Chapter Twenty-Four
Twenty-four
Scarlett
It’s Halloween, and Sierra’s creepy pacing is scaring me more than the horror movie playing on our TV.
She’s got on her pajama shorts and an unusually baggy hoodie, though I’d have to be an idiot not to realize it’s Dylan’s.
She doesn’t wear much of anything else these days.
When I offered to wash it with my laundry last weekend, she refused.
“Do you have your costume?” I ask, hoping to distract her from whatever is causing her to wear a rut in our floor.
She freezes mid-step and slowly pivots toward me. Yeah, she’s freaking me out.
“For what?”
I deadpan, “Your partner’s birthday party? You know, that hockey player you have the hots for?”
She shakes her head on a sigh and continues pacing. “You think he’d want me there?”
“Si, you have to stop second-guessing everything. The guy looks like he’s being strangled if he’s not near you. Yes, he wants you there.”
I’ve seen that look. The way he watches her, like he needs her to breathe.
I’d kill for someone to look at me that way.
I’ve always been on the sidelines of that kind of love.
My mom and dad still act like they just met, and at this point, I don’t think it’s a phase anymore.
Then there’s Sierra, glowing and loved, and it fills me up in all the right ways.
Except for the one part of me that stays hollow.
The part that I’ve always ignored but it keeps fighting to surface these days, still believing maybe someday it’ll be me.
That someone will look at me with that same kind of ache.
A loud knock snaps our attention to the door. Since it’s midterm season, it’s wide open, and Kian strolls right in—shirtless; wearing pink wings, matching heart-shaped sunglasses, and a feathery boa; with a bow and arrows in hand.
He fires one straight at Sierra, and she snatches it out of the air before it can touch her. “A little early for that, Ishida.”
Kian grins, and for a second the whole room feels warmer. God, he’s beautiful when he smiles. “Not for you, Ice Princess.”
The wink he throws her way makes her laugh. That’s how easy it is for him. He makes everyone around him light up like it’s nothing. He doesn’t even notice he’s done it.
When he takes the arrow back from her, he puts it in the little holder at his side. “Thanks for not breaking it. Sunny wasn’t so kind this morning.” He shows us an arrow that’s snapped in half.
“Is that your costume?” Sierra asks, glancing at me. “I thought you two were matching.”
When Kian’s attention finally falls on me, it’s like a spotlight. Suddenly, I’m in elementary school and the teacher called on me to answer.
“Nah, this is my morning costume. Dylan decided to be boring this year. Which is why I thought I’d have to do a solo costume.” Kian walks over to me. “Thank you for not making me look stupid alone in my costume, Scar.”
I beam at him, basking in the way his gaze plants its roots in me. “You could never look stupid.”
Kian casually presses his hand to my shoulder, then turns to Sierra. “By the way, I’ve got the whole surprise figured out. It’ll be ready when you come to the party.”
Yesterday, Sierra decided she wanted to do something nice for Dylan’s birthday. It took a lot of talking her into it because she thought it was lame. I could tell she really wanted to, so when I ran the idea by Kian, he offered to help.
“Thanks, Kian.” Sierra looks smaller when she says it, not used to getting help. I’ve seen her trying, and that’s the only thing I need to know about how good Dylan is to her.
“But I have one condition.”
Sierra narrows her eyes. “I’m not taking you to Lola’s right now.”
“Not that.” Kian pulls something out of his arrow holder. “This.”
“Scream?”
“Ghostface. It’s your costume. Scar told me you weren’t wearing one, and that’s a cardinal sin at a hockey house Halloween birthday party.”
“Fine. But I’m not wearing a cloak.” Sierra takes it from him and heads to her room.
“Okay, so I lied.” Kian whispers when she’s out of earshot. “I don’t have the surprise handled.”
My eyes bug out. “What?”
“I know, I know. But you texted me about it last night, and I wasn’t sure how to get in his room. Dylan’s super protective of his abode. He barely ever lets me have sleepovers.”
Sierra’s been so excited to do this for Dylan, it must mean something more than we’ll ever know. If it doesn’t happen, I can’t imagine how upset she’d be.
“Can you get him out of the house before the party? If everyone helps, we’ll get it done quick.”
Kian rubs the back of his neck, and his biceps bunch with the movement. Focus, Scar.
“No, no, it’s okay. I promised I’d figure it out. I’ll do it. You don’t have to worry.”
I cross my arms, staring up at him with my most serious look. “Ishida. Let me help you.”
A low, rumbling chuckle slips out of him. “Ishida?” His head tilts, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I like it when you call me that.”
“Like it how?” My voice comes out softer, more sultry than I mean it to. It’s the kind of voice I’d use on my hookups. I’ve never used it on Kian.
But then his gaze dips to my lips and back to my eyes. The look is brief, but it manages to shoot electricity straight to my toes and my pulse kicks. He’s never done that before, or at least, I’ve never noticed.
His throat works as he swallows, eyes intimidatingly steady on mine. “In the same way you like it when I call you Scar.”
The silence stretches, thick and charged, until—
“Is this too much?” Sierra’s voice cuts through it.
I stumble away from Kian the moment Sierra steps out of her room. She’s wearing all black. A corset, fishnets, a short skirt, and the Ghostface mask.
“Holy hottie,” I say, staring at her with my jaw hanging open. “It’s perfect, Si.”
“Dylan is going to love that,” Kian says, his voice dripping with mischief.
Sierra pulls off the mask and rolls her eyes. “I’m not wearing it for him.”
“But he is taking it off,” we both mutter.
Sierra gives us the finger before slamming her bedroom door shut.
We burst out laughing.
···
I told myself I wouldn’t drink tonight. There’s too much locked in my subconscious that shouldn’t be released by drunken words.
We finished setting up Dylan’s surprise an hour ago. Kian’s friends helped us blow up the balloons and make sure Dylan was out of the house. When I got back to the dorm, Sierra was ready, so I changed into my Padmé costume.
The moment we stepped inside the hockey house, Sierra was pulled away by a shirtless Ghostface. I’ve been spending the past few minutes trying not to stare at the pair of them pressed against the far wall.
If it’s not them, it’s Anakin Skywalker who’s imprinted on my pupils. Kian’s costume covers his body, but he still manages to fill it out extremely well.
But the thing about Kian is that everyone wants to party with him. He’s either hanging with his teammates or the sorority girls, or singing karaoke with Summer onstage. I expected that, for Kian to be pulled in every direction, fulfilling everyone’s needs.
So I dance. I drink. I get tipsy faster than I mean to—probably that shot of Everclear some girl handed me.
It burned going down but left a strange kind of calm behind.
No one comes up to me. Not even the guys I half remember kissing at parties like this.
They just nod in passing, their eyes already somewhere else. It feels so good to just be.
With a renewed burst of energy, I leave the dance floor, hoping to soothe my scratchy throat. I barely make it two steps before colliding with a broad chest. The heat of his costume hits me first, dizzying and close, but the second his scent reaches me, everything else disappears.
Kian.
“You okay, Scar?” he asks, lifting my chin gently.
I pour into his arms like water, letting his hands do all the heavy lifting. I know he’s capable of it. My eyes close on their own accord. It’s almost as if when I’m near him, I go lax.
Kian chuckles softly, and the sound dances along my skin. “Let’s get you some water, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart.
We head toward the kitchen, and my back brushes against his chest as he looms over me, a steady shadow guiding me through the crowd of stumbling partygoers.
The room tilts with him so close, so constant. It’s sharper when we reach the kitchen and he corners me against the counter. I’m not sure he even notices, but when he reaches over my head for a glass, I can’t stop my thoughts from tracing the press of his hips against mine.
He steps away for just a moment to fill the glass, and when he returns, I’m still swaying, caught somewhere between breathless and unsteady.
“Can I touch you?” he asks suddenly.
“Yes.” The answer slips out of my mouth before I even have time to process what he’s asked.
But even with my lagging brain, I’m smart enough not to make an embarrassingly desperate sound when his hands land on my waist. His fingers grip me hard through the thin material of my costume.
I’d be fine if he ripped it open and left me bare against him.
Anything if it meant I got to feel his thick, callused fingers dragging slowly and mercilessly down my skin.
But the fantasy shatters when he lifts me with ease and sets me on the countertop.
“Drink,” he says, pressing the glass of water into my hand.
I pout. His answer is a low sound in his throat before he leans down, his mouth brushing my temple. The softest kiss, but it burns like fire. Maybe it’s the alcohol making every touch feel sharper, heavier, disorientingly good. Or maybe it’s just him, like it always is.
Kian strokes his thumb against my waist as he moves in closer, taking up the space between my thighs, filling it. I let my legs open wider without him asking.
His gaze pins me, hot and unblinking, as I tip the water back. I wipe my mouth with my hand, and before I can take a breath, he’s already holding out another glass.
I shake my head, pushing it away. “No more.”
“Scar—”
I push it toward him. “You drink it. I can smell the tequila on you.”
“I’m okay.”
I stare at him, daring him to break. He always puts everyone else first, but I want to see him crack for me. “Please?”
Kian lifts the glass, his throat works with every gulp, and I grip the edge of the countertop. Some of the water trickles out of his mouth and drips down his chin, and I imagine leaning forward, licking the wet trail from his jaw, tasting salt and tequila and Kian.
I take the glass, but I’m disoriented, dizzy from the sight of him. I drop it too fast, the sharp crack of shattering glass making me jerk and guilt instantly rushing in.
“I’m so sorry. Shit. I didn’t think it would break.” My heart pounds. I try to slide off the counter, but he doesn’t let me. He keeps me pinned there.
I stare at him with questioning eyes.
There’s a much smaller, much younger part of me that’s dropped something by accident and gotten yelled at. So I sit there, wondering why he doesn’t look angry or even annoyed. Doesn’t even tell me to clean it up.
Kian takes the jagged glass from me so calmly it makes my stomach twist. No anger, no frustration. Just him. He turns my hands over, checking every inch of my skin.
It’s foreign, so ridiculous, I try to pull my hands away. Because this isn’t how this goes.
Kian just keeps my hands steady in his. I blink hard and fast, willing the tears to go away, but the alcohol doesn’t make it easy.
Kian moves to throw the glass away, but the sharp edge slices into his finger as he lets go. A single bead of blood forms, and I don’t think.
Instinct or recklessness, I don’t know, but I catch his hand and bring his finger to my mouth. His body stays pressed between my thighs, and a heady rush makes my head spin.
But just as quickly I realize what the hell I’m doing and pull away.
Embarrassment burns my cheeks, but I ignore it and the metallic taste in my mouth.
I slide off the counter and move Kian’s hand under the running faucet.
I’m frantically rummaging through a nearby drawer when he stops me, pulling one open and taking out a Band-Aid. They’re Bratz themed.
“Kian!” A melodic voice fills the kitchen, and I see a blond blur move past me.
I’ve never been violent in my life, but right now feels like a good time to start.
“Hey, Cass.”
Cass? I nearly scoff. But I can’t help but notice that he doesn’t hug her back, that his arm hovers. It’s so unlike Kian, I scrutinize him.
When Cassie pulls back she smiles at me. “Oh, you’re matching. That’s so cute!”
The thing about Cassie is that she’s actually nice. Even her appraisal of our matching Halloween costumes is genuine.
She says something to Kian and he nods. A roar of cheers erupts down the hallway. My best friend is leading Dylan through the crowd. He towers over her, completely focused, ignoring the guys chanting “Double D!”
Cassie throws her head back in a laugh, pulling my attention back to her. It’s the prettiest laugh I’ve ever heard. Kian smiles politely and leans in to whisper something, and her grin lights up the room.
The music changes, and suddenly I need to get away from here. My feet carry me to the dance floor almost on their own. Just a few minutes later heat blooms against my back.
Kian slips into the space beside me, right in the middle of the living room.
“I love this song,” I say, shoving the thoughts of Cassie and him deep, deep down. You shouldn’t care.
“Yeah?” Kian murmurs. “You want to dance with me, Scar?”
My gaze rises from his chest, locking with those dark eyes, and I nod.