Chapter Seventeen
MILA
Avery’s and Jasmine’s eyes were huge when Luke brought me over to them then left without a word.
Avery opened her mouth to say something, but I shook my head, glancing at the crowd of people around us.
She caught my message, and we found a spot away from the bonfire, off to the side and under a tree.
Jasmine dropped to the ground, cracking open another drink. Avery perched on a log beside her.
“What was that?” Avery whispered.
I paused, searching for words. “Luke… I don’t even…”
Jasmine shifted, concern flickering. “That looked serious. That was more than ‘I hate you,’ more than… what?”
Before I could shape an answer, my throat closed. Hearing him admit he still wanted me tilted my world, and I hated how much it mattered. So I shrugged. “That was Luke staking a claim, or some shit along those lines.”
“A claim?” Avery frowned, gaze dark. “He totally went after Logan.”
I snorted, forcing a laugh. “Territory bullshit. Two idiots circling a target.”
Jasmine shook her head, pursing her lips, eyes contemplative. “He saved you, though. I saw how Logan had grabbed you.”
My stomach flipped. “It’s not what you think.”
Avery straightened. “Luke wasn’t messing around.”
I rubbed my sore wrist—thanks for that, Logan, you asshole. Adrenaline still buzzing low in my veins. “Look—I need to go.” I pulled my phone out and ordered a ride.
Avery touched my arm. “We’ll drive you.”
But I shook my head and waved toward the crowd of people, specifically Elise and her posse. “No—my ride’s on the way. I’m done dealing with those idiots tonight.” I forced out the words steady, cold. “And I have a headache.”
They both nodded. Avery stood then pulled me in for a hug. “Call me later, okay?”
I managed a ghost of a smile. “Yeah.” Then I moved through the crowd with purpose until I got to the street.
The ride back was quiet. A single text from Avery to remind me: “Call when you get home.”
I didn’t. I shot her a message I’d made it there instead.
At home, the porch light was too bright, exposing me. My mom was there, leaning against the doorframe still dressed in her work clothes from this morning, arms crossed.
“Where’ve you been?” She sounded calmer than I expected—more wary, weighing me instead of accusing.
My phone buzzed again. I glanced: a single missed message from her, the time stamp from a few minutes ago. I stuffed it in my pocket. “Out with friends.”
“Friends?” She stepped inside, voice clipped. “You didn’t answer your phone. I was worried.”
I laughed, bitter. “You don’t check in all hours of the night—why start now?” I pulled my phone back out and showed her the time stamp of her message. “So worried. I just got this. Where the hell have you been?”
Her lips compressed into a line. “Don’t do that.”
“Fine.” I leaned against the door and crossed my arms over my chest. “I heard a rumor—about you and Principal Miller.”
She froze. Then brushed it off with a shrug. “I’ve seen Warren a few times. It’s not a big deal.”
“Yeah, it kinda is. Seems I’m getting discounted tuition, special treatment. Sound about right?”
Her face flickered—anger, hurt, something like regret. “Do you understand how hard I’m working? How much I sacrifice for your future?”
I shoved loose strands from my face. “I know you promised me that moving back to this town would set me up for the future. But it doesn’t seem that way. You’ve been acting weird. We never talk anymore. You’re secretive. And half the time you’re gone.”
Her shoulders drooped, weariness creeping in as if it physically hurt her to carry this. “You thought we moved back because the job was too good to pass up, right?”
“Didn’t we?”
She laughed once, bitter and low. “Yeah, that was kinda the plan. But plans don’t mean shit when the savings dry up faster than you expect.
Rent here—even in this dump—is outrageous.
That used car for you wiped us out. Independence isn’t free.
Tuition at Blackwood Academy?” Her voice tightened.
“It’s brutal. The discount helps. And the principal?
” Her mouth twisted. “He’s not dangerous.
There’s no real risk there. He knows the score. He’s not a complete idiot.”
Her voice cracked. “I’ve been holding everything together. The past year was rough. We burned through our savings. Bookkeeping at the gym—it didn’t pay much.”
“Rent was free because you—because of Edwardo.” The words slipped out on their own.
My skin heated beneath her stare. There was history between those two.
We’d stayed with him before, when I was younger.
Mom never really got into it much, and I’d let her get away with it because I liked him. He was good people.
She winced. “We needed a place to stay.”
Then her face shuttered, and for a moment, I saw my own future in here—the same hardness, only older. I didn’t know how to change the trajectory of my life.
“You know the deal. Stop pretending you don’t know what I do for our survival, to make a better life for us.”
But I did know. She didn’t always like the guys she was with.
Mom was smart; she had to be to do the bookkeeping gigs she easily got.
The problem was, she had me at seventeen, never got to go to college, and her religious family kicked her out as soon as they found out she was pregnant with me, and whoever my dad was didn’t stick by her.
She’d been hustling ever since to provide for us.
I had to look away; the dig at her was eating me alive. The silence pressed in so loud I could hear my own heartbeat.
“You’re getting opportunities I never had.”
I flinched. She was right. She was there for me in so many ways, the past few weeks aside.
The truth was, I missed her. She wasn’t just my mom; we were friends.
I wanted to collapse. I willed away the tears that pricked behind my eyes.
“Nothing’s been the same since we got back.
That’s what I’m upset about, not the principal. ”
She glanced away, her shoulders curving in. “I’m trying, Mila. This place isn’t the easiest for me either, but you’ll get into any school you want with scholarships if we can tough it out. I want you to have more than I ever did.”
“And I’m tired.” My voice broke. I should apologize, but I was so damn tired of whatever was going on with her, with this town, with Luke… I just needed a break. “I’m tired of wondering where you are, what’s going on, and if we’re going to have to leave in the middle of the night again.”
It wasn’t just the fight with her. It was him.
Luke. The way we stood there by the lake, barely breathing, one moment from falling into old patterns.
His lips had been too close. I should’ve pushed him away.
Should’ve turned my back and walked, but everything in me tilted toward him anyway.
Instead, I’d lingered as if I wanted it.
That almost-kiss? It gutted me worse than if he’d followed through.
Because almost meant we still could. And I wasn’t sure I could survive that again.
Mom turned back toward me, her eyes wide. “I’m sorry.” She hesitated. “Please—don’t make this about leaving. We need to make the best of things, no matter what. I’m doing what I can, and… I’ll try to be around more.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I whispered, over the conversation and the wreckage that lay between us. I stepped around her to the hallway.
My room looked the same. Impersonal. Clean.
Nothing on the walls, no photos on the shelves.
Just a slate bedspread, clothes stacked in the closet, and my art supplies hidden like contraband.
If I so much as sketched near Mom, she got twitchy—as though my craving for something uncertain made her skin itch.
She was talented once. I remembered watching her draw when I was small.
But she shelved it. Traded charcoal for spreadsheets.
Said numbers made sense. Said they paid the bills.
I got it—why she hated it. Why she wanted something safer for me.
But art fed a part of me nothing else could touch.
Since coming back, I hadn’t stepped foot inside the boardwalk studio.
Couldn’t. The place would still smell of turpentine and salt air, and if I let myself think too long, I could feel the grainy texture of the canvas under my fingers.
I’d left pieces there—an oil portrait of a girl with rain in her eyes, charcoal renderings of the pier from memory, one sketch of Luke I’d never admit was him.
Not sure if any of it still hung. Not sure I wanted to know.
I hadn’t dared bring them home. My chest tightened just thinking about it.
I would go back. I knew that much. Sooner than I wanted. Sooner than I was ready for.
I collapsed on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My head throbbed, a relentless drumbeat, every thump a reminder of Luke’s words echoing in my skull.
I still want you. His confession pulsed in my veins: I don’t trust you… but I still want you.
A riptide of emotions seized me—relief, dread, longing, fury. I realized I was more broken than I thought.
And it wasn’t just because he still wanted me—or even because I wanted him. It was because despite everything—my mom’s issues, the rumors still swirling—I might let him in again. Might fall all over, knowing full well the cost.
I exhaled sharply. I mulled it over, heart heavy with everything I couldn’t undo—and everything I couldn’t let go. The night stretched ahead, and I wasn’t sure if I would be able to sleep.