Chapter Sixteen #2
“You’re such a dick,” I mutter, gripping the railing until my knuckles turn white.
His laugh follows me down the steps.
“You say that like it’s news.”
“So,” I bite out. “Which way? Or are we just gonna stand here while you eye-fuck me to death?”
He brushes past me, his shoulder grazing mine. I catch the smell of him and it fucks with my head.
“Head to the front door,” he says over his shoulder. “Metal steps are to the right. Hope you’re not afraid of heights.”
Zane flicks on the workshop lights.
The overheads buzzing to life with a low electric hum. The room spills into a warm amber glow, casting shadows against the far wall where a metal ladder climbs straight through a square cut-out in the ceiling.
I spot it immediately.
No fucking way I’m going first and giving him a front-row seat to my ass.
He strides to the base of the ladder and stops, turning slightly toward me. One hand curls around the rail. He waits.
“It’s steep,” he says. “I’ll help you up.”
“I’m not helpless. And I’m not giving you a full view of my ass on a silver platter so you can jerk off to it later.”
He barks out a laugh, head dropping back for a second before he looks at me, grin crooked.
“Sky, if I was gonna do that, I wouldn’t need the view. Your ass has been living rent-free in my head for weeks.”
“Asshole,” I mutter.
He plants a foot on the rung and glances over his shoulder. “But if you want an excuse to stare at my ass, Sky, all you had to do is ask.”
Sky.
He says it like it’s his to use.
Not the way Cassie does, where she tosses it into conversations without a second thought.
This is different.
This is drawn out in a way that curls around my ribs and squeezes.
Fuck him.
He’s almost through the hatch when I blink, heart hammering way harder than it should.
I set my foot on the first rung and start climbing after him. My palms sting where I grip the metal, breath catching when I reach the top.
His hand shoots down. Fingers curling around mine, slipping slightly before they catch and hold.
He hauls me up, easy, as if I weigh nothing.
The second my feet hit the roof, I suck in a breath.
This is not what I expected at all.
The roof’s pitched, slanted at just enough of an angle to make my steps careful. Tin roof beneath my shoes. It’s quiet, dark, nothing but moonlight bleeding down over us.
Zane jerks his chin.
“Come on, it’s over here.”
I follow him, taking my time, careful not to slip.
I look up when his steps falter, and he turns back towards me. He holds out his hand to me again.
“You’ll slide in those shoes,” he says, eyes flicking down.
I hesitate for a second before sliding my hand into his.
Last time, it was quick. I was too distracted making sure I didn’t fall to notice anything else. But this…
This is different. This time when I touch his hand, I feel everything.
The rough edges of his skin. The callouses built from hours in the workshop, the way he drags his thumb across the back of my hand.
“This spot’s better,” he mutters, carefully guiding me toward the section where the roof levels out.
When we reach the spot, he drops my hand and lowers himself onto the roof, legs stretched out in front.
But the second his skin leaves mine, I fucking notice the change. I stand in place for a beat, trying to shake the reaction off, pretending this doesn’t matter, before I sit beside him.
My knees brush his for a second too long before I shift back.
Even so, my heart’s thumping.
From the climb.
From his touch… from whatever the fuck this is turning into. But his knee nudges mine again. This time, he doesn’t move away. Neither do I.
We don’t speak.
We simply breathe.
Moonlight drips over the rooftops in silver puddles. The town looks asleep. Porch lights glow softly in the dark. Streetlights flicker across the town. The world is a little quieter up here. A little farther away. A little less cruel.
Zane shifts beside me.
I turn my head, and the flick of his lighter cuts through the dark.
It clicks once, twice, before the flame flares to life, catching on the end of a joint.
The ember glows orange, bright against the line of his jaw and the mess of his hair.
He is trouble dressed in shadows, that stupid hot mouth tugged into a smirk as if he already knows I’ll take whatever he gives me.
He drags in a slow, cocky as fuck breath. Eyes half-closed, chest rising with that first hit, as though the smoke is the only thing keeping him breathing. He exhales, thick smoke drifting up into the night, and holds the joint out towards me without a word.
His fingers graze mine as I take it from him.
Slow. Intentional. A tease.
Zane lies back on the roof, arms folded behind his head, his shirt riding up enough to expose a sliver of skin and an old scar slicing across his hip.
My eyes catch both. And suddenly, my mouth’s dry and everything inside me is burning.
I bring the joint to my lips and inhale deeply. The burn trails down my throat, heat curling low in my stomach.
I pass it back.
Our fingers brush. He holds on a second too long. Heat sparks in the space between us. My skin hums, every nerve awake and aching for more.
I lie beside him, my shoulder brushing his.
The stars burn above us, but all I sense is him.
The shift of his arm — the heat he left on my skin. One fucking touch and my whole body’s rewired, every breath out of rhythm. He’s chaos in a slow burn, the kind of fuck-up your body aches for even when your head’s screaming no. And I’m already too far gone to pretend I’m not falling.
The world quiets.
For the first time in days, the silence doesn’t choke. It seeps into my bones, and finally… finally I can fucking breathe.
Zane takes another hit, the tip flaring red as he drags in deep. Smoke curls from his lips as he exhales, then holds the joint out without a word.
We fall into a rhythm.
Passing it back and forth, no rush, no pressure, just silence.
The sharp edges of everything melt, bleeding into each other until nothing feels real.
The stars smear into silver streaks above us, dancing across the sky that won’t stay still. They sway and breathe and blur.
My limbs go heavy, loosening them until I’m nothing but heat and haze, stretched out beside Zane with no will to move. There’s no need to. I could stay here forever and forget the world ever hurt me.
When Zane holds out the joint again, I lift my hand, palm up. “I’m good.”
He nods once, then takes one last hit before snuffing it out between his fingers
He exhales slowly. “Rainer got me a car today.”
I turn my head toward him. “A car?”
He nods. “Nothing fancy. Rusted to shit. But it’s mine.”
There’s something in the way he says it that guts me. Like it’s no big deal. Just another step forward. A car. Freedom. Proof he’s clawing his way out of the wreckage and building something that almost resembles a life.
Meanwhile, I’m stuck in the same busted loop.
No fucking clue where I’m going. No plan. A borrowed roof and a string of bruises I keep hidden under a fake smile.
We both came out of the same system, both dragged through the same shit. But he’s moving. Evolving. While I’m still spinning my wheels in the mud.
Maybe that’s what fucks me up the most. He’s not stuck in the mess anymore, like I still am. I need to figure out a way to pull myself out, get some kind of plan together before the weight of it buries me.
“That’s good, Zane,” I say. “Are you related to him or something?”
Zane shifts onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow.
“Nah. He’s some guy who looks out for me, I guess.
I was digging through the skip out the side of the workshop, trying to find shit I could clean up and sell.
Old tools, scrap metal, whatever I could get my hands on.
He came out, stood there watching me. I thought I was fucked.
Figured he was gonna call the cops, maybe come out swinging.
Figured that was it. That I’d have another night in a holding cell… another mark on my record.
I blink, trying to picture that version of him. “He didn’t though.”
Zane shakes his head. “Nah. He asked if I’d eaten. Took me inside, gave me a sandwich, asked if I wanted to sweep the floor. Said if I didn’t steal anything, I could keep coming back.”
A gust of wind cuts across the rooftop.
It lifts the edge of my skirt and I reach down fast, pressing it back to my thighs. But not fast enough. Zane’s gaze dips, catches on the movement, tracks across the tops of my leg slowly before he looks away.
I glance over at him. “He sounds decent.”
“Yeah, he is. He doesn’t ask questions and most of all he doesn’t treat me like a lost cause. That’s fucking rare.” Zane pauses again, dragging a hand through his hair. “Rainer lost his wife years ago. He has no kids or any family. There’s just him and that workshop. It’s the only thing he’s got.”
“You’re lucky you found someone who gave a shit.”
Zane doesn’t answer at first. His fingers toy with the tin, his nails scratching over it like he’s thinking too hard.
“I didn’t find him,” he says. “He found me.”
Zane turns his head, eyes finding mine through the dark. There’s something quieter in him now. Something focused.
Every part of him tuned in, as if the rest of the world has dropped away.
“I’ve wanted to ask you…” His voice is low. “That scar. The one above your eyebrow. How’d it happen?”
I wasn’t expecting that.
No one ever asks. Most people glance away, pretend it’s not there. They smile, talk over it, act like if they ignore the scar, they won’t have to ask what made it.
But not Zane. He just puts it out there.
The breath I take feels sharp in my chest.
“When I was seven, my mother threw a beer bottle at me. I told her I was hungry.”
Zane’s jaw ticks. His knuckles curl against the tin.
“She was drunk,” I add, not to excuse it but because it’s the only explanation I’ve ever had. “Missed the wall. Got me instead.”