

One night, I sat on my bed, door cracked open, the house dead quiet. Moonlight slipped through the blinds, cutting stripes on the floor. I pulled my journal from under the mattress, flipped it open, and grabbed a pen from the nightstand, clicking it once. Jack’s truck had rolled in late, engine growling, then cut off. Boots thudded downstairs, heavy, slow, like he was dragging something. I scribbled fast—“He’s acting strange, always there, always asking. What’s he want?”—the pen scratching loud in the stillness. Paused, tapped it on the page, then wrote more—“That day, him staring, me naked. I can’t stop seeing it. His jeans, tight. What if I don’t want to stop thinking about him?”

I stopped, pen hovering, my breath catching quick. The hall creaked—soft, then louder. I snapped the journal shut, slid it under the pillow, and sat up, sheets rustling. Boots hit the stairs, one step, two, steady, coming up. I swung my legs off the bed, stood, and crept to the door, peering out. Jack was there, shadow filling the hallway, broad shoulders blocking the dim light from downstairs. He stopped outside my room, right at the threshold, close enough I could smell the grease still on him, faint sweat under it. I held my breath, gripped the doorframe, fingers digging into wood. He didn’t move, just stood there, too long, staring at the crack like he could see me through it.

My pulse hammered, loud in my ears. Wanted to say something—“What’re you doing?”—but my throat locked up, dry as dust. He shifted, boots scuffing the floor, then turned sharp, walked away, steps fading down the stairs. I let out a shaky breath, pushed the door shut, and locked it, the click loud in the quiet. Slid back onto the bed, pulled my knees up, and stared at the ceiling, heart still racing. What was that? Him standing there, not knocking, not speaking—just watching. I tugged my hair, hard, the sting biting my scalp, but it didn’t clear the fog. Him, me, this pull—it was messing me up bad.

Next morning, I hit school late, sneakers dragging on the quad, sun too bright overhead. A bird chirped, hopping branch to branch, and I kicked a pebble, sent it skittering into the grass. Needed to shake last night, shake Jack, but Lisa’s lie—pregnant, you’re the dad—kept twisting in there too, a knot I couldn’t untie. I cut through the courtyard, hands in my pockets, aiming for the history building, when she stepped out from behind a tree—pink hair wild, boots clicking on the pavement. Lisa. My stomach dropped, fast, and I stopped dead, sneakers scuffing to a halt.

She sauntered over, slow, hips swaying, that grin too wide, too sharp, stretching her face. “Hey, lover boy,” she said, popping her cherry gum loud, the snap cutting through the air. I stepped back, bumped a bench, and gripped my backpack straps tight. “What now?” I muttered, keeping my voice low, eyes darting for an out. She didn’t stop, closed the gap, close enough her gum smell hit me, sweet and sharp. A couple students passed, heads down, not looking, and a squirrel darted across the path, tail flicking.

“Miss me?” she teased, tilting her head, pink hair spilling over her shoulder. I unzipped my jacket, quick, just to move my hands, and shook my head. “No,” I said, short, stepping sideways. She laughed, high and fake, and matched my step, blocking me. “Too bad,” she said, voice dropping, meaner now. “You’re stuck with me, Tim. That night, those pics—keeps us close.” She tapped her pocket, phone bulging there, and I froze, fingers twitching in my pockets.

“Leave me alone,” I said, louder, turning sharp toward the building. She grabbed my sleeve, nails digging in, and yanked me back. I jerked free, stumbled, and spun to face her, fists balling. “What’s your deal, Lisa?” I snapped, loud enough a girl with a backpack glanced over, then kept walking. Lisa didn’t flinch, just leaned in, breath hot on my ear, her gum snapping again, close and loud.

“You have no idea what’s coming, lover boy,” she said, smiling too wide, eyes glinting dark, like she’d already won. I stepped back, heart slamming my ribs, and she just stood there, chewing slow, watching me go, that grin promising something worse than I could guess.