Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
The private function room in Sullivan’s pulses with music and laughter.
My entire senior class is here, taking up every inch of space.
The DJ Mom hired keeps the music loud, and the dance floor is packed with bodies moving in the strobing lights.
Heat rises from the crowd, making the air thick and close.
My dress, red silk that cost more than I wanted Mom to spend, clings to my skin.
There’s a stack of gifts piled on a table at one side of the room, and food on the other. People keep wishing me a happy birthday, and talking about what a great party it is. I smile, nod at the right times, but my eyes keep drifting to the entrance.
“He’s not coming.” Cassidy appears beside me with a fresh drink. She doesn’t ask who I’m looking for. “You know he won’t.”
“I left an invitation in his locker.” I take the cup, needing something to do with my hands beside twisting them together. The plastic is cold and slick with condensation. “I wanted him to come. Everyone else is here. He doesn’t have to be left out.”
She squeezes my arm, understanding in her eyes.
She’s the only one who knows about the notes we’ve been trading, my visits to him in the old factory, and the fact that I kissed him.
He still won’t acknowledge me at school, but when we’re alone, his attention is all for me.
He makes me feel like the most important person in the world.
“Cake coming through!” Mom’s voice carries over the music seconds before she wheels out a huge creation. Three tiers of red velvet with candles, sugar flowers and sparklers. Everyone crowds around, phones out to capture the moment.
“Make a wish, honey,” Dad calls out.
I close my eyes. The only thing I can see is him. Alone in that factory, with his books and silence, and cold seeping through the walls. It makes my wish simple.
I wish for him to be safe. For him to have enough. For him to let me help.
I blow out the candles, everyone cheers, and the party carries on around me.
By midnight, people start wandering out in groups, hugging me, and shouting final birthday wishes as they leave.
Mom is busy directing the cleanup crew, and she doesn’t notice when I take a Tupperware container and fill it with chicken wings, pasta salad, and sandwiches.
I add a thick slice of cake, wrapped carefully in a napkin.
“Want me to cover for you?” Cassidy’s voice comes from behind me.
I turn to face my best friend. “Would you? I can’t rest without making sure he’s okay.”
She hugs me. “Happy birthday, Lily. Just be careful, okay? It’s not safe over that side of town, this late at night.”
It only takes ten minutes to drive from Sullivan’s to the factory. I park my car in a dark corner where streetlights don’t reach, grab my bag and the food, and pick my way across the debris-littered ground to the entrance.
My party dress wasn’t made for sneaking through abandoned buildings, or for being out in cold weather.
Silk catches on rusted metal, tearing with a soft sound that makes me wince.
My heels echo too loudly against broken concrete, announcing my presence to anyone who might be listening … which is hopefully no one.
The factory looms around me, all shadows and decay, the smell of rust and old oil heavy in the air.
But I don’t care. None of that matters more than the boy I’m here to see.
I know he’ll act irritated to see me. He always does at first. The Tupperware in my bag gives me a reason to be here. One that isn’t ‘I needed to see you.’
Up ahead, a familiar glow marks his corner, the light from a solar-powered lantern I brought for him a couple of weeks ago.
He’s reading. He’s always reading when I find him.
The book is propped against his knees, angled to catch the light.
His hoodie is pulled up against the December cold, fabric worn thin at the elbows.
Tension pulls his shoulders taut when he hears my footsteps, his body goes still in that way that means he’s assessing threat levels. Then his head turns and he sees me.
“You missed my party.” It isn’t what I wanted to say, and I bite my lip.
His eyes drop back to his book. “Not really my kind of thing.”
“I saved you some party food and cake.” I set down my bag.
“Don’t need charity, Lily.”
“It’s not charity.” I sink down beside him close enough that our shoulders almost touch. The cold from the floor seeps through my dress. “It’s my birthday cake, and I wanted to share it with you.”
His hand lifts, and his eyes catch mine. My heart hurts at what I see in them. Exhaustion, hunger, and wariness. I reach for his hand, letting my fingers brush over his knuckles. They’re red and chapped from the cold, the skin rough.
“Why aren’t you wearing the gloves I gave you?”
“Can’t turn the pages properly with gloves on.” He doesn’t pull away though. “I didn’t get you anything. You should go back to your friends.”
“I don’t want anything … Well, not anything that costs money, anyway.”
He frowns, pulls his fingers free, and closes his book. “What does that mean?”
“I want you.” My heart is pounding so hard I wonder if he can hear it. “That’s my birthday wish. I want you to be my first.”
He goes completely still. Even his breathing stops.
“Ronan?”
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he whispers in a voice that’s rough around the edges.
“Yes, I do.” I turn to face him fully, my fingers trailing up his arm. Even through the hoodie, I can feel how thin he is, how cold he is. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for months.”
He shakes his head, but he doesn’t move away from me. His pulse jumps under my touch when my fingers find his wrist.
“Lily, I’m not ... I can’t.” He swallows hard. “You deserve better than this. Than me. You deserve more than an abandoned building and a cold floor. Your first time should be in a warm room and a soft bed, with someone who can give you a life.”
I press my finger to his lips, silencing him. “I deserve exactly what I want. And I want you.”
His eyes are wide, dark with hunger, need, and fear. Everything he usually tries to hide.
I stand up, and reach for the hem of my dress.
The silk whispers against my skin as I pull it over my head, and let it drop at my feet, pooling red on gray concrete.
The night air is freezing against my bare skin, raising goosebumps across my arms and chest, but I don’t feel cold. Not with the way he’s looking at me.
“Touch me, Ronan.” I reach for his hand and guide it to my waist. His fingers are shaking violently against my skin, rough and cold but achingly gentle. “Please?”
“I haven’t … I’ve never …” He licks his lips. “I don’t want to mess this up for you, Lily.”
“You won’t.” I step closer, between his legs where he’s sitting. “Trust me.”
His other hand lifts, moving so slowly, like he’s afraid I might disappear if he touches me.
When his fingers brush over my ribs, feather-light and shaking, we both shiver.
I lower myself to my knees in front of him, and reach for my purse.
The box of condoms I convinced Cassidy to buy for me rattles slightly when I pull it out. His eyes widen.
“You planned for this?”
“I hoped.” I place the box down between us. “I really want it to be you.”
He looks down at the box, then back at me. His pupils are blown, his breathing shallow. “Are you sure? Because once we ... if we—”
I silence him with a kiss. His lips are cold at first, but warm quickly under mine. He tastes like toothpaste. I know he’s careful to make sure he can wash and brush his teeth, using restrooms in the diner when he has enough money to buy something or the gas station when he doesn’t.
His hands slide over my hips, pulling me closer to him, then explore upward, slowly, reverently mapping my body with shaking fingers. When his thumb brushes the underside of my breast, I gasp. He freezes immediately, snatching his hand away.
“Did I—”
“Don’t stop.” I guide his hand back, pressing it against me. My heart pounds under his palm. “Please don’t stop.”
He groans, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine, then he’s pulling me down, and laying me on top of the blanket he sleeps on. It’s rough wool, scratchy against my back, but it smells like him. His hands are still shaking when he touches me, his eyes dark and filled with wonder.
“You’re so beautiful, Phare.” The words come out unguarded. “Too beautiful for me or this place.”
I reach for his hoodie, and he lets me pull it off.
His t-shirt follows—threadbare cotton that’s been handwashed too many times.
I trace the sharp lines of his collarbone, the lean muscles of his chest. He’s too thin, ribs visible under pale skin.
His muscles have been built from necessity rather than choice.
When I reach for his jeans, he catches my wrist.
“Wait.” His voice is strained. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I want this.” My fingers work the button open. “I want you.”
When we’re both naked, stretched out together on the blanket that’s not nearly enough protection against the cold floor, fingers exploring and lips tasting, we move slowly. Neither of us have done this before, but we touch, and taste, and pause, watching each other’s reactions, and learning.
The factory is freezing. Our breath fogs in the air between us. But where our skin touches it burns hot enough to make me forget the cold.
The first touch of his tongue between my legs surprises me.
Surprise which turns to moans, then gasps while he learns how to bring me pleasure.
His fingers dig into my thighs, holding me still while his tongue works me over with single-minded focus.
Until my fingers are twisting in his hair, and my hips are rocking against his mouth, chasing the high his tongue and fingers are driving me toward.
The pleasure builds and builds until it crests, crashing over me in waves that make me cry out his name.
When I finally float down, boneless and shaking, I grope around for the box. My fingers are clumsy, still trembling from aftershocks. I take out one of the packets and tear it open. His hands shake so badly that I have to help him roll on the condom, keeping my touch as gentle as I can make it.
And then he’s leaning over me, settling between my thighs, his weight pressing me down into the blanket.
“You can still say no,” he whispers, his forehead pressed to mine.
I smile up at him, and reach down to wrap my fingers around him. He’s hot in my hand, hard and ready. I guide him to me, and he sinks inside slowly. The stretch burns, and I can’t quite swallow the whimper that escapes. He freezes again.
“I’m hurting you.”
“Don’t stop.” I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him deeper. “Please don’t stop.”
He gasps when he’s fully inside me, his whole body shaking with the effort of staying still. His kisses are gentle, swallowing my whimpers as we adjust to each other. The burn fades slowly, replaced by the fullness of having him inside me.
“You feel …” His voice breaks. “God, Phare.”
I cup his face, loving the way he’s looking at me. “Move. I need to feel you move inside me. Please.”
He starts slow, so slow it almost kills me.
Learning my body the same way he learns his books, committing every detail to memory.
Each movement is a discovery. I learn how he shudders when I trace the lines of his ribs, the way his breath hitches when I kiss his throat.
He learns what makes me arch into him, and what draws soft sounds from my lips.
“Is this okay?” he asks again, voice rough with concern and barely restrained need. “Are you sure?”
I answer by pulling him closer, showing him with my body what I can’t find words for. When I wrap my legs tighter around him, he groans, his control slipping. His forehead presses against mine, his breathing ragged.
“Lily.” My name sounds different on his lips now. “I’m not going to last.”
“I don’t want you to.” I cup his face, making him look at me. His eyes are almost black, irises swallowed by his pupils. “Let go, Ronan. It’s your turn now.”
The permission breaks the last of his control. His rhythm falters as he buries his face into my throat, his breath hot against my skin. I wind my arms around his neck, feeling him shake above me, inside me, my name a broken prayer falling from his lips as he comes.
It’s beautiful. It’s perfect.
It’s everything I wanted.
Afterward, he tries to move away, but I tighten my hold. “Please stay.”
“I’ll crush you.”
I kiss his shoulder, tasting salt and skin. “You won’t. Just stay. For a few minutes.”
His weight settles over me, grounding me, and keeping me here in this moment that feels too big for words. His fingers trace patterns on my skin, poetry without sound, confessions he won’t speak aloud.
“Happy birthday, Lily.” His lips find mine again, gentle and sweet.
I smile against his mouth. “Best present ever.”
He laughs. Not the sharp defensive laugh he usually uses, but one that starts deep within his chest. In this moment, he’s not the boy who sleeps in abandoned buildings or the boy who haunts school hallways and libraries.
He’s just Ronan.
He’s mine.
And I am his.