Chapter 3: 4 AM Puppy Walk
The cold night air tasted like wet leaves and concrete. It was 4:03 AM. Ryli’s Charger, a low rumble in the sleeping suburb, coasted to a stop two houses down from the Stovers’. She killed the engine. The sudden silence was massive.
Her phone glowed in the cup holder.
Cadence (3:47 AM): Are you awake?
Ryli (3:47 AM): Obviously. You?
Cadence (3:48 AM): Obviously. The quiet is winning.
Ryli (3:50 AM): I have two very loud solutions to quiet. Leash-equipped. Want to see the 4 am walk?
Cadence (3:51 AM): Give me 5 minutes.
And now, here she was. The dashboard clock ticked over. Every light in the Stover house was off, a dark silhouette against the barely lighter sky. Ryli’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel. This was insanity. Who drags a near-stranger out for a walk before dawn? A desperate person. A person whose radio had just crackled to life with a new, captivating signal.
The front door of the house opened silently. A figure slipped out, wrapped in a puffy navy coat, and pulled the door shut with careful finality. Cadence moved quickly down the walkway, her blonde hair a pale smudge in the gloom.
Ryli’s throat tightened. She got out, the car door thunking shut too loudly in the stillness. Buster and Bean, in the back seat, erupted into muffled whines and scratches against the glass.
“Hey,” Cadence said, her voice low and sleep-rough. She reached the car, her breath making small ghosts in the air. She looked at the back seat, where two furry faces were smooshed against the window. “Oh. They’re real.”
“Told you.” Ryli opened the back door, and a tornado of gangly limbs and wagging tails spilled onto the curb. Bean, the smaller, wiry one, immediately began zooming in frantic circles around Cadence’s legs. Buster, more solid, sat and leaned his full weight against Ryli’s thigh, thumping his tail on the ground.
Cadence crouched, holding out a hand. Bean skidded to a halt and sniffed it with intense seriousness, then licked her knuckles. “They have names you said don’t matter.”
“Buster. Bean.” Ryli clipped the leashes on. “And they don’t come when called. It’s more a suggestion.”
“Hi Buster. Hi Bean.” Cadence scratched behind Bean’s ears, and the dog melted into her touch. She looked up at Ryli, her face shadowed but her eyes catching a stray gleam from a distant porch light. “So. This is your solution to quiet.”
“It’s movement. And distraction. They see a squirrel, the world ends. It’s hard to focus on static when you’re being dragged into a bush.” Ryli handed her Bean’s leash. “You’re on zoom duty.”
Cadence took it, her fingers brushing Ryli’s. The contact was electric in the cold. “Okay.”
They started walking. The neighborhood was a canyon of silent houses, each one a closed box of dreams and secrets. Their footsteps and the soft click-click of dog nails were the only sounds. The world felt hollowed out, just for them.
For a few blocks, they didn’t talk. The dogs set the pace, stopping to sniff fire hydrants with the profound focus of archaeologists. The tension from the texts, from the beer garden, began to loosen its grip, unraveled by the simple, silly reality of the animals.
“So the Taco Bell is your temple,” Cadence said finally, her voice soft in the quiet.
“Temple of grease and regret,” Ryli confirmed. “Friday nights are the worst. It’s all the people who’ve struck out at the bars, desperate for something to soak up the bad decisions.”
“And you’re the priestess of the Crunchwrap.”
“Disciple of the quesadilla. Don’t get it twisted.” Ryli glanced at her. Cadence was looking straight ahead, a small smile playing on her lips. “Your sister thinks I’m going to corrupt you.”
Cadence was quiet for a step. Two. “Laney thinks a lot of things. Most of them are about what other people think. It’s her insulation.”
“Is it working?”
“For her? Probably. For me?” Cadence shrugged, the motion bulky in her coat. “I’ve always been more interested in what’s actually there. Not the story about it.”
Bean chose that moment to lunge after a blowing leaf, yanking Cadence forward with a surprised laugh. “Okay, okay! We’re going!”
The laugh did something to Ryli’s insides. It was real, unfiltered by the social noise of a party. It belonged here, in the dark with the dogs.
They turned a corner, leaving the grid of houses behind. The road narrowed, trees crowding closer. The streetlights ended. Ahead, a small, weathered wooden bridge crossed over a creek, barely visible as a darker ribbon in the gloom.
“This is it,” Ryli said. Her voice dropped automatically, matching the hush of the place.
“The clear station?”
“As close as it gets.”
They stepped onto the bridge. The oak planks, worn smooth and silver-grey by time, creaked softly under their weight. The creek below whispered over rocks, a constant, gentle sound that seemed to absorb all the other noise in the world. Ryli unhooked the dogs’ leashes. They bounded off, snuffling along the creek bank, their freedom immediate and joyous.
Ryli leaned her forearms on the railing, the wood cool and solid. Cadence came to stand beside her, close enough that Ryli could smell the clean, cold scent of her coat, and underneath, something like vanilla soap.
For a long minute, they just listened to the water. The static in Ryli’s head, which usually screamed in silence, began to soften, replaced by the creek’s murmur and the distant rustle of the dogs. The absence of pain was so profound it felt like a new kind of sensation. It was peace. A fragile, terrifying peace.
“You were right,” Cadence said, her voice barely above the water’s sound. “It’s clear here.”
Ryli nodded, not trusting her own voice. She felt Cadence’s eyes on her profile.
“Can I ask you something?” Cadence said.
“You can ask.”
“The reckless stuff. The lines on bathroom counters. Is it… is it just to feel something? Or is it to feel nothing?”
The question was a scalpel, precise and unflinching. It cut through every lie Ryli had ever told herself. She watched the dark water swirl around a half-submerged branch.
“Both,” she admitted, the word rough. “It starts as feeling something. Anything. The burn, the rush, the confidence. For a few minutes, I’m not me. I’m someone brighter, sharper, funnier. Someone who doesn’t want to peel her own skin off just to feel a different texture.” She took a shaky breath. The cold air hurt her lungs. “Then it tips over. And it’s about feeling nothing. A blank, white, silent nothing. No past, no future, no me. Just… chemical null.”
She’d never said it so clearly. The shame was hot and immediate, but underneath it was a strange relief. The truth was out, hanging between them over the creek.
Cadence didn’t gasp. Didn’t recoil. She just absorbed it, her gaze steady on the water. “The quiet my mom seeks is like that second part. A null. She just gets there with silence and staring at walls.” She shifted, her shoulder brushing against Ryli’s arm. A point of contact that burned through layers of fabric. “It sounds lonely.”
“It is.” Ryli’s throat closed. “It’s the loneliest place in the world.”
Silence again, but it wasn’t empty. It was full of the confession, hanging there, being examined not with judgment but with a quiet, heartbreaking understanding.
“Sit with me?” Cadence asked softly.
Ryli turned. Cadence had hoisted herself up to sit on the wide, flat railing, her legs dangling over the side, over the creek. It was a ten-foot drop to shallow water and rocks. An act of trust.
Wordlessly, Ryli climbed up beside her. The wood was cold even through her jeans. The world opened up from here; they could see the creek trail in both directions, a tunnel through the trees. The dogs were vague, happy shadows below.
Their shoulders pressed together from thigh to arm. The contact was deliberate now. Ryli’s heart began a slow, heavy pounding against her ribs. She was hyper-aware of every point where they connected: the firm line of Cadence’s thigh, the curve of her shoulder, the press of her arm.
Cadence let out a long, slow breath, a white cloud in the dark. Then, with a slight, almost hesitant shift of her weight, she let her head fall to rest against Ryli’s shoulder.
Ryli stopped breathing.
The weight was light, the touch of blonde hair against her jaw soft. Cadence’s warmth seeped into her. It was an offering of breathtaking intimacy. It said, I hear your truth. I’m not afraid of it. I’m here.
Ryli’s body was a rigid line of stunned electricity. She was afraid to move, to breathe too deep, in case Cadence realized what she’d done and pulled away. She slowly, so slowly, let her own cheek come to rest gently against the top of Cadence’s head. The scent of vanilla was stronger here.
The creek whispered. Somewhere downstream, Buster splashed, his happy bark echoing. The sky was beginning to lighten at the edges, from black to a deep, inky blue.
Ryli’s radio wasn’t just clear. It was playing a song she’d never heard before, one made of shared silence and weight and warmth. It was terrifying. It was the best thing she’d ever felt.
Cadence’s voice was a murmur against her collar. “Your heart is going crazy.”
“Yeah,” Ryli whispered, the word catching. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
They sat like that as the world lightened around them, from blue to grey. The dogs, wet and satisfied, trotted back and curled at the foot of the bridge, waiting. It was Cadence who finally moved, lifting her head. The cold rushed in to replace her warmth, a sudden ache.
She looked at Ryli, her blue eyes dark and serious in the pre-dawn light. “My shift at the library starts at nine.”
“Okay,” Ryli said, her voice unfamiliar to her own ears.
“I have to go back and pretend to sleep first.”
“Okay.”
Cadence hopped down from the railing, landing softly on the planks. She held out a hand. Not for help, just to hold. Ryli stared at it for a second, then took it, sliding down beside her. Cadence’s hand was small and cool in hers. They didn’t let go immediately. They stood there, on the old bridge, hands linked between them, while the world woke up.
“So,” Cadence said, looking down at their joined hands, then up at Ryli. “A quesadilla. Friday. After my shift. Is the offer still good?”
The momentum of the night, of the walk, of the confession and the quiet listening, crested in that simple question. It wasn’t about fast food. It was a door, held open.
Ryli squeezed her hand, just once, before letting go. The loss of contact was acute. “Yeah. It’s good. I’ll make you the best damn quesadilla in the history of soggy tacos.”
A real smile, slow and deep, spread across Cadence’s face. It reached her eyes, lighting them from within. “I believe you.”
They called the dogs, hooked the leashes, and walked back towards the houses as the first birds began to tentatively test the air. They didn’t talk much. The silence was different now, filled with the promise of Friday, of melted cheese in a steamy kitchen, of a specific, chosen booth under fluorescent lights.
Ryli pulled up to Cadence’s house again. The sky was pale grey now. Evidence.
Cadence got out, then leaned back into the open passenger door. Bean tried to lick her face from the back seat. “Bye, zooms.” She looked at Ryli, her expression unreadable for a moment. “Thank you. For the clear station.”
“Anytime,” Ryli said, and meant it with a ferocity that startled her.
Cadence nodded, then turned and walked to her door. She didn’t look back. She slipped inside, and the house swallowed her again.
Ryli sat in the idling Charger, the dogs panting in the back. Her shoulder still felt the ghost weight of Cadence’s head. Her hand still felt the shape of Cadence’s fingers.
She looked at the house, then at the lightening sky. Friday. It was only Tuesday. The stretch of time between now and then felt like a canyon she had to cross, full of all her old noises and urges. But for the first time, she had a reason to cross it carefully. She had a destination on the other side, in a specific booth, waiting for a quesadilla made just for her.
She put the car in drive and pulled away, the engine’s growl a familiar comfort. The static was already creeping back in at the edges, a low, insistent hum. But underneath it, strong and clear, was a new frequency, broadcasting a single, repeating word: Friday.
But underneath it, strong and clear, was a new frequency, broadcasting a single, repeating word: Friday.
The next weeks turned into a secret.
It lived in the glow of their phones, a private world built after midnight. That first Wednesday night, Ryli’s screen lit up with a FaceTime request at 12:47 AM. She answered, her heart in her throat. Cadence was in bed, her face half-buried in a pillow, the blue light etching her features in soft relief.
“Can’t sleep,” Cadence mumbled, her voice thick. “The quiet’s aggressive tonight.”
“Tell me about it.” Ryli propped her phone against her fishtank. Bean clambered onto her chest, obscuring the camera. “Bean says hi. Or he’s protesting the spotlight.”
Cadence’s sleepy laugh was a warm thing. “Hi, Bean.” She shifted, and Ryli could see the faint pattern of stars on her ceiling. “What does your room look like?”
So Ryli panned the camera. She showed her the sterile white walls, the expensive, unused desk, the pile of clean laundry on a chair she never sat in. “It’s like a hotel room,” she admitted. “A sad one.”
“It looks like you’re waiting to leave,” Cadence said, and the observation was so accurate it stung.
They talked until Cadence’s replies grew long and slurred with sleep, until her breathing evened out. Ryli watched her for a minute, the gentle rise and fall of her shoulder, before whispering a goodbye and ending the call. She felt like a thief, holding onto that fragile image.
The texts became a constant, subcutaneous thread through their days.
Cadence (9:14 AM): Poli-sci professor is droning about geopolitical frameworks. I am drawing angry cartoon versions of him in the margin. Send help.
Ryli (9:16 AM): Stuck in sociology. The guy next to me smells like old ketchup and existential dread. We are not the same.
Cadence (9:17 AM): We are exactly the same. My doodle just sprouted fangs.
Ryli (2:30 PM): Grease trap incident at the temple. I have seen things. I may never be clean.
Cadence (2:33 PM): I believe in your hygiene. And your quesadillas. Friday still holds.
Ryli (2:34 PM): Friday is the only thing holding.
They sent pictures. Cadence sent a photo of a devastatingly sad-looking cactus on her windowsill. His name is Kevin. He’s struggling. Ryli sent a shot of Buster sleeping upside down, all four legs in the air. He’s achieving inner peace. I’m jealous.
One night, a FaceTime showed Cadence in her kitchen, flour dusting her nose. “I attempted cookies. They’re… structural. Like edible bricks.”
“Let me see,” Ryli said, smiling.
Cadence held one up. It was charred at the edges and improbably thick. “I followed the recipe.”
“Recipes are suggestions.” Ryli, on a impulsive, nervous breath, said, “I could show you. Sometime. My mom’s chef taught me the one thing that doesn’t come from a freezer bag. Chocolate chip.”
Cadence looked at her through the screen, flour smudged on her cheek. The quiet between them stretched, full. “Yeah,” she said finally, softly. “I’d like that.”
They learned each other’s rhythms. Cadence studied in the library carrels every afternoon, headphones on, a specific spot by a dusty window. Ryli’s closing shifts at the Bell ended at 2 AM, reeking of fried oil and exhaustion. A text would always be waiting.
Cadence (2:05 AM): Home safe, grease monk?
Ryli (2:07 AM): Just walked in. Dogs are demanding tribute. You should be asleep.
Cadence (2:08 AM): The quiet was winning. Now it’s not.
They never discussed keeping it a secret. It was an unspoken pact. In the daylight, at parties or passing on campus, they were careful. A nod, sometimes a small, private smile that no one else noticed. Laney would prattle about her dorm drama, completely unaware that her sister and her cautionary tale were sharing a digital universe every night. Annie Hunt held court, his narratives unchallenged. Ryli played her part, the loud, careless burnout, surrounded by people who never looked close enough.
It was exhilarating. It was exhausting. The duality carved Ryli in two. The person she was for everyone else felt like a poorly fitted costume, itchy and loud. The person she was in the blue phone light, quiet and listening, felt terrifyingly real.
One Thursday night, a week after the bridge, the secret almost broke.
They were on FaceTime. Cadence was talking about her mother, about the hollow quiet of her house, when Ryli’s bedroom door swung open without a knock. Kayla stood there, blurry in the edge of the camera frame, holding a bottle of vodka.
“Pre-game’s at Mason’s, you ready to…” Kayla’s eyes flicked to Ryli’s phone. She saw the glow, the intimate angle. “Who’s that?”
Ryli’s blood went cold. She didn’t turn the phone. “Nothing. Just a thing.”
On screen, Cadence had gone perfectly still, her eyes wide.
“A thing?” Kayla took a step in, peering. “Is that… a girl?”
“Kayla. Out.” Ryli’s voice dropped, low and edged with a threat Kayla had never heard before.
It worked. Kayla backed up, hands raised, a smirk forming. “Okay, okay. Secret thing. Got it.” The door closed.
The silence on the line was brittle. Ryli finally looked back at Cadence’s frozen image. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Cadence’s voice was thin. “She’s Laney’s best friend.”
“She won’t say anything. She’s more interested in the next party.” Ryli’s hands were shaking. The intrusion felt violent. “This… what we’re doing. It feels like the only real thing. And I don’t want them touching it.”
Cadence released a breath. She nodded, her expression softening from fear to something like resolve. “I know. Me neither.” She was quiet for a moment. “Friday tomorrow.”
“Friday tomorrow,” Ryli echoed, the words a lifeline.
The day of the quesadilla dawned grey and cold. Ryli moved through her classes like a ghost, the static in her head a roar of anticipation. Every hour was a mile. She cleaned her apartment twice. She worried over what to wear, finally settling on her least-ripped black jeans and a simple grey henley. She didn’t do that.
At 4:55 PM, her phone buzzed.
Cadence (4:55 PM): Shelving the last of the political theory. Escape in T-minus 20. My stomach is a void.
Ryli (4:56 PM): The temple awaits. Booth in the back. The one under the flickering light.
Cadence (4:57 PM): The flickering light? Setting the mood, I see.
Ryli (4:58 PM): It’s the only one that works. Don’t romanticize the disaster zone.
Cadence (4:59 PM): Too late.
Ryli got in her Charger. The engine turned over with a purposeful growl. She drove to the Taco Bell on Route 9, her palms slick on the wheel. The busted drive-thru speaker crackled incoherently as she passed it. She parked in the back, by the dumpsters, away from the other cars.
She walked in, the bell jingling. The familiar, oppressive smell of recycled fryer oil and industrial cleaner hit her. Marco, the manager, nodded at her from the counter. “You’re early, Ryli.”
“Just meeting a friend,” she said, her voice strangely tight.
She walked to the very last booth, tucked in a corner. The light above it did indeed flicker, a slow, arrhythmic pulse. She slid in, facing the door. She waited. Each time the bell jingled, her head snapped up. A family with screaming toddlers. A group of construction workers. A lone guy in a hoodie.
Then, at 5:23 PM, the bell jingled again.
Cadence walked in, bundled in her navy coat, a striped scarf around her neck. Her blonde hair was wind-tossed. She blinked, adjusting to the fluorescent glare, her gaze scanning the Formica landscape. It landed on the back booth. On Ryli.
She didn’t smile. Her expression was one of profound, focused relief. She walked past the counter, past the menu glowing with cheap prices, and slid into the booth across from Ryli. The vinyl seat creaked.
They looked at each other. The flickering light strobed across Cadence’s face, highlighting her freckles, then casting them in shadow.
“Hey,” Ryli said. The word was gravel.
“Hey.” Cadence unwound her scarf. Her cheeks were pink from the cold. “You were right about the lighting. It’s… atmospheric.”
“Told you.” Ryli’s mind went blank. Every text, every late-night confession, evaporated. This was real. Cadence was here, in her world of grease and flickering lights. “You, uh. You ready for a culinary adventure?”
“I’ve been ready for days.” Cadence’s eyes held hers. “I’m starving.”
Ryli stood up, her legs only slightly unsteady. “Don’t move. This is a full-service experience.”
She went behind the counter, nodding at Marco who raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She washed her hands meticulously at the employee sink, the soap harsh and chemical. She pulled on plastic gloves. She worked carefully, deliberately: the tortilla on the grill, the exact spread of cheese, the precise fold. She kept glancing at the booth. Cadence was watching her, her chin resting in her hand, a small, unreadable curve to her mouth.
Ryli plated it, cut it neatly, added a tiny cup of sour cream on the side. She carried it over, the plate warm in her hands, and set it down in front of Cadence.
“The best damn quesadilla,” Ryli said, sliding back into her seat.
Cadence looked at it. Golden brown, perfectly melted, not a drop of grease bleeding through. She picked up a triangle, the cheese stretching into a long, thin strand. She took a bite. She chewed, her eyes closing for a second.
When she opened them, they were bright. “You liar.”
Ryli’s stomach dropped. “What?”
“This is incredible.” Cadence took another bite, a genuine, hungry one. “This is the best thing I’ve eaten in months. You made this here?”
The relief was so potent it made Ryli dizzy. “Told you I don’t fuck up quesadillas.”
They sat in the flickering light. Cadence ate. Ryli watched, a strange, full feeling expanding in her chest, pushing against the static until it was just a faint hum in the background. Here, in the most unromantic place on earth, with the smell of cheap beef and sanitizer in the air, everything felt possible. The secret was out of the phone. It was here, in a shared booth, in the careful construction of a simple meal. It was real.
Cadence finished the last triangle, wiped her fingers on a napkin. She looked across the table, her blue eyes clear and direct in the strobing light.
“So,” she said. “What’s next?”