Chapter Thirty-Two
Thirty-two
Scarlett
“The sky is gloomy and the air is cold, but don’t let that dampen your mood, Hartford.”
Dale Thunderman is pretty hot. But not as hot as the hockey player I can’t stop thinking about. That’s the only thought in my mind as I sit on our dorm couch and watch The Weather Channel with Sierra.
I’ve spent the last hour pretending like I didn’t notice the way she smiles at her phone, texting her boyfriend. I also pretend not to notice the way it feels like somebody is using a fork to scramble my heart.
In my attempt to not make this feeling in my chest spread to other vital organs, I haven’t told her about the fact that the guy I’ve been obsessing over since freshman year is going on a date with another girl tonight.
I reach for another Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup, tossing it back in one bite.
“How many of these before we have a sugar crash?” Sierra asks, her legs on the coffee table as she lays almost flat on the couch.
“As long as it drowns out all my thoughts, I’m okay with it.”
Kissing Kian felt like I’d bared my soul to him and then poorly sewed it back up just to pretend the stitches weren’t there. It was easier when I would hook up with a guy and not feel the need to dissect my feelings.
I’ve been silently spiraling, though no one would notice.
I finished all of my assignments for the next two weeks and did some extra work for the shelter by making flyers for their annual clothing drive.
I even did something not so smart, calling the prison again and asking to reschedule my visit.
Risa said she’d get back to me as soon as she could.
I know why I’ve been diving into my work and going through the whirlwind that is the prison system. The only thought in my mind is if Kian made her laugh—or worse, if she made him laugh. I wonder if he’s wearing that sweater with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his tattoos.
“What thoughts?” Sierra sits up, looking at me.
Shit, did I say that out loud? “Uh, I just meant like…school.”
She turns off The Weather Channel. Oh, she’s serious now. “No, we’re not doing that. I’ve seen you studying harder than you ever have, and you’re always at the library. I mean, you’re even tutoring. What’s going on?”
“You don’t need to worry about me, I swear.”
“Scarlett, you better start talking or I’m dragging you to the rink.”
I gasp. “You wouldn’t!” I suck at skating, and I prefer to keep it that way so my skull can stay intact. “I kissed Kian.”
She blinks at me. “Ishida? Like the hockey player? As in my boyfriend’s best friend? That Kian?”
“Also the guy I’m tutoring and my dad’s hockey player.”
She cringes ever so slightly before masking the look. “Does your dad know? Like did he see you two making out on the bleachers or something?”
I let out a horrified laugh. “If that ever happened I’d transfer to a new school.”
“Hey! You’re not allowed to leave me,” she says. “So are you into him?”
I shrug. “Does it matter? I told him to forget about this kiss. It’s just—we can’t. I mean, he’s on a date right now.”
Her head tilts. She looks at me like she understands, and I know she does. She’s heard enough lectures from my dad to know how disappointed he’d be.
Sierra sits back again, eating the chocolate in silence. I turn the TV back on.
We’re only halfway into Dale’s report when she speaks again. “You know what? No.”
My brows furrow. “No what?”
“Since freshman year, I’ve seen you do whatever felt good to you.
When it stopped feeling good, you did something else.
I know you, and I know those hookups were fun, but you never felt anything for those guys.
You didn’t want to then, but now when it’s right in front of you, you’re choosing to let it go? ”
“It’s not mine to hold on to.”
“Then make it yours.” She sighs. “You’re the smartest person I know, Scar, you should trust yourself more.”
Something pulls me back, like a rubber band snapping from the tension. I try to let her words go, but they don’t sink. They spread through me like oil on water, catching light where I don’t want to look, resurfacing until I’m in my room, staring at the ceiling instead of studying.
It is torture. Finally sick of the torment I’m inflicting on myself, I pack up my stuff on my bed and head to the one place that calms my mind when I’m like this.
I park behind the library and walk through the side entrance, hoping it’s open. When I push, the door gives way and I let out a relieved breath once I’m inside. It’s like a sanctuary, a secret garden, yet it feels coated in memories of study sessions with Kian.
But those memories stay locked up when I open my laptop and focus on the textbook I was reading earlier. I don’t even realize I’ve braided my hair until I’m looking for an extra hair tie I don’t have.
Suddenly, there’s a loud knock on the study room door. The one that’s only accessible from the outside, after a long dark tunnel. I creep toward the door, feeling a chill run up my spine.
Slowly, I turn the knob. The door screeches open, and when the light spills out and onto a tall figure, my breath catches.
Kian stands outside, completely soaked from the rain, one hand shoved into the pocket of his black dress pants, his white shirt sleeves rolled up.
The soft cotton strains along his forearms, ink curling out beneath the fabric, veins trailing down the ridges of muscles like a road map I shouldn’t know so well.
My stomach twists.
The air between us stretches, thick with things better left unsaid. I press a palm against the doorframe, my pulse skittering under my skin.
“I can’t forget, Scarlett. I won’t.” The words spill out, rough and unpracticed.
“What are you doing here?” I glance at the time on my phone, my eyes snapping back to him. “You’re supposed to be on your date. With Cassie. Remember?”
His jaw flexes, the muscle ticking just below the surface. “I couldn’t do it.”
I blink, staring past him, trying to find some logic in this. “Okay…did you forget something?”
He shakes his head, slowly, like I’m missing the obvious. A gust of cold air blows into my study space, and I realize he must be freezing.
“Come in, you’re soaked,” I hiss, pulling him inside the room and closing the door behind me. “What is happening right now? Is this like some weird performance anxiety?”
A low laugh stumbles out of him, quiet and wrecked, as he steps in closer. I instinctively lean back, my spine brushing the door behind me.
“It’s not that,” he says.
“Then what? You did something crazy, didn’t you?” I narrow my eyes. “I told you to stop jumping in front of people’s cars.”
His gaze flicks up to the ceiling, then back to me. “This whole week, I didn’t get why I felt like my life was spinning out of my control, like every turn I took was the wrong one.”
I continue blinking.
“So I went to Iona. I told Cassie I couldn’t go on a date with her, that if I did I’d be doing what I have been doing the whole week. Avoiding what I really want. What I can’t stop thinking about.” His voice splinters at the edges.
“What do you mean?”
“I was wrong.” His gaze falls back to mine, completely wrecked. “God, I was so wrong.”
There’s so much happening on his face that I can’t pinpoint a single emotion. I still don’t get why he’s here. “About what?”
“I don’t want Cassie.”
I shake my head, almost stubbornly. “But you said yes to the date.”
“I didn’t—okay, I did, but I was an idiot. I was annoyed that you weren’t at my game, that even at Porter’s it looked like you wanted to be anywhere but there. I didn’t—I don’t like her like that. I can’t.
“I like the idea of having someone to care for, someone to be with like I’ve seen all my friends have. But I realized tonight—fuck, I think I realized it a long time ago—that I don’t want that with just anyone.”
He takes another step, and there’s nowhere left for me to go. The door is pressing cold into my back, my lungs are tight, and the room is tilting sideways.
“I want it with someone who does things like stress-braid her hair when she’s studying, or chews her pens raw when she’s nervous.
I want someone who cares about other people, enough to volunteer time she doesn’t have, and who still believes in the goodness of someone who’s let them down.
Someone who gives people like me a chance.
Someone who focuses on the pockets of good.
” He gently presses a hand against my jaw.
“I want it with my best friend. I want it with you, Scarlett.”
The words short-circuit every rational thought I have. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
There’s no way he can mean that. How did he even know I’d be here?
Because he knows you.
Kian runs a hand through his wet hair, looking at me with eyes that could pry my heart from my chest.
He watches me with an intensity that could melt the paint on the walls.
It could curl the pages of the books. We’ve been in this room so many times, but never like this.
Not when he’s staring at me like he’s starved himself and the only bit of relief he’s gotten is from the sight of me.
Even now, when I can see his need bursting from the seams, he doesn’t move. He waits patiently.
That threatens to split me in half. Kian still doesn’t see me as something he can have whenever he wants. He sees me as his friend. Best friend.
“I want you so bad that I can’t think about anything else,” he admits, the words dripping from his lips like honey. “I want you so bad that if I don’t kiss you right now, I don’t think I’ll survive.”