Page 50 of Below the Barrel

I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “I don’t think I can go back to being just friends, Maliah. Not after everything.”

Her eyes meet mine, and I can see the uncertainty, the way my words freak her out. But it’s the truth. “You’ve always been the one for me,” I say, my voice lower, almost pleading. “I don’t think I could ever see you as just a friend.”

Her eyes flash with something sharp, and before I can say anything more, she snaps.

“I’ve always been the one for you?” Her voice rises, frustration spilling out. “You’re the one who broke up with me, Koa. You’re the one who stood there and told me you didn’t love me anymore—remember? So how can you sit here and say I’ve always been the one for you?”

Her words hit me like a slap to the face, and I feel my chest tighten. She’s right, and I know she has every reason to be angry. But I can’t tell her the real reason why I did it. I can’t let her know it wasn’t about not loving her anymore. It was about protecting her—even if she’ll never understand it that way.

“Maliah…” I start, but my voice catches. I run my hand through my hair, struggling to find the right words. “I…I never wanted to hurt you.”

Her eyes are blazing now, and it’s like every bit of hurt I caused is coming to the surface. “But you did,” she says, her voice trembling. “You broke me, Koa. And now you’re sitting here saying I’ve always been the one? How am I supposed to believe that?”

I want to tell her everything, but I can’t. Not here, not now. It would only make things worse. So instead, I bite my tongue,keeping the truth locked up where it’s been since the day I ended things. “I know what I said, but…it’s complicated.”

She shakes her head, letting out a bitter laugh. “Complicated. Right.”

By the time we pull into the parking lot, the tension between us is suffocating. We climb out of the van and into the car, but the silence between us speaks louder than any words. I grip the steering wheel, overthinking every damn thing I said, wondering if I’ve already ruined whatever chance we had.

She doesn’t say a word on the drive back to the penthouse, and I feel like I’m losing her all over again.

We pullup to the building, and as soon as I park the car, I see a group of surfers, including Charles and Reese, gathered outside the entrance. They’re all laughing and talking loudly, clearly in the middle of planning or debating something. As Maliah and I step out of the car, they spot us and wave us over.

“Yo, Koa! Mal!” Reese calls out with a grin. “We’re heading to a samba show and pub crawl for our last night in Rio. You two coming with us?”

I’m just about to decline, not even remotely in the mood for partying after everything that just went down between me and Maliah, but before I can say a word, Maliah speaks up.

“Yea, sounds fun!” she says, her voice a little too enthusiastic, like she’s trying to drown out the tension that’s still hanging between us.

I blink, caught off guard by her sudden shift. My instinct is to still turn them down, maybe just head back upstairs and keepstewing in my thoughts. But one look at the smirk that spreads along Charles’ face is enough to convince me otherwise.

“Sure. I’m in,” I say, forcing a small smile.

The group cheers, hyped up for the night, while I follow Maliah inside with the feeling that this night is going to be a lot longer than I expected.

EIGHTEEN

MALIAH | RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL

The samba show is vibrant,alive with colours and energy, and I’m trying my best to focus on it. The music is infectious, the dancers moving with grace and rhythm that almost feels like magic. A few times, I catch bits of conversations about the history of samba—how it was born out of African and Brazilian roots, how it’s not just a dance but a way of life, a symbol of resistance, culture, and celebration. It’s fascinating, and for a moment, it pulls me out of my own head.

But as incredible as the show is, my mind keeps wandering back to what Koa said earlier.

You’ll always be the one for me.

Those words are on repeat in my head, gnawing at me, making me feel things I don’t want to. I should be flattered, right? I should be relieved. But instead, I feel this overwhelming sense of fear, like I’m teetering on the edge of something that could either save me or destroy me. And the fact that he broke up with me,heended it, makes it all the more confusing. He said he didn’t love me. So why now? Why say I’m “the one” now?

I feel like I can’t breathe.

When we leave the samba show and move onto the pub crawl, I’m desperate for some kind of distraction, anything to getmy mind off Koa and the mess I’m in. I order drink after drink, each one going down easier than the last, and the tipsiness starts to creep in like a welcome relief.

That’s when I spot Charles.

He’s laughing with the others, his arm slung casually over the back of one of the bar stools, and I don’t know why, but I make my way over to him. It’s not that I’m actually interested in Charles—God, no. He’s sweet, and we’ve been friendly, but this isn’t about him. This is about me needing to feelsomething else, to shift the focus off of Koa.

“Hey,” I say, sliding into the seat next to him, my voice lighter than usual, more playful. “How are you enjoying Rio?”

Charles grins, his eyes lighting up. “How could I not? This place is incredible.”

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