Next to him, he could hear Lola's deep, steady breathing. Had what he done been wrong? It felt good, having someone beside him. He was honestly looking forward to spending more time with her. As far as he was concerned, they could do all the couple things—just as long as he didn't have to have sex with her. And now, he actually had an explanation for that.

He'd been close to telling her the truth. Especially when she'd practically asked for it. But after that comment about Axle... what if she accidentally let something slip? What if she blurted out to Axle that the two of them should start dating, just to annoy him? It would definitely get on Axle's nerves, but what if he started asking questions? Phantom didn't trust himself to keep a straight face if it came to that.

This was safer. Now the secret was in his own hands, not Lola's. And when it came down to it, he didn't really know her that well. He'd rather they thought no one made his heart race than know it was only men who did.

He stifled a sigh. More than once, he'd thought about moving too—following Raine and Blaise. At least their charter was open-minded. But what would he even say as a reason? "I just don't feel like you guys are really supportive?"

He shook the thought away. He didn't want to dwell on it. He wanted to bury those feelings deep again, the way he had all his life. Even if Ezra's disappointed face still haunted him. But this was better. Safer. Ezra would find someone else.

And maybe this would work for him too. Maybe one day, he'd be able to get over it, knowing he was making Lola happy in the process. He did genuinely like her. That missing spark of physical attraction was literally the only thing lacking. Plus, she made a perfect smokescreen.

"A perfect smokescreen. Because that's what this is all about, huh? In the end, you're just using her to hide your secret. You could just be honest, you know—just flip everyone off and be done with it."

The voice in his head wasn't a stranger's, nor his own. With a sudden heaviness in his chest, he slipped out from under the sheets and walked to the window. He pulled the curtain back a little and stared at the sky.

A few stars were glittering above. Not many, with all the light pollution.

A memory slipped into his thoughts.

"Mom says Dad's a star now." Mason had been curled up on the roof of the sagging garden shed, arms wrapped so tightly around his legs it hurt. But that was okay. The pain grounded him. If he loosened his grip, he felt like he'd float away—up into the sky, joining the stars. Not that it sounded all that bad. Then he'd be with Dad. He'd just have to figure out which star he was.

The roof creaked. Travis sat down beside him and put an arm around his shoulders.

He was ten back then.

Mason leaned into his brother. "Which star is he?"

"The biggest one. The brightest one. So we can always find him."

None of the stars up there looked particularly bright now. And of course, he no longer believed his dad was watching him from the sky. Or his brother. Or his mom.

He was the only one left.

A sigh escaped him as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. They'd all been dead for years. Most of the time, the memories were buried so deep—or shoved so far away—that it barely felt like they'd ever existed. They were little more than the cartoons he used to watch as a kid.

What would they think of him now, if they could see him? Lying in bed with a woman he didn't love, while he'd turned the man he was attracted to down?

Honestly, he didn't much care what his mother would've thought. She'd made the wrong choices her whole life—drugs, alcohol, violent men—always looking for something to numb the gaping wound inside her. Never realizing she had two kids who needed her.

He didn't even remember his father. Time had stolen everything—his voice, the color of his eyes, the way his lips would curve into a smile.

Only his brother remained crystal clear in his mind. Especially the moment his body jerked, then collapsed backwards, clutching at his chest while a pool of blood kept spreading and spreading.

He chewed on his lip. What would life have looked like if Travis had survived?

Probably not that different, he feared. His brother had started doing odd jobs for a gang when he was just thirteen. By the time he was grown, he was already in deep—and had dragged Phantom along with him. Who knew if they'd ever have gotten out? Chances were, he'd be doing way more illegal stuff than the occasional thing the Warriors got up to now.

And sure, those thoughts that had just run through his head—about flipping everyone off and being honest—were harsh, but they were also too simplistic. Because he remembered other words, too. Hands gripping his shoulders firmly, dark eyes locked on his.

"If you love him, you gotta fight for him. But please, Mase, be careful. They'll kill you here for less, and I don't have the money to get us out yet. Not if you won't leave without him."

The memory tasted bitter. God, how long ago had that been? Fifteen years?

It felt like a different life—and at the same time, like his own life had frozen ever since. Like he'd been running ever since. From memories. From feelings. From himself.

He leaned on the windowsill, gripping the edge hard. What would you think of all this, Travis? What would you have done in my place?

He had no idea. All Travis had ever done in his short life was try to keep them alive. He'd always been in survival mode. And even though Phantom didn't have to worry about getting gunned down just for walking the street anymore, he still felt like he was stuck in that same mode. With every choice, he kept bracing for the worst-case scenario.

And the choice he'd made tonight hadn't carried much risk.

Not for him. The only thing at stake was Lola's heart—and not his own.