Chapter 16
Dean
The club fills steadily around me, regulars drifting in exchanging excited chatter about tonight's event. I lean against the bar, watching without really seeing as Ethan directs the staff through final preparations. Everything feels slightly off-kilter, like I'm viewing it all through warped glass.
"Well, well. If it isn't my favorite rigger."
Jade materializes beside me, all lithe grace in her demo attire, which consists mainly of strategic strips of black leather. Her fingers trail up my forearm, a move that used to send electricity straight to my cock. Now it just makes me want to step away.
“Sup, Jade?”
"Hey, yourself," she purrs, pressing closer. "So…I was thinking, after the demo... Maybe we could slip away to one of the private rooms? For old times' sake?" Her scarlet-painted nails scratch lightly at my bicep. "I've missed your rope work."
I study her face—objectively beautiful, with high cheekbones and full lips. We used to have explosive chemistry, the kind that left rope burns and bruises and endless orgasmic ripples. But looking at her now, all I can think about is how her eyes aren’t that shade of emerald green I’ve become addicted to.
"Not tonight." I quickly remove her hand from my arm, gentler than I feel like being.
Her perfect pout appears right on cue. "Come on, Dean. Remember that full suspension scene we did? How wet I was just from your knots?"
The memory should turn me on. Instead, I feel vaguely nauseated. All I want is to be anywhere but here, preferably wherever Rhea is right now.
"I said no ." I reject Jade’s advances a little more sharply. "I'm not interested. I’m only here tonight in case Ethan needs a hand."
Her eyes narrow, artful seduction morphing into genuine irritation. "Since when do you turn down playtime with me? Who is she?"
"That's none of your business." I push off from the bar, already reaching for my keys. "Good luck with the demo."
I'm halfway to the exit before she can respond, shouldering through the growing crowd. The music pounds against my skull, the air thick with artificial fog and expensive perfume. This place used to feel like home. Now it just feels foreign without my favorite little toy by my side.
"Fuck it," I mutter, typing out a quick text to let Ethan know I couldn’t stay. Sometimes surrender is the only option left.
***
The hallway outside Rhea's apartment feels endless as I pace back and forth, my footsteps muffled by the worn carpet. What the hell am I doing here? This isn't like me, pawing at her door for a crumb of attention, no agenda beyond wanting to be near her. The drive over was a blur of headlights and second thoughts, but now that I'm here, my feet won't carry me back to the elevator.
A sliver of warm light spills from beneath her door like an invitation. The soft melody of what sounds like indie folk music drifts through the thin walls, something melancholic with acoustic guitar. No doubt she’s studying, in the zone. I shouldn’t interrupt. I should leave now and pretend I never came.
Instead, I find myself walking the length of the hall again, counting steps to keep from losing my nerve. Five steps one way, turn, five steps back. The security light at the end of the corridor flickers on every time I trip the motion detector, like it’s mocking me for being back again. Each time I pass her door, the urge to knock grows stronger.
I left the club because I felt like it was the wrong place for me to be. But this is foreign territory, too. Dangerous territory. I don't do this. I don't chase. I don't yearn. I'm the one who makes others come running, who maintains control by keeping everyone at arm's length.
Except apparently, now I do. Now, I'm the one prowling outside someone's door at night, practically vibrating with the need to see her face.
The music changes to something slower, more intimate. Through the wall, I catch the faint sound of her humming along. The simple domesticity of it hits me like a punch to the gut. Before I can talk myself out of it, I raise my fist and knock. The sound seems to echo through the empty hallway, like I might draw the attention of the whole building to my pathetic display of neediness. For an excruciating minute, there's only silence. Then shuffling footsteps approach from the other side.
The door opens, and suddenly breathing becomes a conscious effort. Rhea stands there in loose gray sweatpants and an oversized university hoodie, her hair pulled into a messy bun with escaped curls framing her gorgeous face. No makeup, alabaster skin, looking soft and real and perfect. A smudge of highlighter ink stains her left thumb where it rests on the doorjamb, and I fight the urge to reach out and wipe it away.
Her eyes widen when she sees me, surprise clear in those emerald depths. "Dean? I didn’t know you were coming. Did I miss a text? Am I in trouble?"
"Nah. I just..." The confession sticks in my throat. How do I explain something I barely understand myself? How do I tell her that the thought of not seeing her tonight felt physically painful? "I wanted to see you."
A small crease appears between her brows. I can’t tell if she’s confused or suspicious. But then her lips curve into that genuine smile I don’t get to see often, the one that I rarely do anything to deserve. It’s somehow shy and knowing, all at once. I've been thinking about it since I stared into her eyes while she rode me.
She studies me for a long moment, head tilted slightly. I can almost see the wheels turning in that brilliant mind of hers, trying to decode my unexpected appearance. Probably wondering if this is some new game, some elaborate seduction. The Dean she thinks she knows would have played into that assumption, would have turned this vulnerable moment into something darker, more controlled.
But not tonight. For once in my life, I have no ulterior motives. I just need to be near her.
"You can tell me to leave," I blurt, watching doubt cloud her expression. "If you're busy studying, or if you just don't want?—"
"No, it's..." She steps back from the doorway, creating space for me to enter. "Come in. I was just reviewing some notes, but I could use a break."
The invitation floods me with relief so palpable I question my own damn sanity. I eagerly cross the threshold into her space, immediately enveloped by the scent of vanilla candles and old books.
"I didn’t come with a plan," I tell her as she closes the door behind me. "No expectations. I just..."
"Wanted to see me," she finishes softly, a deliciously shy smirk tugging at her plush lips. "You said that already."
Our eyes lock, and for a moment everything else falls away. The late hour, the slightly awkward nature of my sudden arrival, my own internal panic—none of it matters. She's here, looking at me like maybe she understands exactly what drove me to her door tonight.
Like maybe she feels it too.
Rhea returns from her tiny kitchen a little while later with two glasses of red wine a few minutes later, the liquid nearly black in the dim lighting. I watch her careful movements, the way she checks repeatedly to make sure she’s not about to spill. Always so anxious, so measured. It makes me want to unravel her completely.
But not tonight. Tonight is different.
Her coffee table is covered in textbooks and notebooks, all arranged in neat rows. Post-it notes stick out from the pages in a rainbow of bright colors. I shift some papers aside with more care than I’ve ever shown my own study materials, so she can set down our glasses.
She settles beside me on the worn couch, close enough to drive me mad but not quite touching. The space between us screams of her hesitation, frustrating me to no end. But I get it, she’s waiting for the Dean she knows to appear. Usually, I'd already have her pinned beneath me by now, drinking in her gasps instead of wine. The restraint feels alien, but somehow right.
"So," she says, taking a small sip. "Not that I'm complaining, but what brings you here instead of the club? I thought there was some big Shibari demonstration tonight?"
I swirl the wine in my glass, watching the legs run down the sides just to avoid her knowing gaze. "There was—well, is. I left early."
"Why?"
Because being there without you felt wrong. Because Jade's proposition made my skin crawl. Because every rope I touched made me think of marking your perfect skin.
"I was, uh…not in the mood. Tell me about your family," I say abruptly, determined to change the subject so that I don’t have to explain myself. "You never talk about them."
Rhea’s entire body tenses slightly, delicate fingers tightening around the stem of her wine glass. "Not much to tell."
"Bullshit." I turn to face her fully. "You're from Nebraska, right? That's a hell of a move to make for some smalltown university. Why the big change?"
Pain flashes across her soft features before she can hide it. "I, um… I wasn’t sure I could afford college, but then I got a scholarship to Milton Santee. And they... My parents didn’t want me to come. They haven’t spoken to me since I left home for freshman year."
" Fuck . For three years? Why the hell not?"
She takes a longer drink of wine, staring into space for a moment like she’s searching for the right answer. "My father's a preacher. Very fundamentalist. He had specific ideas about what his daughter should be. Moving across the country to study psychology wasn't part of that plan."
"What was his plan?"
"Marriage. Children. Church every Sunday." Her scoffed laugh holds no humor. "A perfect, quiet, obedient daughter who never questioned his authority or embarrassed him in front of his congregation."
The wine turns bitter on my tongue. "And when you told him you wanted something else?"
"Then I was ungrateful. Rebellious. A disappointment to God and my family." Her lower lip trembles slightly. "He had a way of making everything my fault. Like I was born broken. Not the angel he envisioned for himself."
My free hand clenches into a fist at the thought of anyone treating her that way, making her feel small. "He sounds like a real piece of shit."
"He thought he was doing what was best for me." But her eyes are wet when she finally looks up at me. "Sometimes I still hear his voice in my head, telling me I'll never be good enough. That I’m going to Hell for daring to question anything."
"Hey." I set down my glass and turn to look her dead in the eyes. "Your dad's an asshole. And trust me, I know something about asshole parents." The sad attempt at a silver lining slips out before I can stop it. "At least he didn't hit you like mine did."
Her sharp intake of breath cuts through the room and I cringe, already regretting bringing that particular truth to light. Her hand finds my thigh, warm and steadying. "Dean…"
"It was a long time ago." I try to shrug it off. “Ethan and I were only four when they put him in jail. We’ve, uh, had time to recover, I guess.”
"That doesn't make it okay." Her fingers squeeze gently, and I wish to myself that she never lets go. The raw concern in her eyes is almost too much to bear. No girl has ever looked at me quite like this—like they see past all my arrogant defenses to the damaged kid beneath and want to stay anyway.
It's terrifying. It's intoxicating. It's everything I've spent my life running from.
And somehow, sitting here with her gentle hand on my leg and understanding in her eyes, I can't remember why I was running in the first place.
Our half-empty wine glasses sit forgotten on the coffee table as the night deepens around us. Rhea's head rests against the back of the couch, her body angled toward mine like a flower seeking sun. The soft candlelight catches the gold in her hair, and I have to fight the urge to tuck a curl behind her ear.
"Is that why Ethan is so closed off?" she asks softly. "He acts so calm all the time, but sometimes I see this... tension ."
I stare into a flickering flame, gathering thoughts I rarely voice. "Yeah, he’s got his damage. We both do. But we have each other. When our mom bailed and left us with our stepdad...at least we had each other."
"Until he left? He told me he pursued boxing for a while, before he came back to help at the club, no?"
"Yeah." The old hurt surfaces, duller now but still very real. "That was... Fuck, that was hard. I mean, I got it. He needed to chase his dreams, find himself or whatever. But suddenly the one person I felt I could always count on was gone."
Her hand finds mine in the darkness, fingers sliding between my own like they belong there. "How long was he away?"
"Two years. Felt like twenty." I squeeze my fingers a little tighter, like she’s my tether to the earth. "My stepdad is great and all, but Ethan... he’s my other half, my best friend, my protector all rolled into one. Without him, I felt fractured."
Rhea shifts closer, her knee pressing against my thigh. "Is that when you got into the, um…the scene?"
"Smart girl." I can't help but smirk. "Yeah. Needed something to fill the void, I guess. Something I could control."
"And now that he's back?"
"Now it's better. Different, but better." I run my thumb over her knuckles. "We're both different. But we shared a womb, we’ll always put each other before anything and anyone."
"You're lucky to have that." Her sigh holds a wistfulness that makes me want to pull her into my arms. “To have someone who knows all your broken pieces and loves you anyway.”
That hits too close to home. Because isn't that what's happening here? This beautiful, brilliant girl seeing straight through my bullshit to the damage beneath…and staying anyway?
“What about Nat?”
"Yeah, she’s the best friend I’ve ever had. But sometimes I think she doesn’t really get me. Her family is all wholesome and happy. You know, those people who look at you and say they sympathize, but you can tell they’ll never truly understand?”
“Yeah, I hear you. Not everyone is fucked up like us.”
She giggles softly as I watch her eyelids grow heavy, her body relaxing further into the couch. Into me. The sight does something dangerous to that scarred muscle behind my ribs.
"You should get some sleep," I murmur, but make no move to leave.
"Mmm." She nestles closer, her head finding my shoulder. "Just five more minutes."
Giving in to my base instinct, I wrap my arm around her, drawing her closer as her breathing evens out. It feels like a scene I shouldn’t be part of, like some sappy romantic flic that would be playing several screens down from the horror movie that is my life.
This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to be a conquest, a challenge, another notch in my bedpost. Not this. Not this overwhelming need to protect her, cherish her, be worthy of the trust she places in me so freely.
Her fingers curl into my shirt as she dreams, holding on like she needs me as much as I'm starting to need her. I press my lips to her hair, breathing in the sweet scent of her shampoo. "What are you doing to me, Rhea?"
She sighs in her sleep, snuggling closer. And in the quiet darkness of her apartment, surrounded by her books and her warmth and her unguarded heart, I finally admit the truth to myself…
I’m completely and utterly fucked.
I think I'm falling in love with Rhea, and there's not a damn thing I can do to stop it.
I should run. I should pull away before she becomes so vital to me that losing her would break me for good. But as I hold her close, I know it's already too late for that.
All I can do now is hope she's strong enough to handle all my jagged edges. Pray that when she sees the full extent of how fucked up I am, she'll still look at me with those trusting eyes that make me want to be better.