chapter seven
kira
The pain in his eyes tells me that there is more to this than he’s letting on. The gears turn in his head as he decides how much to tell me, and I get it. Everyone has their demons, but I can’t bear the idea that he’s hurting with no one to lean on.
“There was a fire early on in my career that was very similar to the call today,” he starts, and I think he’s going to stop there, but he sits in one of the chairs and continues. “There was a little boy stuck inside, around the same age as Jared at the time. He must have heard his parents yelling for him and thought he was in trouble because he hid.”
Noah sucks in a breath, and tears well in his eyes. My heart breaks for him and for where this story is going.
“I was the one who was sent in to find him, and I searched as fast as I possibly could, calling his name. By the time I found him, it was too late. He wasn’t breathing.”
A tear slides down his cheek, but he wipes it away.
“All I could think was I should have found him sooner. I could have saved him.”
I can’t take it anymore. I kneel in front of him, wrapping my arms around his torso as he sits in the chair. He freezes at the contact, his body tense. I ignore his hesitation, nuzzling my head into his chest.
“That wasn’t your fault,” I tell him, needing him to believe me.
He gives in, hugging me back, his chest expanding as he sighs.
“Logically, I understand that. I did what I could in that moment, and it wasn’t enough, but that doesn’t stop the guilt.”
I relate to that more than he will ever know.
We sit like this for a while, neither of us ready to let go.
A few weeks have passed since I moved in with Jared and Noah. I ’ m still adjusting, but something about this place feels like it could eventually be home—though I can ’ t shake the feeling of being an outsider. I ’ m careful not to overstay my welcome, so I ’ ve been putting as much into savings as I can, but it’s a struggle, the balance between feeling at home and not wanting to impose.
Today is my first class at Lakeside Pottery, and nerves twist in my stomach. I ’ ve been doing pottery for four years now, but teaching? That ’ s new territory.
I arrive at the studio an hour early, hoping the time alone will give me a moment to collect my thoughts. The smell of fresh clay and the quiet hum of the room help me center myself. But the flutter of nerves is still there, gnawing at the edges of my calm. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I ’ ve done this thousands of times on my own; now, I just need to guide others through it.
I glance around, taking in the space—workstations lined up with neatly arranged supplies, the pottery wheels gleaming under the soft lighting. Satisfied, I head over to the refreshment bar Darla set up, grabbing my favorite mug and filling it with coffee. It ’ s warm against my hands, the familiar comfort of caffeine working its way through my veins.
Ten minutes before the class begins, people start to trickle in. I smile, greet everyone, and introduce myself. The group is a mix of ages, from a young girl who can ’ t be older than ten, to a woman in her sixties. It ’ s a little overwhelming, but I ’ m excited too. This is exactly what I wanted—a chance to teach and share my passion with anyone who ’ s interested.
“ Okay, everyone,” I say as the last student takes their seat, “ Let ’ s get started.”
I demonstrate the first step, wedging the clay, then move on to centering it on the wheel. Some of the students get it right away, but others struggle. I move between them, offering gentle corrections, my voice steady even though my heart races. Watching their bowls start to take shape, I can ’ t help but smile. This is what I love—guiding them through the process, seeing their progress.
Among the group, one girl, maybe a little older than me, finishes her bowl first. She steps away from her wheel and wanders over to my workstation. Her platinum-blonde hair shines in the soft light, and her cerulean eyes are bright with curiosity. I catch her eye, and she flashes a smile.
“ You ’ re really good,” she says, leaning over to look at my piece in progress. “I’m Maddie by the way.”
I ’ m about to say something when we ’ re interrupted by the last student finishing their bowl. I show everyone how to remove their pieces from the wheel, and we set them aside on a shelf to dry before trimming them next week.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming. This was so much fun! I will see you all in a week for trimming.”
As they’re all packing their things and leaving, Maddie stops in front of me.
“We should hang out sometime,” she says. I let out a small laugh at the abruptness of her statement.
“You know, I think I’ll take you up on that. Do you want my number so we can plan something?”
“Of course, girl!”
I smile to myself. I’ve never had many friends other than Jared, and it would be nice to have a friend who isn’t a boy.
Before I head out, I check in with Darla.
“How did I do?”
“You were wonderful, dear. Oh, speaking of, here’s your portion of the profits from the class,” she says, handing me cash. It’s more than I expected, and I almost feel bad taking it.
“I really had fun doing this. Thank you for letting me be the one to do it.”
“Of course, honey.”
I don’t think that class could have gone any better. I was so nervous at first, but it was perfect. I love showing people something that they’ve never seen or done before. When the concept clicks, the look in their eyes is the best feeling.
Turning down Noah’s road, I smile. Today was amazing. I finally feel like I’m succeeding with something. Putting my car in park, I climb out, and Jared greets me at the door, a popsicle in his hand.
“I want one,” I whine.
“There’s more in the freezer.”
Giving him my best puppy dog eyes, I stick out my bottom lip. He folds immediately.
“I can never say no to you,” he tells me with a smile.
While he’s doing that, I run upstairs to drop off my stuff and grab the book I’m currently reading. I plan on relaxing for the rest of the day. Jogging back down the stairs, I’m met with a stunned Jared holding a blue popsicle—my favorite flavor.
“Thank you!” I say, pushing past him and heading for the slider. I’m going to plant my happy ass in the hammock and read for as long as I can. It’s a beautiful day. There are no clouds in sight, and the sun heats my skin. It’s about seventy degrees, the perfect temperature to lay out in. The sound of the birds chirping comforts me as I swing lazily.
Opening my book, I pick up where I left off. The enemies are right about to become lovers. Those classic, wonderful words, who did this to you? She’s about to tell him when I’m interrupted by a voice.
“I’m bored,” Jared groans, standing in front of the hammock.
I look at him over my book, “Find something to do then.”
“I want to do something with you.”
Closing my book, I sigh. “Fine. What do you want to do?”
“Maybe we can go get gas station hot dogs and then come back and have a fire?”
“I don’t know if I’m in the mood to socialize with anyone else.”
“No, just you and me. We can roast marshmallows?”
I ponder it for a moment. I’d rather read, but I do need to eat something, and he’s asking so nicely.
“Let’ s do it. ”
I hop into his car, and we head to the local gas station. Hands already full of other snacks, we grab our hot dogs and get in line.
“Hey, Jared, I see that you brought the whore out of the house.”
Turning toward the voice, I recognize the man as one of Jake’s friends. His eyes move over my body, and I feel dirty. I want to throw up. Or punch him. Either option works.
I can help who’s next, please!”
I rush over to the counter, needing to escape the situation. Glancing over, I see Jared still talking to him. His voice is low, so I can’t hear what he’s saying. I hope it’s not nice. Setting my items on the counter, I hand the cashier my card. I’ll meet him in the car.
What is that guy’s problem? It’s not like that’s a new insult for me, but I wasn’t expecting it to come out of some random person’s mouth like that. Jared’s door swings open, and he climbs inside, words already spewing from his lips.
“I am so sorry about that. I don’t know why he said that,” he says, worry in his eyes.
“It’s fine. I can handle it. Let’s just go home.”
I try to turn my head away, but he reaches up to cup my cheek, making me look at him. His fingers are so gentle.
“Don’t listen to him, okay? He’s an idiot.”
I nod, looking away as we pull out of the parking lot.
When we get back to the house, Jared works on getting the fire started. It’s not quite dark yet, the sun sitting right above the horizon. I’m in my room. The temperature has dropped significantly, and I need layers. Slipping on a hoodie and some leggings, I try to ignore the feeling seeping in from our interaction with that guy earlier. He’s wrong. I’m not a whore. It wasn’t my fault. Taking a deep breath, I head downstairs, pushing myself to smile. I grab the bag of marshmallows and head outside.
We sit by the fire for a while, each of us in our own folding chairs. We talk about college and how excited he is to go. I’m happy for him. He deserves it. Glancing up, I notice him staring at me.
“What, do I have marshmallow on my face?”
His eyes hold mine, the fire reflecting in them. He smirks as his eyes trail down my body.
“No, you’re just beautiful.”
There’s more emotion in those words than there should be.
“I know,” I laugh, winking at him, needing to distract from the gravity of his statement.
Disappointment flashes in his eyes, and he looks at me like he has more he wants to say, but instead, he sighs, shaking his head.
“I think I’m going to head inside. It’s getting late,” he tells me before standing and turning away.
“Oh, yeah, I guess I should too.”
What was that?
Stepping out of the shower, I dry off quickly and toss my damp hair into a towel. Guilt wraps itself around me like a heavy blanket. I don ’ t understand why Jared reacted like that, but it feels like it ’ s my fault. I pull back the comforter and slide into bed. The cool sheets against my skin do little to soothe the knot in my chest. I stare at the ceiling, thoughts swirling in every direction. What ’ s going on with him? Why did that asshole earlier feel the need to say those things?
I try to push the thoughts away, but they linger. I ’ m exhausted, my body begging for rest, yet my brain refuses to cooperate. After what feels like hours of tossing and turning, I throw off the covers and slip out of bed.
The stairs creak beneath my feet as I tiptoe down. A glass of water is all I need to clear my head. The cabinet door opens with a soft groan, and I pull down a cup, filling it with water from the fridge. I ’ m about to turn back when I hear footsteps behind me.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Noah asks, his voice low.
In the soft moonlight streaming in from the window, I see him standing in the doorway, shirtless. I ’ ve seen him like this countless times before, but tonight, it feels different. The air between us is thick with something I can ’ t quite name. His muscular torso is covered in tattoos, one of which—a raven perched on a branch—I recognize. It ’ s one of my favorites.
I feel my gaze slip lower, unable to stop myself. His sweatpants sit low on his hips, highlighting the V of his abdomen. My eyes wander further, catching the outline of something I shouldn ’ t be looking at. Something impressive. My pulse picks up.
“Eyes up here, sweetheart.”
I bring my gaze up to meet his, my cheeks heating. Oh my god, he just watched me check him out. I brush it off, mostly because I don’t have another option. Choosing to ignore his last comment, I answer his question.
“No, I couldn’t sleep. I came down to get some water,” I mumble, gesturing to my glass, now sitting on the counter.
“How did your class go this morning?” he asks, stalking toward me.
His eyes move down my body, darkening when they reach the tops of my thighs. Following his gaze, I realize that I forgot to put on bottoms. I’m standing here in a T-shirt and panties. Leaning over me, he reaches up into the cupboard above my head.
He’s so close now, the scent of patchouli and something sweet invading my senses. As he leans into me, I reach my hand up, placing it on his bare chest. His warm, hard body towers over me, and I feel him take a deep breath. I know I shouldn’t be touching him, but I don’t move. Slowly, he brings his eyes down to mine, his gaze heated. I study his face as his jaw tenses.
“ Kira, ” he rasps. He grabs my wrist with the lightest of touches and takes my hand off him.
“My class was great. I had a lot of fun,” I say, dismissing the rejection. I know it was the right thing to do, but it still stings. I try to move away from him, but I’m stopped by his hands dropping to the counter on either side of me, pinning me to him.
“I knew you could do it. I’m proud of you.”
My heart jumps, and I look away, smiling at myself. He notices my reaction and places a hand on my jaw, making me look at him.
“You like it when I say that, don’t you?”
My eyes widen, and I hesitate. He’s right. I love it when he says stuff like that to me, but I can’t tell him that. There’s no way I can let him know what his words do to me. Nothing can happen between us , I remind myself. Our bodies are touching now, his hips pressing into me.
“Use your words, princess,” he orders, brushing his thumb against my bottom lip. I take in a sharp breath, my lips parting. The touch fuels an ache deep in my core. His eyes are dark and hungry as they look down into mine.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I like it.”
I reach up to touch him again, needing to feel his skin on mine. As soon as my hand grazes his chest, he winces. Closing his eyes, he lets out a breath.
“Don’t.”
But I don’t listen. I let my hand glide down his torso, feeling the strength of his taut muscles.