Chapter Thirty
Thirty
Scarlett
Sometimes I forget he’s a big dumb hockey player.
“And then I swooped in and knocked their d-man to the floor.”
We’re halfway to their house, and my grip on the steering wheel tightens with every retelling of the fight from his teammates.
They insisted, especially Kian, that he could drive, with his bruised knuckles and beer-stained shirt. But the second I reminded the three of them about the drinks they had, he handed over the keys without a fight.
You didn’t come.
Kian’s words hit me hard. But I stood outside that arena just as the first buzzer sounded, urging myself to go inside, but I couldn’t make it past the double doors. All I could think about was having to explain to my dad why this is the first game I’ve attended.
So I walked away from the arena and straight into Porter’s to watch it on their massive TVs. The first half was disappointing, and a guy at the bar didn’t hesitate before sharing that opinion.
It irritated me, so when I told him to shut his trap and go play if he knew so much, he turned to glare. However, that look died pretty quickly when he seemed to recognize me. I was flipping through the Rolodex in my head when he said, “You’re Ishida’s friend, right?”
I hesitated before saying, “I—y-yeah. I am.”
“Cool.” And that was it. He turned back to the screen. But my heart was beating so fast I wanted to text Kian, It’s working!
But I focused on the TV, watching him there instead.
Every time the camera panned to him talking to my dad, I got a weird feeling in my gut.
That’s when something came over Kian in the last period.
He was more intense, determined, and devastatingly handsome as he zipped across the ice.
Whenever the camera showed him on the bench, spraying water on his face, I felt myself getting hot, crossing and uncrossing my legs as inconspicuously as possible.
What I didn’t expect was the team showing up at Porter’s when there’s a party on campus.
So just as the last flash of the photo booth captured my first time watching a game in a bar, I heard the chants for the team.
There was no way to sneak out undetected, and that much was confirmed when Kian caught my arm.
Now Cole and Sebastian laugh loudly in the back seat, patting Kian’s shoulder.
Kian pokes my arm. “I am sorry, you know?”
I give him a sidelong glance, fluttering my lashes. “Whatever for?”
His sheepish smile drops. “Scar.”
“Can we just not talk about this right now?” I fix my gaze back on the road.
The last thing I want to overanalyze is why he did it.
There’s a much lighter, nicer part of my brain that tells me he did it because he cares about me, because no one can talk about me that way.
Then another says that my past must bother him enough to make him angry.
Those thoughts are fighting to the death, and I’m scared of which one will win.
He sighs, shifting the ice pack on his knuckles again. “He had a hard fucking face.”
“News flash: Bones are hard,” I mutter.
Kian’s gaze burns the side of my face for the rest of the ride home. I park in their driveway, and as soon as I pull the key from the ignition, I toss it to him and hop out.
I’m already halfway to the sidewalk when he calls my name.
“Seriously? You won’t even come inside?”
Cole and Sebastian watch us, and when I glance at them, Kian gestures for them to head inside. He approaches me slowly, like you would a deer blocking the path of a highway.
“Let me apologize.”
“I didn’t ask you to. You can do whatever you want.”
“You didn’t need to see that. I’m sorry.”
I scoff. “Why not? Don’t make me out to be some damsel, Ishida.”
The cold breeze makes me shiver, but I try to hide it. Kian eyes the goose bumps on my skin with a knowing look. Terrible idea to wear a tank top in the cold October air, but I was planning on wearing a jersey—his.
“You’re freezing your ass off when you could just come inside,” he says.
He’s right, and that annoys me. Idiot.
“I know, I’m an idiot. But please can you come inside? I’ll give you a ride back the second my hand stops throbbing.”
I don’t move.
“Please? I’m in pain, Scar.”
I bite the stupid smile that forces its way onto my face. God, can anyone say no to him? “Fine. But I’m not talking to you.”
Kian pouts. “Whatever you say.”
He leads me inside, and I purposely walk four feet away from him. In his room, the first thing he does is go straight to his vinyl shelf. Even now he’s thinking about music.
The first notes of “Sink” by Noah Kahan play. Kian strips off his stained T-shirt, and I stare at the only barren wall in his room. It’s even warmer here, and my choice of tank top seems to be the correct one, but I still rub the goose bumps on my arms.
“Cold?”
Burning. But I don’t answer. I just have to wait until I’m home, then I can replay the way his arms looked when he pounded into Adi’s face.
I startle when Kian drapes a sweater over my shoulders. He’s careful in his movement, slow and almost cautious when he pulls back. I remove the Dalton Royals sweater with the number seventy-six from around me.
“Come on, Scar. You can be mad at me, but don’t take it out on yourself.”
I place the sweater on his desk chair before pulling out my phone to check the time. Kian pulls it out of my hand, slipping it into his back pocket, then walking me backward until my ass hits the chair.
He’s towering over me, so big and imposing.
“You won’t talk to me?” he asks.
Liquid heat pools in my stomach, completely unwarranted. I try to stop the onset of the electrification of my body. But that fails the second he drops to his knees, placing his body between my parted legs.
Kian Ishida is on his knees.
“Please don’t give me the silent treatment, Scarlett,” he begs. “Not because of that asshole.”
“Y-you didn’t have to hit him,” I nearly pant.
His head tilts, his grip on either side of the chair tightening. “What if I wanted to?”
I narrow my eyes. “You shouldn’t do that for me.”
“You know, I don’t care about what I should be doing. I can’t stand someone talking about you like that.”
His words are like ribbons, tying a bow around my heart and pulling.
“You could get suspended for something like that.”
“I know.”
“I’ve been with guys, Kian. You can’t punch every one.” I swallow, unable to choke back the words. “Are you that ashamed of my past? You could jeopardize your graduation.”
“You think I’m ashamed of you?”
I pause, realizing that’s the only thing he responded to. Not the fact that he could lose the one thing he’s been working toward this whole semester.
“Answer me,” he demands.
I try to move away, but he doesn’t let me. I exhale a dramatic sigh. “Why else would you do it then?”
“There isn’t a single thing about your past that’s shameful. I get that you want to fix your reputation and not be seen as the girl from sophomore year, but even if you were, that’s okay. She was a person, too, and I won’t let you be mean to her.”
I blink in surprise.
“As for Patel, I hit him because nobody disrespects my friends like that. I hit him because that’s a disgusting thing to say about a woman. I hit him because he was talking about you.”
I just stare at his reddened fist. His gaze doesn’t leave me.
Kian sighs. “Kilner’s going to kill me.”
That does nothing to ease the knot in my stomach. “Just tell him you were saving a damsel in distress.”
“You know that’s not why I did it, right?”
“I know, I know. You couldn’t just stand there as some guy talked about my pu—”
“Please don’t repeat it. I’m just going to get pissed off again. And my adrenaline is still going right now.”
“Oh, come on! It was kind of funny.”
“It wasn’t.” He gives me a serious look. “Who told you you have to laugh when someone is being an asshole to you?”
The question lands on target. “It’s easier that way.”
Laugh it off. That’s what I always told myself when guys talked about my body.
“No, it’s not. Call them out. Yell at them. Fucking call me.” He’s getting worked up again, so I grab his shoulders.
“Calm down, Muhammad Ali. I’m fine. They’re just words.”
He shakes his head, but he lets me get away with that. “You sure you’re not mad at me?”
I check his bruised hand again. “I wouldn’t be playing nurse if I was mad at you. You’re impossible to be mad at.”
He grins. “Because I’m so charming?”
I shove him away only for him to lose balance, forcing me to lunge forward to pull him back to me. When he starts to laugh, I realize he tricked me.
I glare at him, but he only leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I think you’re my best friend, Scarlett.”
I swallow. “Right, I’ll just get in the long, long line of all your best friends. I’m sure you’ll get to me in a few years.”
“No.” He shakes his head seriously. “You’re it. There is no line.”
I raise a brow.
“I’m serious,” he insists. “I have a lot of best friends, I know. And I would do absolutely anything for every single one of them, but you’re different. You’re…you. My Scarlett.”
Those words stamp themselves into my chest, onto each of my ribs and all of my arteries.
Something hot sears through my chest, so I grab his hand as a distraction. “You’re hurt.”
I move to get the towel from where he left it on the nightstand. I gesture to his bed, and he goes without a word. I find the first aid kit in his bathroom.
On his bed, his fingers flex under my touch, and the tension in his forearm feels like a live current beneath my palm.
My thumb skims along the ridge of his wrist, tracing the veins.
His legs brush mine, his face right at the neckline of my tank top, where he’s got a clear view of my cleavage. I don’t move.
It’s so quiet, I can hear the drip of the faucet in the bathroom, the creak of the bed frame.
My skin lights up with awareness every time he grunts from the sting of pain. Then suddenly, his head drops forward until his forehead is pressed against my shoulder.
I muffle a gasp when his breath brushes against my skin, making my nipples tighten around my piercings. My body is covered in goose bumps in seconds.